CHAPTER SIX.

               THE WORST THING THAT Felicity Woods had ever done in her entire life was an act that would most definitely seem to be angelic in the eyes of Thomas Shelby and all that he had done.

She had only been thirteen and smitten with one particular boy, but that isn't exactly important. It was the fact that he was anything but interested in her, in her dull life and far from sleek hair and stormy hazel eyes. That is why, with her heart trampled by such an unrequited love, Felicity had broken the window of the pub down the road. She wasn't quite sure why she had done it, and afterwards she had felt ever so ashamed of herself after doing so... and yet she was never sure why, because she had, after all, grown up seeing worse crimes being committed and breaking a window was hardly even considered going against the law. She hated herself, though, but she hated that God forsaken boy even more because he had unknowingly crushed her blonde little heart by not showing the slightest bit of interest in Felicity Woods, with her blonde curls and her carefree attitude and floral dresses.

Thomas had knocked on her door at precisely nine o'clock and with her heart beating in her chest, Felicity had attempted to shake away any worries as he took her arm in his and led her towards his car. The pair had driven for what felt like far too long and Felicity, in her nervous, awkward state, had hardly uttered a word to the man as he drove them away from the smog of Birmingham and through the countryside to the Cheltenham Races.

Once there, Thomas had expertly led the girl through the backdoor and corridors.

Felicity pulled her thin coat further around her shoulders as she turned to Thomas. "Are you sure we're allowed in here?" She asked quietly, trying not to let the anxiety that was raging through her body show out through her words.

Thomas kept his arm firmly on her back as he led her past a group of rowdier men that were passing them. "Well," he said lowly, "I prefer to come to the races the back way. It keeps me out of trouble."

She raised an eyebrow at this, trying to keep her mind off the heat of his touch and instead on where the pair had found themselves. "Is that possible?" Felicity enquired with mocking surprise, speeding up as he did so.

His hand loosened and he nodded down the corridor that they were only a few paces away from turning down. "Tracks are lawless places," Thomas said, ignoring her quip and releasing his hand as he pointed in front of her, "I can't stand petty criminals."

"And I suppose you're only coming here for the horses, Thomas?"

Felicity thought she caught the ghost trail of a bemused smile on his lips and yet when she glanced back again, it was gone, replaced with the normal grim expression. "It's this way," he reminded her gently.

"Will we get to lay a bet?" She asked hopefully.

He chuckled. "Nah," Tommy told her with the laughter lacing his words, as though he were amused by her obvious naïve nature when it came to the races. "Gambling's for mugs. This way."

The heat of his touch appeared yet again as he gently pushed her towards the corridor on their left, and it felt to Felicity as though his hand was burning through the fabric of her dress and onto her fair skin. . . not that she was anywhere close to complaining of it being there.

"You're lucky you're with me, or you'd be wasting your money on fixed races." He sighed at her obvious excitement.

They continued to push their way through the crowds and Felicity noticed the densely populated corridors were thickening with beings, much more so than they had even two or three minutes ago.

"I always wondered," she turned to him with the curiosity burning bright in the warmth of her hazel irises. "How do you fix a race?"

Thomas laughed. "How should I know?"

The two continued on their way with Felicity making idle, nervous small-talk in an attempt to prevent an awkward silence from descending over them. By the time Thomas had pushed through one too many doors, the girl had rambled on for what felt like an age, but was probably only two or three minutes.

"Okay, you do the talking," he ordered, his head moving closer to hers as he lowered his voice as to not be heard clearly by any others. With his arm pulling her towards her so to look as though they were together - rather than just a barmaid and a gangster - he continued to lead her along without a second glance to those passing them.

Her breath hitched in her throat with the newfound anxiety that came with these words. "What?"

"Tell security that you are Lady Sarah Duggan of. . ." His words were cut off as people jostled around the two, and yet Thomas didn't react, which was a pleasant surprise to the girl. Instead, he only excused them before turning back to her. "Lady Sarah Duggan of Connemara, you got lost while you went to look for the boy riding your horse. . . Dandy Flower." He pulled the name from the air quickly and glanced back at Felicity, as though checking that she was all right with everything that he had just said.

"And what about you?"

Thomas didn't falter as he continued and it was suddenly obvious to her that everything here was meticulously planned and all that was left to perfect was the outcome. "If they ask about me, say that I'm Prussian, and don't speak a word of English."

