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mischievouslittlecreature · 13 days ago

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Part 21: The Shadow of the Abattoir

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x OC

Summary: Lucy begins the long recovery from what Luca did to her, while the Shelbys prepare for Bonnie's boxing match.

Word Count: 5,254

Notes: Warnings for depictions of PTSD, injuries, chronic pain, and references to torture.

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Chapter 26: Lost Forever

Audrey entered Luca’s room to find it in complete disarray. The papers that he kept spread across his desk were all over the floor, chairs and tables overturned in the sitting room, a lamp smashed on the thin rug, along with the shattered remains of crystal glasses and a decanter filled with amber liquid.

Her eyes swept over the scene of destruction, lips pursing.

When Matteo came to her lodgings, eyes wide and begging her to please come at once, she had almost sent him away. She probably would have, had it been anyone else asking for her help. She was the matriarch of the Changretta family, and she answered the summons of no one.

“Luca,” she said, stepping deeper into the room, towards where he was seated on the couch, staring straight ahead, gnawing so hard on the toothpick wedged between his teeth that she thought he might splinter it in half. Glass crunched under her heels.

She lowered herself into the seat beside him, keeping her back straight, watching her son scrutinizingly.

“What happened?”

He didn’t answer her, and Audrey bristled.

“When your mother asks a question, you answer it, Luca.”

“She got away,” he growled, eyes still staring straight ahead. “She fucking got away.”

“Who?”

“The Red Demon. Lucy Winters.”

Audrey felt her stomach fall into her toes, though she did not let it show on her face. “How?”

Luca shook his head. “Shelby found her, we think. The fucking gardener was found this morning, laid out on the doorstep of one of our old businesses, with his throat cut and his eyes torn out.”

“The gardener talked? But I thought you had men protecting him…”

“Yeah. Two men who we can’t locate. They were last seen at a pub with Smith. They were probably drunk when the Peakys arrived. Didn’t stand a fucking chance. Not that anyone who was at the pub that night will tell us anything.”

Audrey cursed in Italian under her breath. “But you left guards with Winters.”

“They’re all dead.”

“All of them?”

“Yes. Shelby must have killed them all.”

“Or she did.”

Luca finally looked at her. “She was barely able to stay conscious when I left her. She’s cut up and beaten within an inch of her life. There’s no way that she–”

“How many times do I have to tell you to stop underestimating her before you listen to me!?” With a sharp, controlled movement, she cuffed him around the back of the head like she used to when he was small. “If any of your men gave her so much as a sliver of an opportunity, I promise you that she took it.”

“And killed all of them?”

She looked around the room, a casualty of Luca’s wrath undoubtedly after he learned the news of Winters’s escape. Her mind wound back to when Lucy Winters first arrived in Small Heath. The stories that had soon began to follow her. “She’s done it before.” She turned her gaze back onto her son. “You should have just killed her when you had the chance.”

“We’ll get her back.”

“No, you won’t. Thomas isn’t going to let her out of his sight now.” Frustration mounted in her veins, making itself known through a venomous look thrown Luca’s way, shaking her head. “You had the opportunity of a lifetime. You had her in your clutches. Do you understand how profound of an effect her death would have had on Thomas? They say he went half mad with grief over his wife’s death. What do you think killing Winters would have done to him? It would have crippled him. Or we could have used her as a bargaining tool. Or bait. Something.” She stood, towering over him, her disappointment mounting with every passing moment. How could he have been so stupid!? “And you just wanted to play out some silly little revenge fantasy. Instead of actually using your victory to your advantage. Your father and I taught you better than that.”

“Isn’t that what this all is? Revenge, mother? I was paying her back for all the pain she’s caused. She was there when they tortured my father. She’s already killed more than a handful of our men. She deserved to know what it felt like. Besides, she’s not going to be much use to Shelby at all with how badly injured she is.”

Audrey shook her head. No use. He really thought that the woman who likely kept Thomas Shelby standing upright with her mere presence was of no use to him. “You have not listened to a single word that I’ve said, have you?”

Luca looked up at her, hurt cracking across his eyes. “I’ve done everything that you’ve told me to do.”

Head shaking back and forth, she went to the door.

“There’s the boxing match next week. We’ll strike a blow, then,” Luca called after her.

“Better pray it’s a big one, then. Because you’re running out of time.”

∗ ∗ ∗

Lizzie pushed the door to the bedroom open with her fingertips, peering in to find Lucy asleep, curled on her side in bed, a quilt pulled up over her chest, bandages wrapped around what looked to be most of her body. Tommy was hunched over in a chair at her bedside, Lucy’s hand in his. Ada was standing next to him, her hand on his shoulder while she looked down at Lucy’s sleeping figure.

“How is she?” she asked. Tommy cleared his throat, wetting his lips.

“Her back is…shredded. He whipped her,” Lizzie saw his hand tighten where it rested against his knee. “He reopened all her scars from…” he paused as if unable to bring himself to actually say it out loud, “from what happened to her in London before she came to us.”

“Jesus,” Ada breathed, a hand going to her lips.

“She took a bullet to her shoulder. I removed it. Cleaned and stitched her up. Gave her something for the pain and to help her sleep.” He rubbed a hand down his face. “She said that he bound her from the ceiling so that she was dangling with her arms above her head for days. I don’t…” he had to pause to get his voice under control. Ada rested a hand on his upper arm while he bowed his head. “I don’t know what kind of permanent damage that might’ve done.”

“But she’s alive.”

“Yes,” he agreed, though there was something in his voice that seemed to indicate that he wasn’t wholly confident in that statement.

“I’ll take Charlie for a few nights. He shouldn’t see her like this.”

“Thank you.”

“And Polly and Arthur will deal with everything else for the time being. You don’t need to worry about it. There’s still Bonnie’s boxing match with Alfie’s boy, but…”

“Someone needs to call Alfie and tell him we found her.”

