Chapter Three
"Just wait and see."

Arabella breathed out a heavy sigh of frustration the moment the door to the Garrison opened and her brother sauntered inside.

Mason Newell had attempted to remain undetected in the pub for as long as physically possible, but, in the most unfortunate of coincidences, his eyes had accidentally met his sister's the moment he stepped foot into the building.

"Shit," he muttered, catching the attention of John Shelby, who followed his friend's eye-line to see Arabella stood at the bar with her hands on her hips.

"Shit," John repeated, swallowing thickly as the exasperated girl made a beeline towards them.

"What are you doing?" Arabella hissed, glancing between the two of them in disappointment, though her question was mostly aimed at her brother.

"Arabella, you're looking very lovely tonight," John attempted, earning a narrowed glare in response to his awful attempt to charm his way out of a scolding.

"You're supposed to be resting," Arabella said, ignoring John to focus her attention on her brother. "You told me you wouldn't come out tonight."

"I got bored," Mason replied, shrugging nonchalantly. "John suggested–"

"John said this, John did that," Arabella mocked. "If John jumped off a bloody bridge would you do too?"

Her brother stared at her blankly, whilst John frowned. "Why the fuck would I be jumping off a bridge?"

"That wasn't the point," she breathed out exasperatedly, gaze filling with sincerity as she looked at her brother. "You were badly hurt, Mase," she reminded. "You need to let yourself rest tonight."

"It's just one drink, Bells," he told her. In all fairness, he knew that was a lie, and he also knew that his sister was just looking out for him, but he was fed up of her constant fussing. Of course, Mason knew that she worried about him, and about losing him, but he had his own life to live.

Arabella sighed defeatedly, knowing that there really was no use reasoning with her brother when he had an idea in his head. Their individual stubbornness was the cause for many of the sibling's clashes.

"Right, well, we'll be off then," John said after a moment of silence, pointing towards the door of the private room reserved for the Blinders. "Two whiskey's please," he grinned impishly as he moved past her.

"You've got a bloody cheek, John Shelby."

"What?" He shrugged as if he'd done nothing wrong, though his boyish grin suggested otherwise. "You are the barmaid, Bells."

Mason began to move past his sister, pausing for a moment to place his hand on her shoulder. "I'll be all right, it's just a couple of drinks."

"Yeah, go and have fun," she said flatly. She still thought her brother should be resting, but he wasn't going to listen to her, so there was no point trying to argue with him.

Arabella headed back to the bar to prepare the boy's drinks, adding an extra bottle of whiskey to the tray so they wouldn't keep coming out and bothering her for more. Arthur had already been in there with Finn for at least an hour, and she knew that the bottle she'd already given them would likely be empty by now.

Arabella knocked on the door a few times before nudging it open with her shoulder, instantly being met by the overwhelmingly strong smell of booze and tobacco.

"Thanks, love," Arthur nodded as Arabella set the tray down on the table, placing Mason and John's glasses of whiskey in front of them. She also set a glass of water down in front of Finn, who gave her an unimpressed look. "I'm not cleaning your sick up again, kid," she stated simply, ruffling his hair for good measure. "Anything else I can get you all?"

"We're good thanks, Bells," Mason assured her. "When's your shift over?"

"Couple hours," she answered, picking up the empty bottles and glasses scattered around from earlier and putting them on the tray. "Better get back to it."

Arabella had barely stepped a foot out of the door when she slammed straight into somebody, the collision completely tipping her tray and sending it's contents crashing loudly to the floor.

"What the bloody hell was that?" John Shelby's question was heard unmistakably loud and clear as the entire pub fell silent and all eyes shifted to Arabella.

"Jesus Christ," the girl muttered under her breath, glancing down at the mess on the floor. She was fully aware of how many eyes were on her, including the blue eyes of the boy she'd just bumped into.

"I'm really sorry," he started, unable to quite tear his eyes away from Arabella for a moment. She stared straight back at him, her body and mind seeming to completely freeze in response to all the attention being on her. All she had to do was get on with things and clean up the glass on the floor, but her brain couldn't quite seem to compute that she needed to move.

"Bloody hell Michael, help her out," Arthur instructed, appearing from behind Arabella, his words suddenly snapping the blue eyed boy into action.

Arabella studied Michael for a moment longer. He was a few inches taller than her, dressed in similar attire to the Blinders, but he definitely wasn't one of them. His dark hair had not been shaved at the sides like the others either, but instead was very neatly presented. He did not look like a boy from dirty old Birmingham.

As the low murmurs of conversation began to pick up in the pub again, attention mostly shifting from her, Arabella snapped herself into action, bending down to sort out the mess on the floor. Michael had already beaten her to it, however, but she quickly waved him away. "Don't worry about it," she said, carefully picking up a few of the larger shards to place on the tray.

He lifted his head, and their eyes locked again. "It's fine," he told her, colour rising on his cheeks. She noticed for the first time just how thick his accent was. "Are you all right?"

"Fine," she assured, attempting a small smile. "Honestly, I'm– shit!" Arabella pulled her hand back quickly as she felt a sudden sharp sting, dropping the shard of glass that had been in her hands. She outstretched her arm slightly, watching as blood began to ooze from a fairly large cut sliced across her palm.