The hammering inside of her heart contrasted the calm outlook that appeared on the man. "What?"

He let out a laugh. "Come on, Miss Woods. Earn your three quid."

⎯

              The pair glanced out across the room that was full to the brim of gladdened spirits and overjoyed young women dancing with seemingly bored young men and as the smoke from Thomas' cigarette drifted up and across the room, Felicity watched it lazily. She let her gaze fall on the men below them, watching as they made idle conversation and took prolonged drags of their own cigarettes.

"I still prefer the Garrison," Thomas quipped besides her and at this, Felicity pressed her lips together to repress her amusement.

"Of course you do," she murmured instead, not looking at him as her eyes continued to roam the room from the lively band that was playing over to the overly enthusiastic dancers. "There's barmaids and beer there. Here, there's only uptight assholes. If I were a man, I'd pick the blondes over that on any day of the week."

"That was uncalled for," he returned with a light laugh, pointing the cigarette in her direction.

Felicity watched the smoke rise from the cigarette's end and said nothing as she forced her smile to stop growing upon her lips.

"Do you dance?" Thomas asked suddenly, turning to her and shocking her with his request.

She bit her tongue for half of a moment before replying. "If I'm asked properly," Felicity confirmed with a smile, silently challenging him.

He accepted and so after a beat, "Lady Sarah of Connemara, will you dance with me?"

Felicity nodded and took his outstretched hand shyly: she allowed him to lead her down the stairs so that they were among the other dancing couples and as they joined them, she let herself imagine that her and Thomas Shelby were just another pair of giddy aristocrats, rather than a man and a woman dancing at the races whilst the former had some ridiculous idea swirling around in his brain and keeping him mildly distracted. The jazz band and the enthusiastic performers kept up their routines, as did the man that held her waist close to her chest with his small, bemused smile continuing to remain on his mouth.

As the pair danced through the crowd, Thomas kept his hand on her waist yet it wasn't tight, it wasn't nearly as dominating as Felicity might have once expected it to be. She couldn't describe him to be the most refined of dancers but she couldn't say that about herself either, as neither of them had grown up in the aristocratic part of society. Thomas expertly steered her away from the other jostling bodies as much as he could and as much as Felicity wanted to deny it, she was having a pleasant time, which was something she had never expected to say when it came to accompanying Thomas Shelby anywhere.

To the right of the room sat Billy Kimber, the man of whom Thomas had spoken bitterly of and yet with begrudging respect. He was surrounded by men, all with cigarettes jutting from their lips, or women with flutes of sparkling champagne in their hands. One particular man caught Felicity's eye and her breath hitched in her throat at the sight of him, although he was paying no attention to the dancers that twirled gracefully around the room.

"Tommy," Felicity's words faltered, "that's. . ."

"I know."

Felicity bit her lip anxiously. "What's he doing here?"

The man only twirled her beneath his arm once again and continued to keep his grip on her firm. Felicity didn't know whether it was her imagination but it felt more protective than it had earlier.

The girl tried to push the image from her mind and instead focused on the man in front of her: the man in the sharply pressed suit, the man who was smiling ever so slightly, as though everything was normal and everything was right. She twirled under his arm before holding his gaze again, trying so very hard to pretend as though nothing was wrong.

But she had seen those eyes before. She had seen them each and every day of her life for seventeen years and to see them once again - after she had promised herself she would stay as far away from those hazel irises as possible - Felicity could hardly blame herself for being shaken up.

After a while, the girl began to feel as though they were edging further towards the edge of the dance floor, although Thomas was continuing to act as though nothing was amiss.

"Either your left leg is stronger than your right," Felicity hissed eventually. She had become restless as Thomas checked his pocket watch for what felt like the millionth time, and even Felicity was beginning to be suspicious of those actions. "Or we're making a getaway."

"Neither," Thomas returned with a grim expression on his face.

The girl frowned. "I hope this doesn't involve razor blades," she chided, trying not to become too annoyed as he released his grip from her waist, took her by the hand and led her away from the centre of the floor.

"I've decided to move up in the world," was all he replied with. "Become a legitimate business man."

"My God, you're serious!"

Thomas turned to face her and she caught the slight roll of his eyes that he did as a reply to her anxious words. "I'm always serious."

He pushed open a door to reveal Arthur, who fell into the room with bags on both shoulders and a deep cut on his face: one that couldn't be ignored, and one that Felicity's own cheek ached for in sympathy.