“Already done. He said to tell you that he’ll deal with the last few arrangements that need to be made for the fight.”

“Right.”

“Doctor Evans will be here within an hour.”

“Good.” Lizzie wondered if the doctor was going to be in for a good scolding for not coming right as soon as he was called.

There was the clack of nails against the hardwood floor in the hallway, and then Asher was squeezing around Lizzie’s legs, nosing open the slightly ajar door to wander into the bedroom. Bypassing both Tommy and Ada, he raised his head to sniff at Lucy’s face. His tail drooped, ears falling downwards as a small whine left his throat. Tommy reached out to stroke the dog’s back.

“I know, boy. I know. She’s okay.”

Asher looked back at him, then to Lucy, whining again. Tommy drew him away gently.

“Let her sleep, Ash.”

The black shepherd let out another soft whine, laying down next to the bed with his head on his paws, his dark brown eyes fixed dutifully on Lucy, watching over her protectively.

“Do you need anything else?” Ada asked, hand smoothing up and down Tommy’s back.

“No.”

“Call me if you do. I’ll gather up Charlie and head home. I think Polly was planning on sleeping over in one of the spare rooms.” She stood.

“Ada,” he called, mindful to still keep his voice quiet enough that he would not wake Lucy. She turned back to him. “Thank you.”

She gave him a tiny small and a quick nod, before going to the door. Her grave gaze met Lizzie’s, reaching out only to give her a squeeze to the arm before heading to the stairs, leaving her standing in the doorway alone.

Hands ringing together, Lizzie turned back to the bedroom, taking a cautious step forward into the room.

“Tommy?”

He started at the sound of her voice, head raising. His eyes looked red rimmed and tired. “What?”

She ignored the bite of hurt at his sharp tone, reminding herself that he’d had more than a trying couple of days. “I’m going to go home.”

His gaze sharpened. “Luca knows where you live.”

“I know, but I don’t think he’ll come after me right now. And…” she looked at his hand still clasped tightly in Lucy’s. Her heart twisted and fractured in her chest. “I can’t stay here.” I can’t watch you love someone else.

Tommy’s eyes searched hers, and she swore that she saw a spark of guilt as he read what was likely obvious in her gaze. “Does your house have a spare room?”

Her annoyance flared. “You’d know if you actually came to visit.”

Tommy looked away, jaw tightening. She took a deep breath.

“Yes, it does.” Her voice was softer.

“Skudboat will be sleeping there until the vendetta is over. And I’ll have multiple armed guards watching the house at all times. Isiah will be re-vetting all of your staff too, before they come back to work.”

“Fine.”

“All right, then.”

That was clearly her cue to leave, but she hesitated, gaze shifting to the tiny figure curled up on the bed. “Is she going to be okay?” she asked, voice hardly a whisper. Tommy’s shoulders heaved, and for a second she thought that he wouldn’t answer.

“No. No, she won’t.” His voice was low and mournful, as if she had died and was gone forever rather than asleep right in front of him. A shiver went down Lizzie’s spine, looking in slight alarm at the woman who’d caused her so much emotional turmoil.

Three days of brutal torture. That was enough to leave anyone scarred in and out for life. She wondered in what ways Lucy would be changed after this.

Chilled by the thought, Lizzie quickly made for the door.

∗ ∗ ∗

“Lucy.”

She sat on the edge of the bed, hands resting on the mattress on either side of her, eyes staring blankly at a spot on the floor. Tommy pushed the bedroom door closed with a click behind Doctor Evans, leaving Polly to escort him out while he came to sit down beside her.

“Sweetheart?”

A choked off sob left her lips, hand flying to her mouth a second too late to try to contain it.

“Hey,” he wrapped his arm around her carefully, pulling her into his side. “It’s okay.”

She shook her head furiously from side to side, turning her face to bury in his shoulder.

“It’s gonna be okay, baby. Doctor Evans said that all those cuts will heal…”

Yes, to leave disgusting, raised scars in their wake.

But that wasn’t even what was really bothering her.

“My-my shoulders…” she managed to whimper out, and she felt Tommy tense a little against her.

“He said with time and the right exercises, you might be able to minimize the long-term damage done to them…”

She shook her head. She’d seen the look in Doctor Evans’s eyes, same as he had. That much time spent with her arms positioned over her head, with her entire body weight dangling from them, had likely done catastrophic damage to the nerves. And yes, he may have given her a set of exercises and stretches to do once the inflammation went down and her cuts healed enough that she wouldn’t risk reopening them, but she had seen it in his face. It would never be the same again. Her range of motion in them would be permanently impacted, and she’d likely have pains in them for the remainder of her life.

“I can’t…I might not be able to…” Why couldn’t she just get the bloody words out? Was she really so useless now that she couldn’t even speak? “What use am I to you now?” she forced herself to ask in a hoarse whisper. Tommy’s eyes widened, scooting closer to her.

“What do you mean?”

Her mind tumbled over itself with all the potential implications that her injuries could have. “What if I can’t fight anymore? Or the pain gets so bad I can barely function? What if I can’t do my job? Or…or…or…” her chest started to spasm, cinching hard and closing off her ability to speak, sobs and harsh gasps rattling in her lungs.

“Lucy, Lucy, Lucy…” Tommy gathered her up in her arms, pulling her in close to his chest. “Shh,” he started to rock her from side to side, hand cradling the back of her skull protectively. “It’s okay. It’ll be okay.” There was so much confidence in his voice that she was in danger of actually believing him. “I’ll take care of you. If you need physical accommodations for anything, we’ll sort them out, all right?”

“But–”

“Love, you’re useful for far more than just swinging fists.” Tommy tried to reassure, leaning back to smooth away her tears with his thumbs, cradling her face in his big palms. “Don’t worry about any of that right now. There’s nothing that could ever make me toss you aside, okay?” His lips brushed against her forehead. “All you need to focus on is healing and resting, eh?”

