CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The blood settled on the floor like a river, it's metallic glean glinting in the dulled light of the room like the grey sheen of a gun. The man's own gun lay strewn a metre from his limp, outstretched arm, unused. It was a mercy their eyes were closed. The shock of it had left Adelaide weak and shaken, not like her usual self.
In a flourish, Harry had left the Garrison as swiftly and discretely as he'd came, leaving the dead in his wake. Tommy only watched him go, breathing ragged as he leaned over her, raising from a protective stance only as the silence stretched over the room again, stuffy and suffocating. Adelaide almost couldn't breathe.
He was quiet, awfully so, as he helped her to her feet again. She fit into his side easily, her eyes baring deep into the corpses on the ground. Her brother had done that, had taken charge and altered the course of their plan. She should have been mad, rage filling her at the idea that he'd overridden her word. But in this, she could not complain. By the word of Emilio Smith, Tommy Shelby had been saved.
Small footsteps shook Adelaide from her tremor. Glancing to the corner of the room, to the door that lead further into the back rooms, Grace was standing, eyes lingering over the sight in front of her. As she looked down at the bodies on the floor, her face was pale but resolute. In her hand, was a gun, her finger on the trigger.
"What happened?"
Tommy closed his eyes, leaning forward so far that Adelaide could feel the pressure of his hips against her stomach. His breath was hot, frustrated, quick.
"It's done," he said, voice barely above a whisper.
Months ago, the thought have stepping into Tommy Shelby's home would have brought to mind the image of a mouse stepping onto a drap, an angel walking into the devil's lair. But that night, the small terrace house was much like a refuge.
Polly Gray was waiting in the kitchen, a teapot sitting fresh off the stove. It was as if she'd known they were coming. She stood to her feet, when she saw them lingering by the door, Adelaide's face as white as the moon.
"What's going on?" Pol asked, eyes wide. "What happened?"
"Can you fix her a bandage?"
"I'm fine."
"You're bleeding."
"Come, there's some whiskey in the cupboard," Polly said, shuffling her into the house, not before shooting Tommy a pointed glare.
Adelaide let the woman move her, sitting in the living room by the fire. The flames were so hot that they made her skin glow a crimson shade, but she liked the heat. It kept her awake when her drooping eyes grew too heavy.
Polly's work was brisk but efficient, patching over the cut that decorated her arm. The sleeve of her blouse had been stained and ripped open, easy for access. She didn't ask about what happened, only worked on her arm as Tommy lingered in the corner, watching, his face illuminated by the tall fire.
She was in between sleeping and waking, when Polly finally finished, smoothing her fingers across her skin in a movement that was almost motherly. Tommy remained even as his Aunt left. As she fell into a deep sleep, she thought of her brother, of the corpses on the Garrison floor, of his words. Mr Smith sends his regards. They were quiet words against her lips as Tommy passed by.
The morning brought a clarity that was calming. When Adelaide's eyes blinked open, she was met with the golden glow of the rising sun, peaking through the filthy panes of the windows. She let out a groan, shuffled, and turned, remembering only then that it was not her own home that she was in.
Tommy stirred at the same time she did, opening his eyes to rest on hers, as if he knew at each waking moment where she was in the room. Her breath caught as the images of the previous night flooded back through her memories.
I couldn't let you walk into a trap.
Adelaide had made her knowledge so obvious. How desperately she wanted to tell him everything, to tell him who she was and let him know each inch of her. Harry had complicated things, had come in with guns blazing and dazed her into a wariness that she didn't know how to navigate.
"You came to warn me," he said.
His eyes were tired but so bright. Adelaide had to look away as he stood.
"Little use I was."
Tommy's hand tucked beneath her chin, making her eyes rise.
"How did you know?"
She didn't say anything, only remained locked in his gaze.
"How did you know?"
Before she could answer, the front door burst open. Finn came rushing forward, his face flushed from exertion. Polly was soon in the doorway, panicked just as her nephews were. Tommy shared a look with her.
"The police are in the lane, Tommy!"
"They're looking for you," Adelaide said, and Tommy nodded in confirmation.
His eyes settled on his Aunt, who only nodded, predicting what his next words would be. Already he was moving toward the door, pulling his dark jacket over his creased, white shirt.
"I'll go to Charlie's yard, grab the car."
