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CLARA ACHED ALL OVER. She had spent the entire day and the majority of her night down in the Yard, helping Curly clean out the stables as well as taking Cannon out for a ride beyond Small Heath. It was half four in the morning and Clara had woken up ten minutes ago from her cocaine-filled doze, covered in straw. She was covered in dirt and a thin layer of sweat from the work she'd done. All she craved was to have a wash and curl up in bed and sleep.

Above her, the sky was brightening in the distance. Her feet tiredly carried her over the puddles and muck, as she walked towards Watery Lane. The very faint noises of the factories echoed off in the distance as they started up for the day. Her mind felt unbalanced as if it were shifting from side to side.

As she approached the Lane she noticed four policemen patrolling the street, walking back and forth. Something was wrong. Clara's stomach knotted as she hid in the shadows. She pulled her hat further over her ears as she slipped out of the shadows. She kept her head bowed as she walked, her shoulders hunched over in attempts to be unrecognisable. The girl only got halfway down the Lane when she heard it.

"MOSS! IT'S THE SHELBY GIRL!"

Clara froze in her place as the three other coppers turned to face her, whilst one of them stood pointing straight at her. The girl watched as they began to approach her.

"Clara Shelby," Moss called out, as she started to step backwards. "You need to come with us."

It seemed as if her senses kicked in because before her mind clicked, she was running. Blood pumped around her body as she ran, each of her limbs aching with each step. Clara was tired. She was exhausted. But she didn't stop. She could hear the heavy stomps gaining on her. She kept her head forward, her breathing steady. Her boots slapped the gravel, its clatter bouncing off the surrounding buildings. Her heart thrummed in her ears, its beat allowing her to sync her breaths with it.

The girl pushed her legs faster until she felt two hands on her shoulder pushing her straight to the floor. She let out a yell as her hands stuck out to take the impact, however, her face still hit the gravel. She groaned as she tried to push her face out of the dirt, only for her two arms to be grabbed and brought behind her back, cold metal pushing against them.

"LET GO OF ME!" She screamed, thrashing as a boot was placed on her back to keep her in place. Her face was red hot and could feel blood beginning to pool from a cut.

"Evading arrest is a crime," the man pinning her down stated.

Clara recognised the voice. She wracked her brain as she tried to place it. She could hear the other out of breath coppers approach. The girl was pulled to her feet causing her to stumble. She glared up at the man holding her, the same one who had pinned her down.

"George Sloan," Clara hissed, wincing as he pulled her arms back further. "Of course, you're a bloody copper now."

George smiled a rather cynical smile. He looked different but two very long years tended to do that. The girl found herself smirking as she remembered the stacks of books belonging to him and his brother that she'd tossed into a fire. She remembered their skint father and both her and Will fighting the brothers before they were caught by Tommy. George Sloan had been a year and a half older than her then.

"Still hung up on the fact you got your fat arse handed to you?" She taunted, spitting off to the side. "Look, I have to ask, are you still skint? Or did your father finally win something amongst his brainless gambles?" George's fingers dug painfully into her skin, making the girl grit her teeth as Moss stood in front of her.

"Miss Shelby, you are being placed under arrest," Moss recited.

"For fucks sake! Why?!"

"For the suspicion of the burning of The Marquis of Lorne." He stated, another man held onto one of her shoulders with George and pushed her towards the car, which one of the coppers had retrieved.

Clara cackled loudly, spitting off to the side again. "Oh, you're fucking mental," she laughed. She felt a powerful hit to her stomach causing her to hunch over breathlessly. She tried to suck in air but it was obvious she was winded. In her moment of weakness, they'd bundled her into the car. She struggled against her restraints, being pulled and jostled from either side by the coppers assigned to her.

Clara did not stop kicking and twisting for the entirety of the trip to the police headquarters in Small Heath. She'd spat and swore until her heart's content until George had promptly stuffed a handkerchief into her mouth as a gag. The sky was brighter now, the sun dusting the tops of the factory chimneys which leaked smoke.

The girl was dragged out of the car. She glared at the workers passing as they made their way to their early morning jobs. Clara was fuming. She wished she'd hit George Sloan's head just a bit harder back at their last scrap, maybe just hard enough for the boy to have lost all sense of feeling in his brain or body. The girl's wrists were beginning to bruise and bleed from her incessant pulling at the metal cuffs. When she was shoved into a seat in a small, dimly lit room, the girl found herself snarling viciously like a dog.

The gag was plucked out of her mouth by Moss as he entered the room, dismissing George and the other copper. The girl cracked her jaw, trying to rid the ache that now lingered. She glared knives at Moss as he stood opposite her. He would not intimidate her.