She swallowed, nodding shakily, taking a deep breath to try to steady herself. Gaze fixing with Tommy’s, she let the deep blue of his eyes ground her, reminding her that she was safe and looked after. Tommy gave her a small, reassuring smile.

“Good girl. C’mere.” He guided her gently into laying back down on the bed on her side, and she felt a pulse of fondness at the way he immediately began fussing over her. Fluffing her pillow and pulling the blankets up to her chin. “What do you need? Are you hungry? I think Ada or Polly made soup, if you want some.” He stood at her bedside, ready to jump at any request she might give him.

“Could you just come lay with me for a bit?”

His eyes softened, nodding and climbing in under the blankets next to her. He rested his arm lightly around her waist, taking care not to touch her back or jostle her bandages.

“I’m sorry,” she rasped, cheeks warming at her little meltdown and how frantic and irrational she probably had seemed.

“Oh, sweetheart, no. You don’t have to apologize for anything.”

Resting her hand on his forearm, Lucy rubbed her thumb back and forth against the soft material of his undershirt. He had changed into just a white Henley identical to the one he gave her to pull over her bandages, and a pair of trousers.

“I’m so sorry that I didn’t find you sooner,” he said, thumb stroking her cheekbone.

She shook her head. “I know that you did the best you could.” Adjusting herself, she stifled a wince at accidentally placing too much pressure on her bruised ribs. There wasn’t really any part of her that she could lay on without any discomfort, but being on her side was significantly better than being on her back. “How did you find me?”

“Our boys found Lizzie’s gardener who sold you out. His name was Paul Smith. Xavier Smith’s father. You remember Xavier Smith, right?”

Ah, that explained why the old man gave her up, then. “Yes.”

“I got him to talk.”

“How?”

He looked down. She inched her face closer to his in encouragement, until their noses almost brushed.

“I pulled out both his eyes.” The way that he looked at her suggested that he expected her to recoil in horror, but she did no such thing, hardly even blinking at the revelation.

“Is he still alive?”

A tiny, half sheepish smile crossed Tommy’s lips. “No. Not unless he can live with his head nearly sawed off.”

“You did that for me?” she asked, eyes wide.

“Of course,” Tommy said, as if there had never been any question in his mind that he would. “I had to find you.”

She put her head on his chest, weak arms looping around his middle. He rested his palms on her gingerly, careful not to pull at her bandages when he held her.

“Try to get some more rest.”

“When’s the fight between Bonnie and Goliath?”

“In a week.”

“I want to come.”

He drew back to look at her worriedly. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to overdo it.”

“I’m sure. I…” biting her lip, she glanced towards the window, then back at him. “I don’t want to be alone right now.”

He looked her up and down. “Okay.”

“Thank you,” she put her head on his chest, blinking slowly as exhaustion took hold of her once more. Tommy’s hand continued to pet at her hair.

“Get some sleep, love. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

And he was, when she woke but only a few short hours later, screaming.

Her brain was fogged over with panic, hands scratching and scrabbling, legs kicking to try to fight off the monsters that moments ago she had been certain were surrounding her.

“Lucy! Lucy!”

Her eyes darted around the room madly, searching for any signs of Luca looming in the dark corners, wicked grin pulling at the corners of his lips as he prepared to elicit more pain onto her.

“It’s okay. You’re safe.”

A hand rested lightly on her shoulder, and she thrashed violently, crying out, swatting with flailing hands.

“Get off of me!” she screamed, trying to scramble away. He was here. He was here and he was going to hurt her again unless she managed to get away…

“Lucy.” Two strong arms wrapped around her waist, pinning her arms to her sides, keeping her from rolling away. She tried to kick out, one foot colliding hard with the wall to her left with a bang. “It’s me. It’s me. Come here. Come here.”

Her breaths were coming out in fast, frantic little bursts, eyes bulging in their sockets.

“Deep breaths,” the voice behind her commanded, and she felt a stockily built chest rise as its owner’s lungs filled with oxygen, then slowly lower as he let the breath out. “Match my breathing, come on.”

Her mind finally managed to catch up with what was going on around her, or at least enough that she was able to recognize that the voice rumbling her ear very much was not the hissing murmur that belonged to Luca Changretta.

Her lungs stuttered, then almost unconsciously started to match the deep rise and falls of Tommy’s chest against her.

“That’s my girl,” he said, at her growing still. “Do you see the pictures on the wall?”

She had to squint to make them out in the darkness, but across from the bed she found the painting of a horse standing in a forest, the leaves changing colors with the seasons and fluttering to the grass that the mare was grazing upon in a layer of reds, oranges, and yellows.

Tommy’s cheek was resting against hers, his breath warm against her ear. She could feel the rumble of his voice in his chest when he spoke again.

“The items on the nightstand?”

Her gaze cast over. To the little lamp. A half filled glass of whiskey. An ashtray dusted with black ash, with too many cigarette butts to count smashed in its center.

“Uh huh.”

“He doesn’t have you anymore.” She felt Tommy relax as he felt the tension in her start to slip away. “You’re safe,” his lips just barely ghosted across her temple. “You’re safe, Lucy. There you go.”

Certain that she was actually lucid and calmed, he loosened his grip on her, pulling away slightly to flick on the lamp, washing the entire room in its dull, golden glow. Lucy cringed and squinted at the sudden change in brightness.

Sinking down into the mattress, she drew her arms up to her chest, tremors starting to wrack through her body, eyes welling with tears. Her back connected with the bed, and she sharply jerked away from it with a yelp.

Whether it was that action that caused the following hurricane of pain, or just what drew her mind’s attention to it, she wasn’t sure. It didn’t entirely matter, the result was the same. She was suddenly deeply aware of just how much everything hurt.

