Chapter Twenty
"By order of the Peaky Blinders."

"Stay in the car," Had been Tommy's instruction to Arabella and Michael as they pulled up outside the warehouse.

But that was not what happened.

The gunshot echoed around the room, blood splatters coating Tommy's face as the unknown man fell to the ground. Michael's face drained completely of colour, his round eyes fixating on the man he'd just murdered.

"Oh, for crying out loud! What the fuck is going on?" Arabella whispered around, quickly aimed aiming her gun at Alfie Solomons as he began to clamber up from the ground. He backed up, staggering slightly at the sight of the weapon. He hesitated, eyes lowering to meet Arabella's hard stare, his hands moving out defensively in front of him. "Tell the lovely sweetheart here to put her gun down, eh, Tommy?"

Arabella did not once remove her gaze from Alfie, instead waiting for Tommy's instruction. She'd had briefly met with Alfie in one of Tommy's meetings a while back, but she did not trust the man one bit.

"What is the matter with you, Tommy, eh?" Alfie started forwards impatiently, Tommy's own gun clicking as the man began to approach him. Arabella followed Alfie's movements with her own gun, lining him up in her sights to pull the trigger if Tommy needed her to. "Eh? You got fucking angry, ain't you?"

"I got fucking angry!" Tommy shouted back, the two men inching closer to each other. Arabella cast a wary look over at Michael.

"It's in your fucking head, mate!"

Quickly, Michael moved between the two men, shoving Alfie back firmly as he turned to face Tommy. "I know this bastard deserves it! I fucking know!" He yelled, voice cutting through the mixture of shouts in the room. "But if you kill him now, the truce with the London outfits will be blown to fucking pieces, all right?"

"Michael, Michael," Tommy muttered, shaking his head as Alfie began to pull himself up from the ground

"Don't worry about that truce, kid, right, because it fell apart," Alfie said, breathing heavily as he spoke. "You've got nothing to worry about when it comes to the old, scary London boys."

"Which fucking side are you on, Alfie?!" Michael shouted back.

"I don't give a fuck right now, kid!" He bit back. "Right? I do not want him to 'spare' me because of some fucking peace pact! I want him to acknowledge that his anger is un-fucking-justified! I want him to acknowledge that he who fights by the sword, he fucking dies by it, Tommy. So, what, they took your boy, did they, yeah? They've got your boy? And what fucking line am I supposed to have crossed?!" He shouted, his voice elevating with every word, Arabella even flinching at one point. "How many fathers, right? How many sons, yeah, have you cut, killed, murdered, fucking butchered – innocent and guilty. Just sent them straight to fucking hell, ain't ya?! Just like me!"

Arabella shrunk back slightly, feeling as if her breath had been knocked out of her as Alfie's words lingered heavily in the air. Tommy slowly began to lower his gun.

"You fucking stand there– You? Judging me?! Stand there and talk to me about crossing some fucking line?!" Alfie stepped up to Tommy once more, closing the space between them. "If you pull that trigger, right, you pull that trigger for a fucking honourable reason. Like an honourable man, not like some fucking civilian that does not understand the wicked way of our world, mate."

"Look, Tommy, the killing of Alfie Solomons is not going to help," Michael eventually spoke. "It'll be very bad for business."

"Michael, Arabella," Tommy pointed between the two of them, motioning towards the car. "Go and call Inspector Moss. Tell him it's Palmer."

Arabella's glance lingered on him for a moment before she eventually nodded. Michael began to move towards her, hand gently pushing against her lower back to lead her away from the scene. Both of them slowed involuntarily as they passed the body of the man Michael had killed, and Arabella realised that it was the first time he'd ever done anything like that.

"Come on," she whispered softly, her soothing voice prompting a slightly dazed Michael to finally tear his gaze away from the body. Her hand brushed lightly against his. "Just don't look."

They walked quietly to the car, Arabella slipping into the driver's seat this time, since Michael still remained shaken up by what had happened. Arabella drove in silence to the location they were supposed to be meeting John and Arthur. Occasionally, she would spare a glance over at Michael, but he was always sat stoically, watching out of the window, looking to be deep in thought.

Arabella remembered the first time she had ever killed a man. It was in self defence, not long after her brother was murdered and she'd joined the Shelby company limited. The man had spooked her, managed to get her trapped down an alley, pinned back against a wall. Her brother's death had flashed in her mind, Tommy and Arthur's assurances that the men who did it had been taken care of rang in her ears, but in that moment, she didn't trust anyone but herself. So she kicked him hard between the legs, knocking him a few steps away from her, and she pulled out her gun and shot him without a second thought.