"Miss Shelby, the sooner you admit to your crimes, the sooner this will be over." Moss began, not bothered with easing in.

"And what crime am I accused of?" She spitefully questioned, tilting her head.

"The Marquis of Lorne was recently burned to the ground," Moss sighed, "ring any bells?"

"No,"

"Where were you last Friday evening?"

"Really? Is this really how you spend your time?" Clara sniffed, leaning back in her seat. Despite her cool exterior, her heart pounded, its loud thumping drowning out everything around her. "Questioning a sixteen-year-old on what she does on her Friday nights?"

"Answer the question, Shelby," Moss ordered more firmly.

"I was at the Yard...my uncle's yard," Clara clarified through her lies, the words slipping off her tongue quicker than her brain comprehended.

"Is that right?"

"That's right," Clara nodded, her lips pressed into a tight line. "Now, is that all? Can I go?"

"Not so quick, Miss Shelby," Moss interjected, "so you were at your Uncle's Yard, the whole day? And night?"

"You'll find it's not unusual," the girl sniffed, looking directly at the man.

"So you were there all day...and all night?" Moss reiterated.

"How many times do I have to say it?"

"Answer the question,"

"Yes, I was at the Yard all day and all night." Clara huffed, leaning back into her seat.

"You see, that...that is interesting, especially since witnesses have claimed to see you at the scene of the crime only an hour before the incident, starting a fight along with your cousin." Moss' lips quirked up. Clara wanted to smack the smugness off of his face.

"You see, the thing with people 'claiming' things, is that it's not definite." The girl shrugged. "I wasn't at the pub that night. People are just looking for someone to blame, and the most obvious people to blame would be my family."

"And why would that be?"

"Because we're Shelby's...seems like everyone has it out for us these days."

"Miss Shelby, lying in interrogation is a crime."

"So is kidnapping a minor off the street at the crack of dawn without alerting any legal guardians." Clara raised a brow. She was beginning to panic under her cold demeanour, but she pushed the fear down. She couldn't slip up. Not now. She needed to stay calm and cold. Calm and cold.

"Five years for arson," Moss started once more. "That's your charge and the sentence you're facing. Your cousin is already in Winson Green with Major Campbell."

"He's everywhere nowadays, isn't he?" Clara mused as she shifted in her seat. "Do you like Campbell?... I can't imagine you do, I mean, he comes in here and bosses you around like you're a little toy soldier. Do you enjoy being played with?"

Moss rolled his eyes impatiently and that reaction alone told Clara everything she needed to know. She bit her lip to hide a smile as a vein popped in the man's forehead.

"You're getting tired of me," she commented,
"This wasn't supposed to be your job, was it? You weren't meant to be on duty tonight."

"Is that so?" Moss grunted.

"No, but maybe...your dishevelled and tired look is doing you no favours...I'm good at reading people." Clara spoke calmly as if she was merely having a conversation with a friend. "My Aunt says it comes from my roots, she says all Shelby girls are gifted. It's a load of crap of course, but at times like these, I can't help but wonder..."

"Miss Shelby, are you aware of the severity of your situation?" Moss cut her out.

"Yeah, but as I've said, I wasn't at the pub that night." Clara gritted, "I wasn't there. I was at my Uncle's Yard."

"Fine, you won't talk, huh?" Moss huffed, "we'll try this again later." He knocked on the closed door, and it was quickly pushed in. "Take her." George and the other copper grabbed the girl under either of her arms and lifted her from the seat.

Clara kept silent as they walked her out of the room and towards the holding cells. Sun was pouring in through the barred up windows, illuminating stripes of gold that painted the stone floor. George tightened his grip on the girl, moving to take both of her arms as the other copper moved away to open one of the small, compact cells.

The girl was guided into the cell before a loud clinking signalled she'd been locked in. Clara turned towards the bars where George was shaking the keys mockingly, his twisted smile even more delighted. He turned his back and strolled off, his proud gait unwavering and cocky.

Clara couldn't wait to slap him. She just had to get free first.

The girl lowered herself down onto the unsteady wooden bench placed against the wall. The wood felt damp and uncomfortably hard. Clara leaned her head against the brick behind her, her eyes tracing the growing mould above her. Her eyes closed ever so slightly as she allowed herself to breathe. She could not panic in here. She had to breathe. The girl gritted her teeth as she pulled her feet up and underneath her. Her boots were muddy and dirtied her clothing, but she was too grimy to care.

