Chapter 5

The antique clocked ticked past the hours until Tommy and Arthur came home. My back ached from the angle I was forced to sit in the chair, and my eyelids grew heavy. Somehow my body was exhausted from the ordeal it had been through and all I craved was to be back in my bed at home, covered in silk with a roaring fire crackling beside me as I drifted to sleep.

The thought must have lulled me into a light sleep, because before I knew it a door slammed shut and I jerked upright. It took a moment of confusion to regain my bearings — Peaky Blinders. Small Heath. Shelby. I sent a silent prayer that my father would get me out of here soon, that his pride would win over his apathy.

"Go on, John," I heard Tommy say from the next room over. "The night is yours at last."

John grunted. "Bit fucking late now."

"The Garrison's still open, John. Arthur'll head back with you. There's a few bookies got lucky in the weekend, they're buying a pint for anyone who'll so much as look in their direction."

There was a pause before the scraping of a chair, the rustling of a coat, the sharp clap of what I presumed to be Arthur's hands on John's shoulders. I waited with bated breath as Tommy began his slow, torturous entrance to the main room, lighting a cigarette as he strolled. He stood in the doorway in silence, considering me as he drew in the tobacco smoke. I filled my line of sight with all the venom I could muster. My spine ached.

"Pleasant evening?" He asked conversationally.

"Where am I to sleep?" I asked.

He inclined his head. "I've spent many a night falling asleep while working. You'll find the chairs are quite comfortable."

"You weren't handcuffed to the table leg."

"No," he finally agreed. "No, I wasn't."

"You kick up all that fuss about me not eating tea, now you're depriving me of a place to rest?" I asked.

Tommy strolled slowly into the room. "Awfully demanding for a hostage, aren't you? You'll be wanting a fair wage, next."

I took a sharp breath. "If you wanted to kill me, you would have done it by now. The fact you haven't suggests you plan very much on letting me out of here alive. You know who my father is, but you know very little about me, because I keep it that way. So, what you don't know, is how many men I have killed. How proficient I am with a gun. Or with torture." I kept my face even. "And when I'm gone from this place, very much alive, I'll have a great deal of time on my hands to think. To remember. And I can remember the Shelby's as shrewd businessmen, to whom I was unfortunate collateral, but treated very kindly given the circumstances. Or I can remember you as savages who forced me to go without toileting or sleeping, stripping me of all my dignity." I set my jaw. "The choice is yours, Mister Shelby. Choose wisely."

Tommy did not speak until his cigarette had burned all the way to the filter. "Shrewd businessmen, eh? Alright then, Kimber. As a businessman, I'll cut you a deal."

He left the room quickly, his footsteps tapping out to where I couldn't hear them any more. After a minute or two I almost gave up hope and resigned myself to an uncomfortable night in the wooden chair. But then Tommy returned, with a steaming bowl in his hands that smelled of vanilla. He placed it in front of me, spoon on the table.

"Sponge pudding," he said. "Ada's homemade. Custard, of course." He placed two fingers beneath my sullen chin and tilted it back, raising my face to look at him. "You eat, and you'll get a bed."

"Surely water's more important than food," I replied, stalling for time before needing to answer.

Tommy turned swiftly and left the room again, returning with a pewter jug and a glass. He placed them before me.

"We also have whiskey, if you'd prefer."

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I was not my father. I would not be ruled by pride. I would act nice, play along, and when they least expected it, I would escape. I wouldn't rely on Billy Kimber or his boys to save me. I'd end up stuck here in Small Heath the rest of my life if I sat around and left my fate in their hands.

And so I clenched my jaw and swallowed my pride, pouring a glass of water with my one free hand. The smell of the steamed pudding reached my nose and my mouth began to water instantly. I hid just how appetising I found it, controlling myself, picking up the spoon slowly. You're not giving in, I reminded myself. You're surviving. And once you're out of here, you can kill them all for what they've done to you.

I pictured drawing a pistol on Tommy Shelby. Or, better yet, taking him hostage. Getting him back. A small smile threatened the curve of my lips as I dug my spoon into the dessert and brought it to my mouth.

It was good. In fact, it was heavenly. Beneath Ada Shelby's no-nonsense, communist exterior, she was clearly a good cook. I refused to look at Tommy as I ate, making my way through the portion that was far bigger than I'd serve myself, but surprisingly my body craved every last bite. All I was missing was a decent wine to wash it all down, but I wouldn't dare drink for pleasure in this house. It was bad enough the pudding had tasted so good. I cleared my throat and set the spoon in the bowl.

"Good girl," Tommy said, approaching with the key to the handcuffs. "Wasn't so hard, was it?"

I stayed silent as he released me from the table, but cuffed my hands together. I hated the way his soft fingers, his calloused palms, ran across my wrists. I hated that I hadn't been touched in this way by a man in far too long, since my father killed the last one that dared take me out for dinner.

"Right. Come with me," Tommy said, nudging me. "And no funny business, or you'll be on the wood all night, toileting be damned."

He led me there first, to the bathroom, where I used the loo and tried to clean my face and hands as best I could. I longed for a luxurious bath, the type I'd have in our home in London, with the gold plumbing and lotions that smelt of rose petals. But the sink and a bar of soap would have to do here. I eyed up the window, but it was far too small for even a child to fit through.

Tommy led me to a bedroom, dark but neat, with a metal-framed large bed and heavy sheets in the centre. He paused, raised his eyebrows at me as I stood beside him.

"Lie down, then," he said.

I walked quietly to the bed, running a cuffed hand across the sheets, the colour of dark sand. I would rather sleep with the pigs at home than in this bed, belonging to one Shelby or another — but that was no way to think. I needed my energy. I would rest tonight, memorise the layout of the house, perhaps search this room for a small weapon to keep hidden in my sleeve. A letter opener, there must have been one in the desk in the far wall beneath the window, covered in papers and pens. One of those draws would hold something, I thought, as I pulled back the covers and lay in the bed.

Tommy followed my gaze, and it was as though he read my mind.

He kneeled on the bed beside me, shirt buttons stretching across his chest as he moved, leaning forward and seizing my cuffed hands with just one of his own. He lifted them above my head. My breath caught in my chest — I didn't know whether from fear, anger, or something else entirely. Tommy dipped his head low until it was close to mine, so close I could see each one of his eyelashes, feel his breath against my cheek.

The snap of metal above my head brought me back to my senses.

"You've chained me to the bed?" I hissed, bringing up my knee to shove him away.

"Be sensible, Kimber," he said in a warning tone as he stood up. "I have to take precautions."

"If my father or any of his boys find me chained to a bed, you'll pay in more than just blood, Shelby," I snapped.

"You asked for one. You practically threatened me for one. We negotiated. Now you're here, and you decide you have a problem."

"I didn't realise I'd be cuffed here like some whore," I spat.

Thomas blinked. "Is that why it bothers you?"

"Release me. Now."

Tommy sighed. "Can't, I'm afraid. But Arthur'll be up to get you in the morning. Big day ahead of us, tomorrow. Get some of that rest you've been looking forward to."

He turned to leave.

"Fuck you, Shelby." I tried to twist, but my arms refused, stretched in pain. "I will have my revenge."

Thomas chuckled before leaving and locking the door. "I'm looking forward to it."