Thomas Shelby never thought he would fall in love with a whore. In the bustling streets of 1920s Birmingham, Alicent, a prostitute since her teenage years, with her irresistible charm, had only one goal : to make money. Every encounter was a transac...
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HE DIDN'T KNOW HOW he ended up standing in front of the brothel's door. Well, he did, but he didn't want to admit it to himself.
It had been nearly a month since he last saw her — her hair, her green eyes, her body. He knew that what he said the last time was unforgivable, that the harsh words still echoed in his mind, and yet he couldn't stop himself.
He needed to see her, to make sure she was still there, safe, alive. Just seeing her face would make him feel better.
With a cigarette in hand, he stepped inside, the smoke curling lazily in the air. The vibrant and decadent atmosphere welcomed him like an old friend. The high-pitched laughter and murmured conversations of customers and the girls echoed around him, a melody both familiar and foreign.
He moved through the room, his eyes scanning for her. The music pulsed in his chest, and he knew he couldn't afford to show any vulnerability.
No sooner had he entered, a blonde woman with a bubbly smile approached him, her voice sweet and seductive. "Good evening ! Care to join me for a drink ?"
He pretended to be interested, tilting his head with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Maybe later," he replied nonchalantly, all while continuing to search the room, hoping to catch a glimpse of the silhouette he had been longing for.
The woman wasn't discouraged and kept flirting, but he couldn't focus on her words. His mind was elsewhere, obsessed with finding her. What was she doing ? How was she ?
Tommy finally brushed the blonde aside, his eyes darting impatiently across the room. Suddenly, he saw her, over by the bar, a hand on her face.
He wove through the crowd, his presence drawing a few glances, but nothing could distract him from his goal. He finally reached her, the blonde already forgotten.
"Alicent," he murmured, his voice rougher than usual.
She turned her head slowly, her eyes widening in surprise. "Thomas." The sound of his name on her lips sent a shiver down his spine. But all he could focus on was the bruise. Anger flared inside him, burning him from within.
"Who did this ?"
"It's nothing," she said, looking away as if she wanted to downplay the severity of the situation.
"Nothing ?!" he exclaimed, his tone rising, almost desperate. "You've got a bruise on your cheek ! That doesn't look like nothing, Alicent !"
"It's just an incident. It's not that important." She didn't want to draw attention from the customers or from him.
"Not important ?! You're here, and you... you're hurt ! How can you say it's not important ?"
His anger was palpable, but he didn't know if it was directed at her, her attacker, or himself for not being there to protect her.