She thought of her cousin who was in Winson Green, the very place Will was attacked and the Digbeth kid killed. She only hoped Michael would not meet the same fate. Clara pushed herself further against the wall, letting the back of her neck brush the cool stone. Walls. Stability. Breathe. The girl's thoughts flickered to the man behind all of this.

Major Campbell.

What a silly man.

She may not have been overly fond of Grace but every time Clara came across Major Campbell, she had to be thankful to the blonde for shooting him. The girl only wished Grace had aimed for a more lethal shot. Like the neck, or the chest, or head...the possibilities were endless. But the leg? Pathetic.

Clara's jaw clenched as she twiddled with her thumbs. She needed a plan. She needed to use her brain. This was like one big exam. An exam that she couldn't fail. She took a deep breath in with her eyes squeezed shut. She needed to think. Her mind drifted to the thought of her older brothers.

More specifically, what her brothers would do in her situation.

Arthur would probably take his punishment but not without a previous struggle and as much as Clara loved her brother, she was not going to sit back and take the fall for this crime. She wasn't Arthur.

The girl knew that John, on the other hand, would be completely relentless. He wouldn't stop fighting. She had a feeling that he'd tell her to do the same, but she was tired and not in the mood to get several of her bones broken and snapped by the vengeful Sloan.

And then Tommy.

What would Tommy do?

He'd do what Tommy does best, she figured. Use his power and influence. Grasp at any knowledge and use it to his advantage until he was free. He'd bargain and cut deals and when he couldn't, he'd lie and blackmail. It always seemed to work out for him. She wasn't Tommy, but she could definitely manipulate his ways to fit her own agenda.

Clara raised her head ever so slightly. Lying and blackmailing she could do. She'd already completed one half of that pairing. It was only the other half which was a problem. She bit her lip as she wracked her brain for any tip-offs or knowledge to dangle over Moss' head. She needed to think. She needed to focus. Her thumbs had stopped twiddling. She shifted so she was sitting horizontally on the bench, her feet on the wood as she leaned her body against the wall.

She moved her sore hands towards the wall and reached her fingertips towards it. The pads of her fingers brushed against the brick, pressing into the grooves as she thought. Clara needed a plan and a good one. Her fingers continued to trace the wall as she thought, her eyes glazed in concentration. Memories flashed through her mind as she sifted through her mental files.

She didn't know how long she had sat there for, just crafting her plan and her words. Clara hummed beneath her breath, her eyes glazed over in complete concentration. The sun outside was now a blazing white, its rays illuminating the dirt and dried blood all over Clara. It was a nice day outside, one in which Clara was annoyed to be missing out on. She could be out with Cannon far beyond Small Heath under the warmth the day had blessed them with.

The girl heard footsteps approaching her cell yet she didn't move. Her brain was rapidly memorising the information it had pulled from its depths. Clara allowed herself to smile ever so slightly as she continued tracing the wall.

"Oi, Shelby, get up," George ordered, as another copper unlocked the cell. George stormed in and grabbed the Shelby girl. Clara stumbled to regain balance.

"Did your mother ever teach you how to treat a lady?" Clara snarled, her anger rising. "Or is she still a clap-ridden whore?" A sharp pain spread across her cheek before she could comprehend what had happened. He had hit her. Clara laughed, spitting to the side as she clenched her jaw. "Did I strike a nerve, Sloan?"

"Keep your mouth shut," George gritted, dragging her towards the small room she'd been in earlier.

"Or what? Eh?" The girl chuckled before her face went straight. "Or fucking what?" George shoved her into the chair before leaving the room once more. Moss re-entered, the bags under his eyes a lot more visible in the daylight.

"Afternoon, Moss!" She called out, her lips drawn into a smile. "Good lunch?"

"Let's cut to the chase, Miss Shelby," Moss was in no mood for jokes, luckily for him, neither was Clara...well maybe a little. "You know why you're here, I know why you're-"

"Why am I here again?" Clara interrupted, raising a brow.

"You know."

"I'm afraid I don't, you'll have to clarify."

"On Friday night, you and your cousin burned the Marquis of Lorne to the ground," Moss said through gritted teeth. "Not only were there multiple witnesses but your cousin corroborated to all of the claims." Clara was quiet. "No smart remark this time?"

"Michael confessed to a crime he didn't commit, did he?" Clara hummed.

"I'm just passing on the message,"

"Funny, but how does that tie into my situation?" The girl asked, "I didn't and won't corroborate because I didn't burn down the pub, do you wanna know why, Moss?" The man was silent as the girl stood from the chair to lean against the back wall.

"The Marquis of Lorne is quite old-fashioned, did you know that?" She queried, "The owner is very stuck in his ways. Very close-minded."