It was howling within her, her wounds screaming and muscles aching. Her back once more felt as though it had been set ablaze. Her split skin throbbed. Her shoulders hurt so badly it sent sparks of white flaring across her eyes.

A sob left her lips, twitching as though she might be able to wriggle away from the pain. But moving only made everything worse.

“Luce?” And then Tommy was there, leaning over her with wide, worried eyes. “Sweetheart, what is it?”

“H-hurts…” she barely could get the word out, but it was enough. Tommy shot up, reaching for the nightstand, pulling from the drawer the bottle of morphine that the doctor had left for her, along with a prescription for more if she needed it. He snatched up the glass of whiskey, downing the remaining of the amber liquid, then pouring a small amount of her medicine into the glass.

“Drink this,” he held it to her lips. The morphine was cold as it touched her tongue and slid down her throat. “Come here,” setting the glass aside, he reached out for her, smoothing his hand along the side of her face. “Look at me. Focus on my voice. Just give it a few minutes love, hm? You’ll be okay.”

Just as he said, it took only a few minutes, and the pain was dulled, her eyes starting to feel heavy again.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, sniffing. Tommy shook his head.

“It’s okay.”

With a sigh, she let her head rest on his chest. “‘M a fucking mess,” she lamented sorrowfully.

“No, honey. No, you’re not. You’re just recovering. It’s alright. I gotcha.” He put his arms around her. “Light on or off?”

“Off.” It was too bright with it on. She felt his muscles flex against her as he reached over to flick it off. “You’re a good nurse.”

His chest buzzed pleasantly against her ear with a quiet chuckle. “You’re high as a kite, love.” He kissed the top of her head. “Go back to sleep.”

“You don’t have to stay.” She desperately wanted him to, but she didn’t want him to feel like he had to continue to stick around and gather up the pieces every time she fell apart. There was no doubt in her mind that she’d be waking up screaming and thrashing from nightmares probably for the foreseeable future. He was probably exhausted. He needed to rest too. “I’ll probably keep waking you up…”

“Good.” His thumb stroked her cheek. “I want you to wake me up every time that you need something.”

Her lips pouted with the desire to cry again at how nice he was being towards her. She stroked her fingers lazily across his chest, feeling how warm and strong he was; reassuring herself that she was probably as safe as was realistically possible when in the circle of his arms.

His fingers curled under her chin, tilting her face up to look into his. “I love you, Lucy,” he kissed her softly, lips soft as a pillow against hers. Tears filled her eyes.

“I love you too.”

He smiled at her gently, placing another kiss between her brows. “Sleep,” he said, and encouraged her to snuggle back down into his chest.

∗ ∗ ∗

Lucy stared at her reflection in the mirror in the washroom, hands gripping either side of the sink’s basin, knuckles white, lip caught between her teeth. Glassy, dead green eyes looked back at her, their judgment harsh and sharp.

God, she looked fucking awful.

The bruises on her face had faded into unflattering shades of purple, green, and yellow. Her skin was sickly, eyes bloodshot and surrounded by dark circles.

And that wasn’t even taking into account the rest of her. She looked like she had been patchworked back together, like a blanket with dozens of holes in it that had been mended with other various scraps of fabric. Or maybe like a crude attempt at dressing up like Frankenstein’s monster.

She knew that the other women–Polly, Ada, Linda, and Lizzie–had all planned to get dolled up in elegant, beaded dresses and expensive jewels and furs for the occasion of Bonnie’s boxing match. There was no way that she could go out like that. The best she would be able to do was dress in layers that would prevent her bandages from getting disturbed too much, and hope that she could hide most of the bruises on her face with makeup.

Tugging at the white button down and trousers she had already pulled on earlier with Tommy’s help, she frowned, pulling her belt a few notches tighter to cinch more securely around her waist. After three days of being fed only tiny scraps of bread, she had lost weight. Also probably not helped by the fact that she’d barely had the appetite to eat anything save for small servings of chicken noodle soup for most of the past week.

Leaning closer to the mirror, she dabbed a little more makeup over a bruise on her cheekbone, trying hard not to wince at the way that the movement pulled tightly at her shoulders.

She did not realize just how much she raised her arms up over her head until she was practically unable to. She couldn’t even grab her favorite mug from the cupboard because it was on a high shelf.

A soft knock sounded at the door. “You okay in there, love?” Tommy’s voice called. Lucy sighed, rubbing at her face.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Be out in a second.”

He had hardly left her side for the last week. Even getting him to let her use to loo on her own had taken a significant amount of convincing. But she appreciated the worry. Frankly the idea of not being close to him was enough to have her teetering on the edge of a panic attack.

Wiping her hands on a towel, she looked herself up and down one last time in the mirror, sighing and determining that this was probably about as good as she was going to be able to manage at the moment.

When she stepped out into the hall, it was to find Tommy leaning against the opposite wall, turning a cigarette over and over between his fingers anxiously. He straightened when he saw her, wedging the cigarette between his lips and holding out a hand to help usher her back into the bedroom.

Her fingers fiddled together as she stepped towards the bed, picking up her waistcoat and shoving her arms through the holes, thankful that it buttoned in the front so she wouldn’t have to raise her arms to get it on. Tommy approached her, reaching out to do up the buttons for her, then helping her into her matching suit jacket and coat.

It felt strange to be in her normal clothes after over a week spent in bed in little more than one of Tommy’s shirts. Not exactly a bad strange, though. It would probably do her good to return to a routine.

Tommy smiled down at her, brushing a fallen curl back behind her ear. “Ready?”

“I look like shit.”

His brows pulled together, thrusting out a hand for her to take so he could draw her closer to him, head angling down to kiss her. “You look beautiful. C’mon.”

His fingers squeezed around hers as he led the way down the stairs and to the door. The fresh air, no matter how smoky, felt good on her cheeks after so many days spent cooped up inside.