"Bloody hell," Mason commented from behind her, gently taking her forearm to pull her up from the fooor. "And you say it's me that needs to be on injury watch."

"Isaiah," Arthur snapped, signalling to the boy who stood behind Michael, being no help at all. "Go and get her a cloth," he instructed, as Harry, the barman, hurried over to help clean up the mess.

"I'll sort this," Harry told them, ushering the boys away. Arabella followed them into their private room, sitting down beside her brother. Isaiah closed the door behind him moments later, tossing a dry cloth towards Arabella, who caught it swiftly with her other hand.

As she put pressure on her own wound, she noticed that she wasn't the only one that had been bleeding. Michael had spots of blood on his collar, and when her suspicious eyes glanced between him and Isaiah, she noticed both their knuckles were cut and bruised.

"What's happened to you?" Arthur asked them both, also noticing the blood. "You been scrapping?"

"Some idiots at the Marquis of Lorne," Michael answered. "Tried to stop me and Isaiah from drinking, but it's all right, we fought them off," he said confidently, lips curling into a slight smirk, as if he was impressed with himself. "Arthur, we had to stand our ground and we did."

"The Marquis, eh?" Arthur questioned, eyes falling on Isaiah. "Where's your dad?"

"Preaching."

"Right." Arthur, John and Mason stood up together almost instantly. Finn joined them, putting out his cigarette, only to be shoved back down by his older brothers.

Arabella also whacked her brother, though was not strong enough to push him back into his seat. "Seriously?"

"I'll be fine," Mason assured, already moving past her to the door with John and Arthur. Arabella shook her head distastefully, but, again, didn't bother arguing.

"Where are you going?" Michael asked the three of them curiously.

"We won't be long," Arthur replied.

John paused before he left the room. "Don't nick any of me chips, Finn!"

And with that, the door slammed shut behind them. Arabella sighed, sinking back into her seat.

"Where are they going?" Michael asked, turning to Isaiah for answers.

"The Marquis of Lorne," he replied glumly, eyes averted from Michael's questioning stare. "Shame. It was a nice pub."

Michael seemed to finally catch on to what was going on, and Arabella also simultaneously seemed to click that this was the Michael that Mallory had been talking about at work earlier.

"You're Polly's son," she blurted before she could quite stop herself.

He looked up at her, eyebrows drawing in confusion. "How do you know my mother?"

"Our families knew each other well," she answered vaguely. "I'm Arabella. Arabella Newell."

"Michael Gray," he held out his hand to shake, but then suddenly realised her current predicament. Isaiah snorted in amusement. "Uh, sorry about that," Michael said awkwardly, indicating to her injury.

She shrugged. "No big deal. Sorry for walking into you."

"Bloody hell, did you hit your head or somethin' too?" Isaiah asked the girl in disbelief, cutting into their conversation. "Never known you to be this nice to a Peaky boy."

"That's just you, Isaiah," she shot back, a teasing grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Bloody prat you are."

"Watch that pretty little mouth of yours Newell," he responded, his smile also giving away that he was messing with her.

Michael watched the two of them unsurely, trying to gather the nature of their relationship.

"Oi, Finn, pass me some of those chips, will ya?" Arabella asked, indicating to the bowl John had warned his younger brother not to touch.

Michael watched as Finn passed her the bowl, and she took a few with her fingers, a satisfied grin on her lips. Michael's eyes suddenly became drawn to her mouth again, red lips in the shape of a cupid's bow. His gaze then flickered to her eyes, their striking green colour accentuated by the light makeup she wore. Her features were delicate and petite, but her eyes were strong and sharp, and most definitely stood out – though, there was a softness to them too, which stopped them from seeming too harsh on her face.

Michael watched the way she laughed as she playfully fought Finn for the rest of the chips, delicately tucking a strand of light brown hair back behind her ear.

He'd picked up a slight element of tension in the room earlier, especially between Arabella, Mason and the older Shelby brothers, but now the girl seemed to relax, easing into the company of the boys.

Michael wondered about her family and why she gave him such a vague answer about knowing Polly. He wondered why there seemed to be such an air of tension between her and the two Shelby brothers, when she worked in the pub they owned. He wondered why she had tried to stop Mason from leaving with them just before. Michael Gray was, undoubtedly, very intrigued with the alluring green-eyed girl.

"I better get back to work," Arabella announced, rising up from her seat.

"But you're hurt," Finn pointed out.

"Some of us gotta make money, kiddo," she said with a smile, though, it faltered into more of a grimace.

"Hey, you know if Mallory's coming tonight?" Isaiah asked her, lighting up a cigarette.

"And why would Mallory be coming here tonight?" Arabella queried, though her teasing tone and inability to hide a grin suggested she already knew the answer to that.

"Because I asked her to," Isaiah played along, watching as Arabella moved towards the door, casually leaning against the wall. "I'm surprised she didn't tell you I had."

"Well, you might be shocked to find out that we've got better things to be talking about than boys," Arabella told him. Not entirely truthful, since she and Mallory did spend a fair amount of time talking about numerous Peaky boys during their shift yesterday, but it was more of a one off occasion, and Isaiah didn't need to know.