"Tommy!" His elder brother exclaimed, "We chased the Lees across the track, right the way down Devon Road."

Felicity pursed her lips together at the sight of the sticky blood upon Arthur's face. "Was anyone hurt?" She asked worriedly.

He only laughed at her concern. "Few cuts and bruises," Arthur told her with a proud expression upon his features, "and that's a nice dress you got on, blondie. You can wear that at my pub."

And just like that, her concern vanished and she rolled her eyes in return to his patent flirtations.

Before she could express any of her annoyance, though, Thomas had pulled the bags over his shoulders and tugged Felicity away with his spare hand. "Off we go, Lady Sarah."

Felicity followed him through the crowd once again, apologising profusely to the people that he had barged past as she attempted to keep up with Thomas' wide paces. "Excuse me," she murmured, catching sight of the table that Thomas was aiming straight for, as determined as he ever was. Before he reached it, however, he turned to Felicity and spoke in a low voice.

"Stay here," he hummed, in a tone that told her he wouldn't take any objections as an answer, "I'll be back in a moment, okay?"

Felicity still tried to protest but he was off once again, walking back over to the table. The blonde tried to look as vague as possible as she avoided staring directly at them, choosing instead to smoke a cigarette as she stood awkwardly. Felicity watched as the man dumped the bags on the table, spilling its contents, before negotiating with the table's inhabitants.

Within a couple of minutes, a man rose from the table and left Thomas Shelby to remain with the others, a cigarette jutting from his lips as he did so. Felicity inwardly groaned as this man approached her and requested to dance with her with the most forward manner she had ever seen on someone that didn't go by the last name of Shelby.

"Billy Kimber?" Felicity accepted his hand as graciously as she could after she had noticed the hard stare Thomas was throwing her way. She let Kimber lead her out to dance, just as she had done with Thomas only ten or so minutes beforehand.

"Your man said it was alright for me to have this dance," Kimber told her, as though it was nothing. As Felicity only nodded and avoided his gaze, it was then that she noticed the crimson handkerchief that was folded roughly in the pocket of his blazer jacket.

Wear something red, to match his handkerchief, Thomas had told her, all of those nights ago.

Felicity bristled, realising then that she was being made out to be a complete fool.

Once the song had finished and the band hand struck up another one, Kimber said not one word to the blonde and had instead walked back over to the table where Thomas sat. Felicity was left alone once again.

She had only just began to attempt in drowning her anxieties away with a flute of champagne when she caught sight of Thomas coming towards her, and so Felicity set the glass back on the table and prepared herself for whatever he had come to say. Judging from the grim, business-like expression that had settled on his features, she guessed it wouldn't be anything she would be pleased on hearing, but she still hoped he had come to tell her that they would be leaving.

"Listen," he began, "we're going to go to dinner at Kimber's house, he's got a place a couple of miles away. I have some business to settle first with his accountant, though, so you go on ahead with Kimber."

Felicity pressed her lips together with clear annoyance. "Just me and him?"

"Yeah," Thomas confirmed in a monotone, "until I'm done here. Is that alright?"

She regarded him coldly without a word passing from her mouth.

"Look, I'll throw in an extra three quid for your extra time," he tried to negotiate with her lack of response by countering it with a smile of light amusement, although his words were laced with the very slightest of an apologetic tone.

"Do you think I'm a whore?" Felicity asked as calmly as she could manage.

Thomas sighed and although Felicity would have never guessed, he despised that he was putting her in this position and so he tried to cover his tracks with a feeble explanation that he was hoping would count as an apology. "Everyone's a whore, Lis," he said weakly, "we just sell different parts of ourselves. You said you wanted to work for me. To do that, you have to sharpen up."

Her rage boiled inside of her and Felicity tugged her arm out of his grip. "When the fuck did I say I wanted to work for you?" She hissed, "You gave me no choice!"

"The deal is," Thomas continued, ignoring her accusations, "I'll give him two hours with you. He thinks he's a ladies man. He thinks he can seduce you. Whenever you want, just kick him in the balls."

Felicity set her jaw in outrage. "I'm a clause in a contract?"

"If you want to be a part of my organisation, you have to make sacrifices."

⎯

               "You showed me up, back there at the races," Kimber exclaimed to her once they were at his manor, the one that Thomas had said was just a few miles away from the races. Felicity couldn't help but think that he had lied because the drive had felt painstakingly long as she sat in the passenger seat beside Kimber.