“You know, you don’t have to come if you aren’t feeling up to it. I’m sure Ada would be happy to stay with you,” Tommy said as they walked. His gait was noticeably slower than usual, to make sure that she wouldn’t struggle to keep up.

Lucy shook her head. The idea of not being with him left her feeling panicky.

“I want to stay with you.”

“Okay,” he didn’t question her. “But you let me know if you’re in pain. Or if you need to go home.”

“Okay.”

Once they got to the boxing ring, she stood at his side, keeping her cap on despite them being indoors, her head angled down to let the shadows it cast partially hide the bruises on her face. Her arms looped through his, hoping that it looked more like she was just lingering close to him as she so often did, and not because she needed to lean on him for stability. The shouts of men and the crush of bodies crowded together seemed louder and more overwhelming than usual. But that may have been because she was pretty sure that if someone jostled into her too hard, she would tip over.

Just before the first round started, Tommy drew her away, his grip firm to help support her as they weaved through the tight maze of hallways that made up the backrooms.

“I thought it would be good for us to sit somewhere quiet for a minute,” he explained, guiding her to a bench in one of the locker rooms. “How are you doing?”

“Fine,” she took the cigarette that he offered her, leaning into his side when he sat down beside her. He gingerly wrapped his arm around her, resting the side of his head against her hair.

Her physical ailments aside, what unnerved her the most was her mind. That feeling of numbness and desolation that had overtaken her the day that Tommy brought her home had not abated. Had not even eased at all, really.

Was this what her mind was to be like, now? Aching and constantly overstimulated? Both simultaneously feeling everything and nothing?

She did not want to live like that.

“Lucy?” Tommy asked, thumb stroking her shoulder through the material of her coat.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” she blurted out. It really meant a lot; she knew that she wasn’t particularly fun to be around right now, and with the thousands of other things he had to worry about, that he’d chosen to prioritize her was no small thing.

“Love, you don’t have to thank me for that. It’s what we do.”

She allowed herself a small smile at that, despite the unending anxiety that plagued her; that feeling that there was yet another piece of her that had died in that church. A part of her that was lost forever.

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mischievouslittlecreature · 3 months ago

Text

Part 21: The Shadow of the Abattoir

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x OC

Summary: Mistakes are made, and the consequences have begun to come home to roost.

Word Count: 4,415

Notes: Don't ask me why I continue to chose to write things that require a good deal of action when it's one of my weakest points as an author. But I did try to do a few things stylistically to make it hopefully a little less painful to read. Warnings for depictions of violence, blood, decapitation, and pregnancy.

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Chapter 17: Heads Will Roll

Luca was still inside the truck when, to his horror, the roar of machine gunfire began to assault them from above. One of his boys who had already stepped out into the square went down, blood spraying from the holes that the weapon ripped through his torso.

He had just enough time to burst from the doors of the van and dart behind it, using the body of the truck for cover from the barrage of bullets raining down on them. He only had the briefest of moments to catch sight of Shelby up on the terrace above them, hunched behind a massive machine gun aimed down at where they were all gathered in the square.

For a moment, his head spun, heart hammering in his ears, trying to process just what the actual fuck had happened.

One second, they were following Shelby’s car into a secluded little square surrounded by apartment buildings, the next, they were being assaulted with seemingly unending gunfire.

His teeth gritted. It had been Polly Gray. That bitch had baited him. Shelby had probably been in on the whole fucking thing from the beginning.

There were no easy exits, and very limited cover, especially with Shelby already up above them with a bird’s eye view of the square. They were like rats in a fucking barrel.

His finger flexed preparedly against the trigger of his gun, waiting for the cease in the gunfire. Shelby would have to reload sooner or later. And Luca was fairly certain that it was just him. The little red-haired whore hadn’t been with him when he left the hospital, and if he had any other men with him–especially that mad dog of a brother–they would already know.

There was a brief break in the gunfire, and Luca took his chance, whipping around from his cover behind the truck, firing wildly in the air towards the terrace. Shelby ducked down behind the rail and out of sight, but Luca didn’t stop firing. Behind him, his men joined him in unleashing a storm of bullets in Shelby’s direction. Luca just barely could make out his figure dart from the crate he was huddled behind and into the open door of the flat nearby.

A seize of rage squeezed at Luca’s throat. The fucking bastard was getting away. He roared orders to his men, sending them in different directions to come at the apartment from the multitude of entrances available to them. Matteo and a few others remained behind him as he ducked into a doorway that led to a staircase.

His focus was so intensely turned above, fingers flexing against the trigger of his gun while he climbed the steps, ready to fire in case Shelby suddenly appeared above them, that neither he, nor any of the others, noticed that while they had entered the building with five of them, only four had made it to ascending the stairs.

∗ ∗ ∗

Lucy slowly lowered the heavy body of the Italian to the floor, her left hand clamped tightly over his mouth and nose, the other supporting his shoulder so she didn’t drop him.

They had not even noticed, as she jumped stealthily out of the shadows she’d been crouched in, snatching the Italian lingering at the back of the group after the others began to climb the stairs. She’d cut his throat at the same second she covered his mouth, keeping his sounds contained in the leather of her gloves as he died. It did not take long; her hunting knife cut into him like butter, purposefully angling his body back slightly so that the blood poured out onto his chest, rather than splattering all over the ground.

She kept her movements smooth and silent, slinking up the stairs like a cat. Luca and two of his soldiers were climbing the stairs quickly, their focus up above, where Tommy had been, and not down below. The fourth member of their party had fallen behind a little, taking too long to try to peer out a dirty window. Quick as a viper, Lucy darted forward, and repeated the movements she had just inflicted upon the first Italian, hand clamping over his mouth and carving into his throat with her knife.

