Calloway
I wake up in a haze of agony. Each breath is a sharp stab, the pain so uncomfortable I can think of nothing else. I sleep without sleeping — still able to feel it.
Flashes of memories flood my mind. Men in thick coats. Mosley's gangster friends. Their fists raining down on me mercilessly, the sound of their laughter echoing in my ears. I remember their threats, their demands. I remember my own fear.
Then I feel Michael's touch again, and it's like a beacon of light in a stormy harbour. My chest seems to swell in size and expand as breathing becomes so much easier. I listen to him, focusing on his words to distract from my own pain.
"...where the fuck is Tommy? I called him hours ago."
"He'll be here."
Polly reapplies creams and balms all over me, and when her fingers gently brush across my collarbone or ribcage, I tense up in pain. She hushes me, and Michael strokes my forehead, but my teeth are clenched against the pain until she's finished.
"Cal?"
The haze of pain clears, and with it, a little of the weight pulling me under. The shock, while my body stabilises. I can force my lips to move. I can force my mind to think.
"Michael..."
"Fuck," he murmurs, and I feel his hands caressing my face. "Are you in pain?"
If I could, I would glare at him, my answer should be so obvious. "Yes." My eyes flutter open slowly. It hurts — the movement, the light. I can tolerate it only for moments at a time. But I see Michael, and I feel peace, even as I bristle with concern at the fact he looks as though he hasn't slept in more than a day. Dark circles ring beneath his eyes, and he's paler than I've ever seen him.
He breathes my name like it's a promise. "I'm so sorry. This is all my fault. I knew what you were going through. I shouldn't have left you unprotected, I—"
"Michael?" I manage.
"Yes, what it is, love?" He asks, leaning in and pulling a strand of hair from my cheek.
"Shut up." I hear a stifled laugh turned to a cough, and Polly's fingers momentarily cease at the same time. "This isn't your fault," I continue.
"You don't understand," he says darkly. "Mosley... He thinks we're trying to take him down. He thinks we've enlisted you to help, and you're directly responsible."
I instinctively go to push myself upright, and the pain that racks through me is so severe, it's a blinding white light as I fall back down again. Every part of me is swollen and larger than I'm used to. Every part of me throbs and aches and hurts.
"Easy," Michael murmurs, and I register it through the pain. "If Mum gives you any more opium, you might never bloody wake up again."
"The amount I gave wouldn't be enough to sedate a housefly," Polly retorts as she finishes packing up a small pack of salves and bandages. "I'm not slowing her breathing any further. Besides," she says, turning her knowing gaze onto me. "When Tommy arrives, he'll want you awake."
"Why?" I ask tremulously.
Michael says, "To find out what bloody happened."
My throat is dry as I try to swallow. I summon the words to my tongue, but cannot speak them, cannot push them any further.
"You're in no condition to talk now," Polly interjects, coming to my side and placing a comforting hand on my shoulder. "Save your strength, love. We'll deal with this together."
Michael's eyes never leave mine, and when his mum ducks out of the room, he takes my hand. His grip tightens and he strokes his thumb back and forth. "They're fucking dead," he says, his voice laced with barely-contained fury. "I don't care if there's thirty of them. I'll break their fucking necks."
His words hang heavy in the air like a sacred vow. My breath catches in my chest and — blame it on the opium, blame it on the effects of shock — in this moment, I see a side of Michael I hadn't expected. A man who is fiercely protective, and willing to go to any lengths to ensure my safety. I find myself drawn to him, despite the pain and confusion that still grip me.
To say it catches me off guard would be an understatement. I struggle to make sense of the emotions swirling within me, the return to feelings I'd sworn I would shut out for good. Because what does Michael have to gain by lying to me now? There's no deceit in his gaze, in the stiffness at his jaw.
Unable to articulate the conflicting thoughts in my mind, I simply squeeze his hand in return. Finding solace in our connection. He understands, his eyes softening as he returns the gesture. A strange thrill resonates through me that I suspect has very little to do with injuries or opium.
