CHAPTER FOURTEEN — sixth chime

' Why the fuck did ya shoot? '

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After last nights events, Charlotte can't be bothered to argue with Thomas further, and he knows it. They walk through the streets of Birmingham, and he's managed to clasp his hand in her without any teasing as a result. He had excused her from her shift at the Garrison for the day after noticing her complete and utter boredom.

She stares at the side of his head, "What are you thinking about?"

"You," He states.

She raises an eyebrow, "Oh, really? Well, what about me?" She rethinks her words and purses her lips, "Actually, hold that thought. I don't want to know."

He smirks, pushing open the door to the Shelby household, and letting her enter first, "Believe me, there's isn't a single horrible thought when it comes to you, Charlotte."

He shuts the door, turning around to see Charlotte stood still, glaring into the other room with a scowl on her face. With furrowed brows, he rounds the corner, and stands next to her, his face dropping.

Arthur Shelby Senior stands at the head of the table.

"How are you son?" He smirks, his eyes floating over to the angry woman at his side, "Ah. Charlotte Williams. Lord, it's been a while. You've changed a lot. Same temper, I see," His eyes flick up and down her body, noticing her curled up fists, "I've just been talking with Joshua here," He motions towards her younger brother who's slumped in a chair, "He's become quite the man. You had to raise him alone, I've heard."

Thomas' jaw clenches at his father's words, "Shut up and get out," He spits.

"Come on, son," He throws his arms into the air, "I'm a changed man."

Thomas shakes his head, "This family needed you ten years ago when you walked out on it. Not now." He nods his head towards the door, "Get out of this house."

"Tommy, he's different. . ." Arthur speaks up.

"You shut up," Thomas grumbles.

Their father looks over at his oldest son, nodding, "It's alright, son." He begins to pick up his coat, "Arthur Shelby never stays where he is not welcome," He meets gazes with Thomas, "Quite something you've become." He makes his way down the hallway, leaving everyone in silence.

"Bloody bastard," Charlotte is the first to break the silence.

Arthur licks his lips, "He's our dad."

Thomas scoffs, rolling his jaw, "He's a selfish bastard."

"You calling someone a selfish bastard?" He raises a brow, "That's a bit rich, Tommy. I mean, thanks to you. . . we're already down a bloody sister."

"If you want to see him, Arthur," Thomas points towards the door, "You want to see him? You can go with him." He steps back slightly, lowering his hand into his pocket.

Arthur shoots up, hesitating in front of his brother for a few moments before matching after his father with flared nostrils. Charlotte watches sadly as he disappears round the corner, and she sighs heavily, resting her hands on her younger brother's shoulders.

❦

Seeing Arthur Shelby Senior after ten years, had taken a slight toll on the family, mainly Arthur. He hadn't been seen by many people for days, other than the lads who run the boxing events. Thomas didn't seem to care though, and he spent his days having business conversations with people. Charlotte was by his side for most of them, only every really speaking to mutter insults or ideas.

Days later, Thomas marches through the just closed Garrison doors, thanking Charlotte for unlocking them before hurrying around to set up a table for a few people. The blonde barmaid watches with an open mouth from behind the bar.

She turns to grab him a drink, but he shakes his head while shoving his cap into his trench coat pocket, "No, thanks. I don't want a drink."

Charlotte's eyes widen when he pulls out a revolver form his pocket, "Thomas, please don't tell me your not expecting trouble at 12 o'clock at night."

He places the gun on the bar, "Midnight is as good an hour as any."

"Will you tell me what's happening then?" She asks, "And why you're doing it here."

"When the St Andrew's bell strikes midnight, two IRA men are going to come through that door." He marches behind the bar, "When they have what they want, they plan to kill me." He digs out a small pistol from below the bar, causing her jaw to drop, "Charlie, I hate to bring you into this, but it is now your job to stop that from happening."

"A little warning would've been lovely," She mutters.

"I just got the message myself," He informs her, "They want to meet me here alone."

"Let me guess, barmaids don't count," She says, as he steps past.