It was risky, taking him like that out in the open on the stairwell. But they were still in the shadows, Luca and his men so far up ahead and focused on getting Tommy that they weren’t even considering what might be creeping up on them from behind. Still, after setting the body of her second victim down on the stone steps, Lucy pressed her back against the most shaded wall, waiting until she heard the men step out onto the terrace of the level that Tommy had been shooting at them from. Not that Tommy would be there anymore.

She knew where he was headed next, just like she knew a shortcut through this very stairwell that would lead her right to him.

Halfway up the stairs, she heard an exchange of gunfire from somewhere nearby, her shoulders instinctually drawing in until she realized that it wasn’t for her. It lasted only for a few moments, and then there was silence once more. She continued to race up the stairs, swallowing the bead of fear in her throat.

Please be okay.

She had to figure that he was, otherwise she’d have been hearing the shouts and jeers of victory from the Italians right about now. Angling her head up, she adjusted her grip on the knife, and continued her ascent.

∗ ∗ ∗

Tommy shouldered his way past the sheets hanging from the clotheslines. They fluttered and twitched in the breeze, surprisingly heavy as he pushed through them.

He flinched at the blast of gunfire that sharply followed him, pushing his legs to run faster, barely keeping ahead of the stream of bullets that clinked audibly where they smashed into the railing that lined the roof. The Italian man who had shot at him in the stairwell was still following him.

Tommy raced to the door that led off the roof, then hesitated. The Italian had stopped firing, fidgeting to reload his gun. Fast and silent, Tommy ducked and weaved through the white and blue sheets, taking care to avoid stirring them and giving away his approach.

He came to a stop when he could see the silhouette of the man through the large, white swath of cloth hanging between them. He fired at it, teeth gritting savagely, bullet casings falling to the ground with a tinkle of metal. The white sheet stained red.

There was a shout to his right, and he mentally cursed at the realization that the Italian had brought a friend with him, the man’s rifle already half raised to point at Tommy’s chest.

His movements were impeded by a sudden, violent jerk, eyes going wide as saucers, a hand flying to his throat as a knife embedded itself in the space just below his ear. He went down like a bag of rocks.

“You alright?” Lucy asked, jogging out from behind the fluttering sheets, going to the Italian where he had crumpled and unceremoniously yanking her knife from his neck.

“Yeah. Are you?” he reached out a hand to her, helping her to straighten, looking her over for injuries.

“Yeah.”

“Right. Come on,” he beckoned. She followed right behind him as he pushed his way back through the swaths of drying sheets, leading the way inside. They burst through doors, into apartments containing huddled family members, staring back at them with terrified eyes. Tommy shouted orders for everyone to stay down and inside. Not just in the hopes that they would listen to him and remain out of the crossfire, but also to draw Luca in and after him with the sound of his bellowing voice.

“Do they know you’re with me yet?” he asked Lucy as they rushed down a hallway.

“I don’t think so. I’ve gotten three so far,” she stopped as they came to a staircase. “You go ahead. I’ll stay here and hunt them through the halls. I think that I might be able to get one or two more.”

Tommy hesitated, the thought of just leaving there making his stomach churn. “I don’t…”

“They’re so focused on you, it’ll be a wonder if they see me at all.” She was reaching up to tuck her hair more securely under her cap to hide the distinctive shock of red. “Most likely they’ll just think I’m a tenant of the building. A tiny little woman in an apartment building full of women and children? They won’t give me a second glance.”

“Unless they recognize you.”

She gave him a look, touching his cheek. “I’ll be careful.”

He glanced nervously at the hallway behind her. There was no time to argue. And he trusted that she knew what she was doing. He stooped low to kiss her.

“Be safe.”

“You too.” She took a step back from him, twirling her hunting knife. “Go.”

He cast her one last look, and took off climbing the stairs.

∗ ∗ ∗

“Luca,” Matteo hissed from over his shoulder. “Luca,” he repeated, when he didn’t answer right away.

“What?” Luca growled back, head snapping around the glare at him like an angered dog.

“Where are Vincenzo and Sal?”

Luca looked back down the hall where his men were lined up behind him. Vincenzo, Sal, and Frankie had met up with them inside the apartment, having already swept the lower levels. Good thing, too, considering that Marco and Dante weren’t with them. Strange; he’d thought that they had followed him inside, but they must have stayed out on the square.

But now all he could see were Frankie and Rocco behind him and Matteo.

“Did you tell them to break off?” Luca asked, annoyance sharpening his tone to that of a needle, eyes narrowing in slits at Matteo.

“No! I didn’t say a thing to them.”

His face twitched in frustration, fighting back the urge to shout. “Useless motherfuckers…” they would be in for a sharp reprimand when this was all over. Breaking plans and formation without orders…

“Do you think Shelby might’ve gotten them?”

Luca gave him an unimpressed look. “How?” Unless Shelby had suddenly changed his tactics from shooting to a silent method of killing, or, even more unlikely, managed to somehow sneak around and behind them, there was no way he could have picked off Marco, Dante, Vincenzo, or Sal.

No, it was just his men thinking that they knew better than him. Fucking Matteo, encouraging everyone to read that book about taking initiative a few months ago. What was so wrong with just being a good fucking soldier and listening to your superior officer?

He couldn’t focus on that now. All that mattered was getting Shelby. He was so close. So close to getting the vengeance and justice he had dreamed of for over a year. He would bring Shelby’s head to his mother, he decided. As a gift. She could mount it on her wall. Or place it on a stake outside her house for the crows to feed upon.

He shook his head sharply, and, like a panther stalking its prey through the jungle, began to lead the way down the hall.

∗ ∗ ∗

Frankie peered into the apartments, eyes sweeping over the mother laying facedown on the floor, both arms around her two children, holding them tight against her. She peaked up at him through a curtain of dark hair, gaze massive and terrified.