She remembered watching his body fall, as if it was slow motion, the feeling of the entire world being silenced all of a sudden by the gunshot. Blood splattering against the walls, and all over her dress, a stain she could never get out. She remembered the piercing sound of the gunshot ringing in her ears for days afterwards. She remembered the feeling of being completely and utterly numb for weeks. And even years later, she still thought about it sometimes, the first time she ever took a life.

But that was not the only person she had killed in the last few years, and she was certain it wouldn't be the last.

Arabella, lost in her train of thought, made the sharp turn into Charlie's yard, where, just as Tommy had told her, John and Arthur were waiting for their arrival. She exited the car, Michael silently following after her, his eyes distant and despondent as they walked to meet up with the Shelby brothers.

"I was, um–" Michael began as they stopped in front of them, the first time he'd spoken in over an hour. "This morning, I was on the road with Tommy. I killed a man. He needed cover. I was all he had."

John spared a glance at Arabella, as if looking to her for confirmation. She nodded her head. The two brothers were silent for a moment, both clearly surprised by Michael's confession, but the moment it threatened to etch on their faces, their quickly hid it. "So, what did he give you?" Arthur questioned.

Michael slowly pulled out the weapon from his trouser waistband, holding it out in front of him. "He said it was good for close range."

"You're better with my Smith & Wesson," Arthur told him.

"No, no," Michael dismissed, shaking his head lightly. Arabella watched as a single tear fell down his cheek. "This is mine now. Feels part of me hand."

"Where'd you hit him?" John asked.

"I hit him in the side of the head," Michael responded, harshly brushing the tear away from his face.

"How was you when he went down?" Arthur asked, his eyes flitting to Arabella for a moment.

"Tommy said I did all right," Michael replied. Arthur shifted his gaze to Arabella, also seeming to look to her for confirmation, but she didn't give an indication of a response, not even knowing if she had one.

"This is where we think Charles is being held," John held out a folded piece of paper, his messy, scrawled handwriting inside.

"They're not expecting nobody, so he should be alone," Arthur added on. "There's two good men and Arabella there by your side, if you need her. You do what they say." His firm eyes hovered over Arabella. "Both of you."

Michael placed the paper in his inside jacket pocket. "But I fire the bullet, all right?"

"Yes, you can be there," Arthur responded, as another tear silently tumbled down Michael's cheek. "But it's better if they both do it." Arabella tried not to be slightly offended that she hadn't been included in that, reminding herself that Arthur just wanted to protect her and keep her safe. They all knew what Arabella could be capable of. "See, these are experienced men,," Arthur continued his instructions, glancing between the two of them. "When you're sure the kid's safe, you call Finn."

"All right," Michael eventually responded.
"Come on then, boys."

Arabella leaned over to Michael, motioning with her head towards John and Arthur as she lowered her voice slightly. "Give me two seconds all right."

Michael nodded, heading towards the car with the two men in tow, leaving the three of them alone. "How was he really?" Arthur eventually asked, watching Michael in the distance.

"Shaken. Didn't speak the entire way here," she replied. "Just what you'd expect."

"Look after yourself, yeah?" Arthur told her, sparing a glance over her shoulder at Michael getting into the car. "He...he looks troubled."

"He can do this," Arabella assured him. She knew he could, this is what everything had been leading up to – Michael finally getting closure. He wouldn't bottle this now, she was sure of it. It had to be him that killed Hughes.

"Jesus Christ," John muttered as Arabella shifted the gun in her waistband, preparing to make her way over to the car. "Be fucking careful, all right?"

"Always am," she told him, hiding the small smile forming on her lips at the worried expression on John's face. "I'll see you both soon."

"Arabella," Arthur spoke as she took a step backwards, stopping her in her tracks. He moved closer towards her, his eyes meeting hers as he lowered his voice. "If this goes wrong, you gotta put the bullet in that priest's head, all right?" Arabella nodded in understanding as Arthur held her stare, his gaze just as determined as hers. "By order of the Peaky Blinders."

A/N

Oof. It begins...

Bit of insight to Arabella's past in the time jump. Absolutely loved writing that scene between Tommy and Alfie, one of my faves of the whole show.