"Where are you going with this?" Moss questioned, his tone harsh and cold as the girl merely scrunched her nose.

"Did you know that they have allocated days for women?" Clara pushed herself off the wall. "Women are only allowed to be served on Mondays and only if they're with a male companion." She was lying, digging a hole, but she had a plan and she intended to follow through. "Therefore, it's literally impossible for me to have been in the pub that night."

"You and I both know that's not true." Moss chuckled, "Women have been allowed in there for years now."

"But does he know that?"

"He, who?"

"Major Campbell? Does he know that?" Clara leaned forward and put her handcuffed hands on the table. Her mind mentally checked off her talking points as she looked towards Moss.

"And why on God's green earth would he?"

"Exactly," Clara smiled, "Major Campbell doesn't know Small Heath. He doesn't know its people. Especially you. He doesn't know you, does he?"

"Me?" Moss was now confused and exactly where Clara wanted him.

"Yes, you," she continued, "He doesn't know about you."

"Miss Shelby—"

"He doesn't know my brother pays you for information and your resources, does he?" Clara pushed, "I can't imagine he does, or you wouldn't be standing here...you might even be six feet under. I've heard Campbell isn't the nicest."

"Are you threatening me?" Moss hissed, his eyes blown in anger.

"No...not threatening...warning you perhaps." Clara tilted her head. "Look, you arrested me...but if you charge me? I can tell everyone out there, including Campbell and the police district that my brother has had you in his pocket for years. I've heard what the coppers do to rats in their ranks and from what I've heard?" She leaned over the table, her voice now hushed. "It's not pretty."

"This sounds awfully like a threat." Moss' nostrils flared but he kept a calm demeanour.

"It's not. It's a fact, there's a blatant difference." Clara smiled and sat back down in her seat. "You see, Moss, two things can happen right now. You can tell Campbell the story I just gifted you; tell him about the allocated women nights and let me go free."

Clara rarely begged, but mentally she was pleading and begging for anyone or anything to hear her mental chants and help free her.

"Or you can keep me here and I'll tell everyone. Ruin not only your job but your reputation." Clara continued, "Not to mention you'd also have to face a hoard of angry Shelby brothers who won't be so kind to a man who touched their little sister."

"I haven't laid a hand on you," Moss hissed, his face turning rather red.

"How would they know?" Clara shrugged, "they'll see bruises, I'll just agree to whatever conclusions they draw."

Moss was silent. The girl mentally cheered. She just needed him to agree.

"So, to summarise, in case you don't understand. You let me go and I grant you immunity from my brother's wrath or I let it spill and you will probably end up jobless and in a shallow grave." Clara pursed her lips, "Campbell isn't here, and knowing him, he'll believe the pub story. Witnesses and the owner will also back my story if he ever decided to question them."

Moss remained silent as if contemplating her words.

"Look, I'm getting bored...you have thirty seconds to decide before I start screaming at the top of my lungs...and yes, for clarification, that one was a threat," she grinned, baring her teeth. "Clock's ticking Moss, twenty-nine, twenty-eight..."

☆

CLARA RUBBED HER RAW WRISTS as she exited the police headquarters. She looked like a right state. She was without her jacket, still covered in mud, sweat and now traces of blood. Her bones ached with each step, her back strained from sitting awkwardly on the bench for hours. She had in fact begun screaming inside the interrogation before Moss promptly covered her mouth and told her to shut up whilst he processed the paperwork.

Moss had returned the items from her pockets— items she hadn't even realised had been taken. She looked at her cracked pocket watch. It was eleven o'clock in the morning. She'd been in there for seven hours. She couldn't even remember spending that long in there, it had felt so short.

The girl kept her head down as she walked through Small Heath on her way towards Watery Lane. The sun was still bright, clouds scattered across the April sky. Clara had shoved her hands into her pockets, her eyes cast down as she strolled. The headquarters was a long thirty-minute walk from Watery Lane, but the girl relished it. She let her mind spin, thinking of Michael in Winson Green, thinking about the luck she'd had this morning, thinking about the burned pub and Major Campbell. She'd have to speak to Tommy about bribing the owner and witnesses, she was smart, she couldn't leave loose ends.

Clara found herself in front of the closed betting den in no time, her entire body screaming and begging for rest. Her hand wrapped around the doorknob, her fingers embracing the cool metal. She opened the heavy door, stumbling inside the betting den. She heard raised voices falter as she walked into the centre of the den.