The creaking of floorboards behind him made him jump, spinning around, gun raised and at the ready. There was no one there, but he swore that he saw a flash of movement through the crack of the door behind him. Rifle still raised, he inched towards it, chancing one quick glance back at where Luca, Matteo, and Rocco were advancing in front of him, heading towards a staircase at the end of the hall, checking inside each apartment as they went.

He pushed the door to the flat open with his fingertips, immediately replacing the hand on his rifle, steadying his aim, preparing to fire upon Shelby the first moment he saw him.

Instead, he was met with a tiny woman crouched down on the floor, her knees pulled up to her chest, head bent to bury her face in them. She had on a large dark coat, and he wondered if she had just gotten in when the shooting began.

A tad disappointed, but also distinctly relieved, at the lack of the man they were seeking, Frankie huffed, lowering his weapon and turning away. Luca had said that they were not to harm any civilians.

He failed to see the blood from Vincenzo and Sal that was staining the woman’s hands, her face so properly hidden from him that he could not make out the splatter of red across one of her pale cheeks, the dark folds of her coat covering the crimson-slathered blade of a hunting knife laying by her feet.

Nor did he have time to process the greatness of the mistake he had made, as the second that he turned his back on the woman, she sprang up with near-paranormal, inhuman speed and silence, seized him from behind, and began to saw into his throat with her knife.

∗ ∗ ∗

Her hands were wet and sticky, the mixture of the Italian’s blood coating them almost entirely. It was mostly from the last two. The last one in particular, had made a considerable mess.

Though to be fair, there was a good reason for that.

She could feel blood sticking to her face and wetting her waistcoat and shirt.

At least no one would ever be able to say that she was afraid to get her hands dirty. The coppery smell seemed to envelope her, familiar and metallic.

She flexed her fingers around the prize she had collected from the last one she’d killed. A little gift for Luca, should they manage to cross paths during this whole bloody affair.

He hadn’t seemed all that concerned that so many of his men had vanished. Too hyper-fixated on Tommy to think of anything else, she assumed. He would be regretting that soon enough.

She heard a few horrified gasps from some of the tenants who saw what she had clenched in her hand as she passed by their doors, but for the most part, everyone remained silent, waiting with baited breath for the gangsters to leave.

Lucy paid them no mind as she moved to the stairs, taking them down towards the exit that led out onto the street. If Tommy had gone upstairs and then went out and down the fire escape, they should meet in approximately the same place.

The sudden cacophony of shooting suddenly thundered from outside, the sound making her wince, fingers tightening around her knife, footsteps hastening down the stairs.

∗ ∗ ∗

“Come on, me and you, Tommy,” Luca jeered, standing out in the middle of the street with his arms spread wide. “Come on.” His machine gun was empty, tossed haphazardly to the ground. He’d ordered Matteo to stand down. He waited with baited breath, watching hungrily as Shelby slowly emerged from his cover, stepping out, gun clutched in his right hand, footsteps loud as thunder as they slowly drew nearer. Luca felt the semblance of a smile emblazon itself upon his face as he stared down his enemy. This was it.

This was what he had been waiting all this time for.

He began to recite the prayer in his head, the one that he had always known would be the one he’d say just before putting a bullet in the face of the man who had stolen his father and brother from him. From his coat, he drew his gun. Shelby’s blue eyes stared at him intensely. He looked like a big cat or a wolf, prepared to pounce at any moment.

But Luca had shot wolves before. On a hunting trip with his father in the mountains in Italy.

He cocked the gun, eyes narrowing slightly, ready to move…

“Hey, Luca!” A voice suddenly shouted from his right. A voice that he recognized. And suddenly he could hear his mother whispering in his ear.

“Wherever Thomas Shelby goes, the Red Demon is never far behind.”

She was walking towards him with purposeful, measured steps, black coat swirling around her legs, red curls dancing around her chin with every movement. She wore the cap of the Peaky Blinders atop her head, and when she turned her head just the right way, he could see the faint glint of the razors sewn into the brim. Blood was splattered across one of her cheeks, and there was something vicious and mad blazing in her green gaze. When she saw him looking at her, her face stretched into a wide grin. She held something dripping and grotesque up in her hand.

“Is this yours?” she shouted, and threw it at him.

He stared, in open-mouthed horror, as Frankie’s head bounced and rolled across the pavement, settling at his feet face-up. Frankie’s eyes were open wide, staring up at him with his mouth slackened into a horrified O. As if begging for Luca to save him.

He looked up, and the demon was standing there, grin widening, mad eyes electric with mirth.

A realization, violent and terrible, came crashing down upon him.

She had been there the whole time, and they had not seen her.

Where were the rest of his men? Probably splayed out in that apartment building, having suffered the same fate as poor Frankie.

As poor Alessio, too.

He had thought that it was those savages Shelby had hired from the mountains who had killed his cousin, but this suggested something else.

It had been her. Lucy Winters. The Red Demon. Thomas Shelby’s bitch, who had cleaved his cousin’s head from his shoulders.

His mother had been right. He had not listened to her warnings, but she had been right.

Everything, from Winters’s announcement of her presence to Luca’s earth shattering realization, happened within the span of about ten seconds. Behind him, Shelby had his arm raised, gun cocked and ready to fire at the back of his head.

And then the police arrived.

They began firing upon them almost immediately, rushing from their vans to swarm them Luca ducked. Shelby tried to fire at him a few times, but missed, and Luca cringed away against the onslaught of gunfire from the gangster and the police, turning heel and racing down the street with Matteo in tow.

The police gave chase, but were easy to lose in the winding alleyways. The moment they were sure they’d lost them, he and Matteo leaned against the cool brick walls, panting. Luca bent over to clutch at his knees, staring at nothing as Matteo began to ramble off frantic questions that he did not really hear into his ear.

Before arriving in Birmingham, Luca had made a list of potential problems and caveats that would need to be dealt with so that they could not impede his mission in enacting his vengeance on Tommy Shelby and his entire family.