Isaiah brought the cigarette to his lips, studying Arabella closely. "Right."

"I'll make sure to send her in if she turns up," she finally said, moving away from the wall.

Isaiah smiled in satisfaction. "Thanks Bells, you're a gem."

She nodded slowly, not taking much notice to his flattery. Her eyes then flickered between him and Michael, a playful glint in them. "No more fighting."

Isaiah held his hands up in defence. "No more fighting."

Michael watched as Arabella left, her pale pink dress flowing gently behind her. There was a graceful manner to the way she moved, a delicacy, but she also held an aura of confidence, and Michael could tell that nine times out of ten, if she wanted something, she'd make it happen.

"Bloody Bella Newell," Isaiah muttered once the door had closed, kicking his feet up onto the table.

"What about her?" Michael asked, unsure on whether his new friend's comment was in a positive nature or not. Either way, he was hopeful to find out more about her.

"Sauntering around looking the way she does," he said, exhaling a puff of smoke as he pulled the cigarette away. "I swear, it's as if nobody's bloody good enough for her though."

"Probably because they aren't," Finn spoke up, causing Isaiah's eyebrows to arch in amusement.

"She got you wrapped around her little finger too, huh?"

"Shut up."

"I'm not surprised," Isaiah said. "Girl's a bloody witch or somethin'. An enchantress or whatever."

Michael gave a half-smile, his gaze shifting momentarily to the door, part of him wanting the girl to come walking back inside.

"And that Mallory too," Isaiah continued. "I'm tellin' you, it's not a coincidence that the two most attractive girls in Small Heath are best friends."

"Who's Mallory?" Michael questioned.

"Mate," Isaiah placed a hand on his friend's shoulder as he turned to face him. "You just wait and see."

Back at the bar, Arabella kept glancing at the clock, wondering whether her best friend was going to show or not.

Eventually, the tall brunette stepped into the bar, instantly capturing the attention of the men nearest the door, who whistled at the young girl.

Arabella rolled her eyes at their antics, whilst Mallory smiled confidently, basking in the attention. She wore a long black silk dress, which hugged tightly at her figure; Arabella definitely hadn't seen it before, so it was most likely brand new. She was clearly going all out for the occasion.

"What happened to the red one?" Arabella asked with a sly grin as Mallory reached the bar, leaning against the counter.

"Thought I'd try something new."

Arabella chuckled lightly, shaking her head as she reached for a clean glass. "Didn't think you bought new dresses for dates," she said. "Gin?"

"It's not a date," Mallory reminded, not doing a great job at keeping the slight sense of disappointment out of her voice. "Gin," she affirmed.

Arabella began to make her drink, whilst Mallory fiddled with her hair, attempting to perfect it, despite it already being flawless. "You look really great," Arabella told her truthfully. She couldn't even name an occasion where Mallory didn't look gorgeous. "Here," she slid the glass over and Mallory took it, eyes suddenly catching the huge cut on the palm of Arabella's hand. "Isaiah's in the other room. He's with Finn and Michael. You can go in, or I can drag him out here instead."

"I think I'll go in," Mallory decided, taking a sip of drink. "Also, what the bloody hell happened to your hand?"

Arabella instinctively glanced at it, having forgotten all about the earlier incident until now. "I accidentally cut it on some glass."

Mallory shook her head, bringing the drink to her red lips again. "You can be so careless sometimes."

Before Arabella could defend herself, a deep voice cut her off.

"Hey, could we get some more whiskeys?"

Arabella glanced up at Michael, smiling politely. "Sure, I'll get Mallory to bring them in with her," she said, nodding her head in her friend's direction.

Michael glanced at the dark-haired girl, whose head also snapped up at the sound of her name. Isaiah had been right, Mallory was also very beautiful. Like Arabella, she had delicate features, though, very prominent round brown eyes, and a much fairer complexion than her friend. Her hair was absolutely immaculate, and she was dressed very glamorously for the pub. He could see why Isaiah had been trying to win her affections for so long.

"Mal, this is Michael," Arabella introduced, noticing Mallory's eyes light up excitedly. Though the girl knew who he was, and had caught a glimpse of him a few days ago, she had actually yet to meet the new talk of the town, Michael Gray.

"Pleasure," she held out her hand, which Michael shook gently, smiling good-naturedly. "You're a friend of Arabella's?" She asked, turning back to her best friend momentarily to arch her eyebrows, far too suggestively for Arabella's liking.

"We met earlier," Arabella jumped in quickly, attempting to shut down any speculation or ideas her best friend may have been having. Mallory glanced between the two of them, but didn't comment further. "Okay," Arabella breathed out, plastering on a smile as she quickly tried to move conversation along. "I'll start getting those drinks ready."

"You not going to join us, Bells?" Mallory questioned, turning to her friend with big, round, pleading eyes.

"Shift doesn't finish for another two hours," Arabella told her.

"That's a shame," Michael spoke up. Arabella looked up at him again. He met her eyes and smiled. "I was thinking of buying you a drink."

A/N

they only just met and I already love them so much