She smiled tightly as he pulled her away from the table and into his chest. "The music's too slow," Felicity said stiffly, "put on a Charleston."

He had only refused and so she remained, trying not to let her anger show outwardly. "You look like a bloody film star," Kimber sighed but before he could even attempt to kiss her roughly, Felicity pushed away with all her might with the excuse of wanting a cigarette.

Kimber gritted his teeth together and walked over to the table, picking up the glass that had only a droplet of whiskey remaining in its bottom. Without another word, he dropped it and Felicity, although she had watched it leave his hand, jumped at the startling noise as it shattered.

"Pick it up."

Felicity shook her head, still shaking. "Pick it up yourself."

"You're a fucking barmaid! If I drop a glass, you pick it up!"

He advanced towards her with a grim scowl on his face, muttering how he had tried to be nice or some shit, and Felicity's heart jumped up her throat. She hadn't a clue as to what to do so as Kimber pushed her up against the wall and tried in vain to undo her dress, Felicity's mind was everywhere.

"If I drop a glass on the floor," he shouted, "you bend over and fucking pick it up!"

Felicity struggled out of his grip but before he could do anymore, the door burst open and Kimber straightened, shouting out in frustration.

"What are you doing here? I've got another hour!"

Thomas Shelby surged through the door, accompanied by the other man that had sat at the table, and both of them pushed off the butler that was trying to prevent them from entering the room. "Wait!" The former said, putting his hands out as though he was calming a beast rather than a man, "Just wait, listen to me."

Felicity stared at him. "What the fuck are you doing?" She spat coldly, although she was grateful in one sense that he had managed to get Kimber off of her before anything happened.

Thomas ignored her. "I was going to let you go through with this but in the end my conscious got the better of me," he said, his voice rattled with heavy, anxious breathing as he pointed to Felicity. He didn't look at her as he did so, instead keeping his gaze fixed firmly on Kimber.

Billy Kimber didn't reply.

"She looks good on the outside," Thomas continued quickly, racking his brains to come up with an excuse as to why he was there, "but. . . she has the clap. When you took a shine to her, I said what the 'ell, thought I'd use her. Call it my better nature. . . she's a whore."

A small, outraged noise escaped from Felicity's mouth but Thomas only grabbed her arm and pushed her towards the door, telling her roughly to go and wait in the car.

"I can walk on my own," she spat in return, not letting herself look at him as she raced out of the room and out of the house, bristling with both fear and anger.

No more than ten minutes later were the pair sat in Thomas' car once again, travelling back to Small Heath in a silence filled with tension.

"Tell me that was a dream," Felicity begged eventually, turning to the man as he turned the car around a corner and further along the winding , "a horrible, fucked up dream that I'll forget in the morning. Please."

"At least tell me why my father was there." There was nothing else Felicity really wanted to know. She could deal with the fact that Thomas Shelby had accused her of being a prostitute - she didn't like it one bit, but compared with everything else, she would get on with such an accusation in return for the other answers she wanted.

Thomas kept his gaze fixed determinedly on the road. "He's a businessman," was all he offered in return and to Felicity, it seemed as though he hadn't an ounce of remorse in his voice, when really, that was far from the truth.

"A businessman that deals in the opposite circle than you do," Felicity spat, "you've got no right to be pulling me into business I don't want to be a part of and knowing perfectly well that it involves the one man I despise more than you."

He didn't reply, which only made her heart sink lower.

"You're a fucking bastard, Thomas Shelby."

She settled her eyes on the road in front of them and avoided even glancing at him for the rest of the journey: still shaken, still wishing none of the days events had ever happened. She had been made to look like a fool and what was worse was that Felicity felt as though she was a fool now: she was one for ever agreeing to Thomas Shelby's ridiculous way of life without thinking of the consequences that would come with it.

It was at that moment that she wished she could go back to simpler times, when her biggest worry was the gaping hole in the pub's window.

AUTHOR'S NOTE
this took me one and a half days to write
and it's so long and idvodfjvndfj i hope you
enjoyed ( don't get used to long chapters
though bc i'm lazy asf okay ) and i promise
i'll finish editing / rewriting this book soon
so i can actually get out new cOntEnT.
opinions on this chapter btw? lmao ugh i
hate asking that but i love you all vv much