"No." Adelaide grabbed him by the elbow, stopping him in his tracks. Polly's eyes were dark, watching, more intimidating that Tommy's bright stare. "Come with me. They won't know where to look."
He didn't argue, nor did his Aunt, only followed her through the back door, ducking into the back lane. She knew the quickest way- down Hazelmere to Church Lane, then back toward the flat at the end of a small alley street. Watery Lane was crowded with coppers, but they slipped through the end of the crossings with ease, as they settled onto the house that Polly now guarded.
She prayed that Harry would not be at the door when they arrived. There were conversations that would be had in the future but now was not the time. Tommy Shelby was unpredictable. The gang had caused trouble for the Peaky Blinders. There was no telling how he would take the truth.
Slipping through the door, Adelaide pushed him to the stairs, hurrying him up. She felt, only for a moment, a wave of nostalgia, brushing sweetly through the air. It was like being a teenager again, sneaking boys past her father on the nights of the dance. But that had always been under more endearing circumstances with easier guards to surpass.
Harry found her hanging in the corridor. He went to open his mouth, his eyes wide with both panic and relief. She had not seen him since the shooting.
"Ade-"
She hushed him with a hand slapped flat over his lips.
"I need you to go to Robert's," she said, and Harry levelled her with a worried eye. "Please. This is important."
He didn't question her. A minute later, Harry was out the door and Adelaide was left with an empty house, Tommy waiting inside of it.
She found him looking around her room, hands buried deep in his pockets, head still shadowed by the cap on his head. When she closed the door behind her, the sound echoing through the small room, he looked up, eyes naturally wide and a startling blue.
"Tea?"
"I don't drink tea."
"I have no whiskey to offer you," she said, avoiding the pointedness of his gaze.
"Then tea it is," Tommy said, his voice sounding quieter with her back to him.
"Trying to impress?"
"Always."
They fell into a silence again, a heavy silence that made the sound of her breath seem impossibly loud. It felt so intimate to have him in her room, under the same roof as her brother- who'd killed two men only hours the evening before. They were stepping dangerously close to the secret Adelaide had concealed for so long. She wanted to let it finally spill from her lips, for the lies to unfold and truth to be revealed, and should she be hurt in the process, so be it. She wanted him to know her.
"Would you talk for me? I can't bare the silence," she said, turning to fiddle with the hot teapot on the dresser, head down. "I rather like your voice."
"I thought I sounded stupid?"
She flushed deeply at the memory of her drunken embarrassment.
"I find I've become quite endeared to the accent," she said. Yet no talking would come.
She could feel his presence at her back. So close. Adelaide dared not breathe, dared not turn back. She couldn't bare to look at his eyes. He held such a haunting gaze, as if he'd seen the world and hated it all. But his arms were encircling her. So slow. He began with his fingers touching her waist, trailing down to press against the bones of her hips, and then forward around her stomach. So low.
Against the pressure, she let out a hiss, head bowing deeper, chin almost resting against her chest. Tommy's head was against her neck, nose buried in her hair. A hand reached back, her fingertips brushing down the rough, stubbled skin of his jaw.
"I feel like I know you," she said, voice a whisper.
Like I've seen your soul, bared out in front of me. Like I was meant to be here all along.
He turned her around then, brought a hand to nurse her cheek, so softly yet so desperately that she had to comply. Adelaide was like gel in his hand, so moldable to his touch, willing and wanting. Tommy leaned in before she could react, lips taking hers, hands pressing on her lower back, digging deeper and closer.
They were moving backwards, step by step, almost like a dance, until her legs hit the wooden frame of a bed and she went toppling backwards, landing in a flurry of dark fabric and darker hair.
"You knew. You warned me. You knew." His voice was little more than a whisper, a rough grumbled against his skin. It sounded like a chant, like a prayer, something to break through his confusion. "You knew, you warned me," he said, almost struggling with himself, with the possibilities that such a thing could lead to. A second later, he was quiet again, overcoming such worry with raw desire, kissing her deeply.
The bed was soft against her back, his skin smooth against hers. Adelaide could feel every inch of him and wanted to feel more.
Their breathing was ragged by the time her head fell back against the pillow, her eyes flickering closed. Her lashes felt heavy against her cheeks. Tommy was warm at her side, his body bare as hers, tucked together like pieces of a puzzle.
"I don't hear the shovels on the wall," Tommy said.
She pressed her lips against his and devoured him once more.
Edited.