Then the door bursts open, and Thomas Shelby wastes no time on pleasantries. "Fucking talk," he tells me, jabbing a finger in my direction. "Now."
"She's been through enough already, Tommy," Michael says, standing to his feet. "Show some fucking respect."
Tommy raises his eyebrows at his cousin. Clearly short on patience, it takes him a great deal of effort to sigh and light a cigarette. "Thank you, Michael," he says flatly, with about as much gratitude as a limp biscuit. "And I was hoping for a pleasant evening with a drink, not a bloody interrogation. But here we are."
"Here we are," Michael agrees, his jaw clenching. "And you'll bloody talk to her nicely."
"Calloway," Tommy begins, clearly a hair's width away from rolling his eyes. "Lovely to see you. Sorry to hear you were attacked. Would you mind telling us what happened?"
"I was leaving work," I say quietly. "Had to stay a bit later to clear my paperwork pile because somebody insisted on a meeting ten minutes before closing," I say with a pointed glance at Tommy. "Had to use the back entrance. There was a car on the street... a handful of them. Like they'd been watching."
"The fiats?" Tommy asks, drawing on his cigarette.
"How did you know?"
"Because they followed me there," he answers plainly.
"Jesus Christ," Polly mutters. "And you didn't think anything of that?"
"Not as though I expected them to start on the bloody investment broker, is it?" Tommy asks. "Go on," he tells me.
"They surrounded me. They were everywhere." I try to swallow once more. "It was dark. I tried to fight back, but they had me on the ground rather quickly."
"Did you manage to hit them at all?" Tommy interrupts. "Any injuries we'd be looking for?"
I nod. "I scraped my fingernails across one man's face. Drew blood. Managed to get another by the arm, I think I heard it break. They didn't like that."
"I can imagine not." Tommy exhales smoke and looks thoughtfully out the window. "Did they say anything?"
"Lots of things. I shouldn't like to repeat most of them." I feel Michael bristle beside me, and I reach for his hand once more, calming him as soon as our fingers graze. "They told me to pass on a message... To stop looking into Mosley, and stop talking to the police. They seemed to think I'm working for you. They said if we don't stop... Well, they made it sound like this was just a warning," I finish, gesturing to myself awkwardly. "There was mention about dumping our bodies in the river, too."
"This is because you went to the bank," Michael tells Tommy quietly. "They saw us together at the conference, then they saw you go in there today. They've put two and two together and come up with five."
Agreement flashes across Tommy's face, but already I have enough sense of his character to know he wouldn't admit it. "Show me the note," he demands.
Polly hands him a piece of paper. He reads, brow furrowed. "Monkey bars?" He asks me.
"How he killed his sister. Or so he told me."
Tommy nods slowly. Reads the note again, looks out the window, finishes his cigarette. "Right," he finally says. "Calloway, you're to stay with us until further notice."
My mouth drops a fraction. "No way."
"I have a family to protect, and a business to run," Tommy says. "In my line of work, to receive a declaration of war," he waves the paper around, "and do nothing, would be akin to suicide. We might as well all put a gun to our mouths tonight and make it kinder on ourselves. But, during war, there is collateral damage."
"They've gotten to you once already," Michael says evenly. "Not a fucking chance it's happening again."
"Polly, I trust you have room for the girl?" Tommy asks.
"Of course I do," Polly says. "It'll be a few days of healing anyway."
Tommy nods. "Good. Michael, we're having a meeting. Come with me."
"Tommy," Polly says warningly. "He's not to be involved in any of this."
Tommy raises an eyebrow. "He's already involved, Pol. These people have got his number. What happens if next time it's Michael thrown on your doorstep in such a state, eh? Or a worse one?"
She shakes her head vehemently, but ultimately cannot argue against his logic.
Michael shifts to his feet, and my hand is cold where his touch leaves it. But then he turns to me, and kisses my head softly, barely a brush of his lips against the pain roaring through me. "You'll be alright with Mum," he tells me. "I won't be long."