The Jewish gang in London had been on the list. As had the Romani people with such close ties to Shelby that they were practically blood. And the people of Small Heath, who for some inconceivable reason, seemed to have developed some sort of fondness for Shelby and his gang.

And now, Lucy Winters was at the top of that fucking list.

∗ ∗ ∗

It took both her and Moss to pry away the three officers who had swarmed onto Tommy. Moss was furious, shouting at both Tommy and his men in equal measure.

“There are three bodies that need cleaning up,” Tommy told him, still a little out of breath, reaching into his pocket and holding out a wad of bills.

“Nine,” Lucy corrected. They both looked at her with wide eyes. She shrugged. “I got six.”

Moss shook his head, cursing under his breath.

“Come on,” Tommy mumbled, indicating for her to follow him as Moss turned to bark more orders to the officers under his command. Why the fuck did they have to show up then? They’d had Luca.

Neither of them said anything for most of the walk back to the Shelby’s house, Lucy digging around in her pocket for a handkerchief that she wiped her face and hands on. Tommy was sullen the whole walk, head down and lips set in a deep frown.

“It’s not all bad,” Lucy tried to raise his spirits. “We didn’t get Luca, but we got a whole lot of his men. Enough to make a dent in his forces.”

He just grunted. She sighed, patting his arm.

Polly was waiting for them inside, a clove cigarette clutched between her fingers, lines of worry etched onto her face. There were several other finished black cigarettes already stubbed out in the ashtray. Clearly she had been smoking and pacing anxiously for a while.

“You alright?” she asked them, taking a cautious step forward once they were inside. Tommy nodded, silently going to put his rifle away. Polly watched him go, then turned back to Lucy, eyes bugging a little out of her head at the sight of her bloodied shirt and waistcoat. “My God–”

“It’s not mine,” Lucy assured, waving her away. Tommy came back, collapsing in a chair, pulling a cigarette from his case. Lucy moved around to stand behind him, smoothing her fingers along his hair. “I need to go change. I’ll be right back.”

He nodded. Polly frowned. Lucy pecked the top of his head, squeezing his shoulder and darting upstairs to their room, stripping out of her bloodied clothes and into some fresh, clean ones, taking a detour to the washroom to make sure she’d gotten all of the blood off of her face and hands.

By the time she came downstairs, she could hear the rumble of engines as the rest of the family pulled up outside. Charlie was playing in the sitting room, while they all gathered in the kitchen.

She sat down in the chair in front of where Tommy stood, twitching with her rings and smoking, not saying much at all as he debriefed with the other family members. The adrenaline was finally starting to leave her system, leaving her to feel jittery.

“Look, I didn’t get Luca, but I got three. All right? Lucy got six. That’s it. That’s what happened,” Tommy explained.

Johnny Dogs whistled. “Six, eh, Winters? You’re giving all of us a run for our money.”

She smiled slightly, still fiddling with her hands, shrugging bashfully. “I got lucky.”

There were footsteps behind them, as Charlie bounded into the doorway. Tommy scooped him up, hoisting him to rest on his hip. Soon, everyone was rising from their seats, Arthur insisting that she and Tommy come with them for a drink. She raised from her chair, shaking out her hands, giving little Charlie a soft smile and a gentle ruffle to his blonde hair.

“You owe me lunch,” she mumbled into Tommy’s ear as they made for the door. He looked at her with a raised brow, head cocking while his lips quirked as he remembered their agreement from before the ambush.

“Mm. I suppose I do, don’t I?”

She giggled, and placed a kiss to his cheek.

∗ ∗ ∗

Tommy watched Lucy shield a yawn with her hand, squinting at the print on the paper she was reading. Dark circles had appeared under her eyes since they’d returned to the office, and he could recognize the telltale unsteadiness that so often settled in after a situation like the one they’d found themselves in earlier that day.

Shifting in his chair, he glanced over at the pictures on his desk, eyes settling on the ones of Grace. One was just of her by herself, a professional photo taken during her days working as an operative, and the other from not long before her death, baby Charlie settled in her lap.

Tommy looked away, gaze focused up on the ceiling miserably. God; what she would have thought of them…

He stood suddenly, well aware that if he continued to just sit there and stew in his own thoughts, he would drown in them.

“Why don’t you go ahead and head home?” he suggested, hand landing on Lucy’s shoulder. She looked up at him quizzically.

“Are you sure?”

“Mhm. I won’t be long. I promise.”

She considered, then nodded. “Okay.” She must have been even more tired than he thought. He took the papers from her, tossing them over onto the desk while she went and got her coat. He followed her to the door, Lucy turning and giving him a quick kiss.

“I’ll see you soon.”

He nodded. “Less than an hour.” Really, all he needed to do was put everything away and lock up for the evening. She gave his arms a strong squeeze, and ducked out the door, mumbling a soft goodbye to Lizzie who was still at her desk.

Tommy busied himself tucking things away and tidying his desk, before going to the shelf of liquor that he kept, pulling out a cigarette and fumbling with a glass. He’d have one last drink, lock everything up, and go home to Lucy and Charlie. It would feel good to just lay in bed with Lucy on his chest, listening to her breathing while she slept, his fingers carding delicately through her soft red hair.

The door opened, and Lizzie stepped in. He glanced back at her, then again to the decanters of alcohol.

“Want a drink, Lizzie? I’ve had a hard day.”

He heard the door click shut behind her when she leaned her back against it. While he had been keeping his distance since the whole incident between her and May, he still tried to be kind and respectful towards her. She was part of the family, after all.

“I don’t drink whiskey or gin anymore, Tom,” Lizzie said after a long pause.

“Why not?” he asked, pouring a glass for himself.

And then she dropped seven little words that carried with them the promise of yanking his entire world completely off its axis:

“Because they say it harms the baby.”

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