"Where the fuck have you been?!" Polly snapped. She was in a frantic state which was expected. Her son had been taken from her once again. Clara looked up tiredly. Her clothes were dirty and torn in places, her skin grimy and bruising. Her eyes flitted around the den, going from Finn to John to Tommy and then back to Pol.

"Oh, you know...I've been in a cell...for seven hours, not that any of you noticed by the way, which is now abundantly clear," Clara gritted, carefully approaching the group. She grabbed a chair and collapsed into it, her knees giving out from underneath her.

"A cell?" John questioned.

"Are you deaf? I just bloody said that" Clara spat. She was surprised no one said anything about her attitude but maybe this time it was completely justified. "What happened?"

"Arthur and Michael were arrested last night, Arthur for murder, Michael for arson," Tommy briefly stated. "And then you..."

"They picked me up walking down the Lane last night," Clara sniffed, "For the same reason as Michael."

"And you're out? What did you say? What did you do?" Polly lunged towards Clara, her words sharp as her fingers latched onto the girl's shoulders.

"Take your hands off of me," Clara bit her tongue in both anger and pain as the woman's nails dug into her already bruising skin. "Michael corroborated to all claims made. I didn't. That's the difference between me and him."

"Corroborated what?" John asked, and the girl shot him a sharp glare.

"He confessed to burning down the Marquis of Lorne...story sound familiar, John? Eh?" She harshly laughed through clenched teeth.

"Alright, alright," Tommy stopped, cutting off the girl's warpath. "Clara, what exactly happened?"

"I was arrested, interrogated and held in a cell for six hours—"

"Michael has been there since last night!" Polly screamed, raging from the fact they'd moved on from a strategy to free her son.

"WELL, THAT'S NOT MY FUCKING FAULT, IS IT POL?" Clara yelled, she let out a deep breath before closing her eyes to calm down. "Now are you going to let me continue? Because I am tired, I am sore, I am hurt and I'm really not in the mood for this. Michael is in jail because he admitted to burning down the Marquis, he's facing five years for arson, that's all I know. So stop bloody shouting. I'm fucking exhausted, my body is about to fall apart and I don't bloody need this."

"Now, if you'd finally let me finish my story," her eyes scanned the silent room. "Campbell was in Winson with Michael, I wasn't home when they initially came to arrest me I figured, when I came home Moss was there with three other coppers, all of them pacing the Lane. They got me and dragged me to the station. I got out because I used my brain. I got out because I'm not thick in the head. I got out because I did nothing fucking wrong."

"What did you tell Moss?" Tommy had his hands in his pockets. The girl was silent, as she folded her arms. "Clara?"

"I told him I'd rat him out to Campbell if he didn't let me go," She sniffed. "I also gave him a reasonable excuse as to why I couldn't possibly be at the Marquis that night."

"What did you tell him?" Polly asked desperately as she leaned closer. "What did you bloody say!"

"Jesus Christ...I told him that The Marquis doesn't allow women to be served unless it's Monday," Clara bluntly said, "it's complete bullshit, but I have no doubt the owner will agree to my claims with a little push."

"I'll make sure he does," Tommy nodded, looking at John who also nodded.

"Good...are we done here?" Clara's face was straight in annoyance.

"Go," Tommy nodded as Polly's complaints arose again. Clara held the back of her seat for stability as she stood, her legs threatening to give out. She winced with each step, brushing past John, Esme and Tommy as she entered her home.

Clara practically crawled up the wooden stairs before collapsing onto the wooden floor of her room. Her face was mushed against wood, her body screaming for relief. Her fingers brushed against the floorboards, her short nails scratching against the ground. Her fingertips brushed over a groove in the floorboard before she weakly pried the board from its place, the nails coming easily undone. Her eyes squinted as she lifted the board, her other hand dipping beneath the floor and into the shallow hole.

They tentatively wrapped around the half-empty blue bottle before Clara pulled her hand out. She lazily placed the floorboard back into place and shifted carefully onto her side. She unscrewed the bottle's lid, tapping out some white powder onto her hand. The girl bent down and roughly sniffed it up before she rolled over onto her back, her hands by her side as she stared at the ceiling.

And that's how she remained for the rest of the night. Dirty, grimy, cut, bruised and high out of her fucking mind.

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HELLO MY GORGEOUS READERS!

This book is gaining so many readers from my TikTok—so HELLO! How are you guys on this fine Friday??

I am currently a little bit sick and dosed up on meds!! Also there will be no updated for this book next week, so here's your warning in advance!

(Also for those of you who forgot George, go back and take a look at CH. 1: 'the enigma at hand!!)

ANYWAYS, I love you all and I'll see you next week (here's your weekly meme)