"No, barmaids don't count," He jabs his finger at the back office, "You're gonna be in that back room," He moves his index finger to the table he set up, "I'm going to be sitting there." He walks over to Charlotte, "When I make a toast, you're going to come out with that thing raised," He motions towards the revolver resting on the bar, "You don't shoot, you just point, I'll do the rest."

Biting her lip, Charlotte nods slowly, wrapping her hand around the revolver, "Will you kill 'em?"

"No, the police want them alive," He answers.

"The police know about this, and aren't at all—" She begins to ramble but he steps behind her.

"Charlotte," He raises her arm, his hand holding on her which is wrapped around the gun. She feels his breath on her cheek while he adjusts her arm's position to the correct place, "You just hold it up, and you just point. Right?" He breaths, pulling away when he hears the bell ring. He cups her cheek, running her head so their eyes meet, "Do not shoot, Charlie. I mean it." He ushers her away quickly, "Right. Go, go!"

Charlotte hums, jogging into the back room and placing her spine against the wooden wall while her chest pumps up and down. With the bell still chiming in the background, she hears the Garrsion doors creek open and the men presumably plant themselves down in the seats Thomas set up, allowing him to pour them a drink.

"Lost your thirst, eh?" Thomas cocks his head when one of his visitors slides the drink back to him.

"Just show us where." A man speaks.

Thomas digs into his coat inside pocket, pulling out a folded map, "Give me the cash."

A packed envelope is pushed against the table, and Thomas places the map down.

"You're going to need a shovel," He nods.

A few moments of silence past, and Charlotte bites her tongue anxiously while tightening her grip on the gun.

"You thick fucking tinker," A different man laughs, clicking his own gun, "Did you think we'd let you live?"

"Make your peace, Mr Shelby," The man sighs.

Charlotte raises the gun, hovering it in front of her face while she clicks the safety off. She turns her head to the door, preparing.

"I will make peace my own way," Thomas says, raising his glass, "To barmaids who don't count."

Breathing heavily, Charlotte pushes open the door and steps out, a sudden feeling taking over her body as she hits the trigger twice, aiming for both enemies. She strikes one in the chest, and Thomas breaks out into a fight with the other.

She watches as they fight, never lowering the gun while her hands shake slightly. Her body is in shock, and in utter dismay on why she just pulled the trigger. The two men hit the bar and slide up and down the surface, causing Charlotte's body to be thrown backwards and roll on the dirty floorboards with a grunt of pain.

She groans, sitting up while her head rings after slamming roughly against the floor. Her eyes fly all over the building and the next second she's flat against the floor again, blinking rapidly to still her vision. She hears Thomas brutally fighting in the background, but isn't able to figure out which direction the grunts are coming from, until suddenly they stop.

Instead, she feels a thud at her side and her eyes float over to Thomas Shelby's slightly blurring face, "Charlie," He taps her cheek, "Charlotte— fuck, are you okay?"

"My— my head," She swallows.

His hand goes up to her grazed temple, before he buries his palm in her hair, feeling the blood ooze from the back of her scalp. He attempts not to show his shock, but fails miserably.

"You're okay," He breaths, lifting her into his lap, "I've got you, okay?" He stammers slightly, lowering his forehead to hers, "Why did you shoot, Charlotte? Why the fuck did you shoot?"

She shakes her head, sniffling, "I— I don't know. I'm sorry, Tom. Fuck, I'm so sorry."

His face softens and he lifts her body to his chest, resting his chin on her shoulder while she sobs into his chest. His palm remains rested on the back of her bleeding head, until the doors are thrown open once more, this time three police officers walk through.

Thomas' jaw clenches and he slowly helps Charlotte stand before placing her down in a chair. He plants a soft kiss on her forehead, before marching over to the three men.

"You were supposed to come on the sixth chime," He seethes, "You were supposed to come on the sixth fucking chime!" He sighs, leaning against the bar, watching as the officers stare down at the two bloody bodies near Charlotte's feet, "They refused to surrender. They fought well. They were brave men."

An officers steps closer, "Well, he looks like he was killed by a wild fucking animal. Still. . . this never happened and they were never here, who cares?"

"Will you get the bodies out of here?" Thomas spits, his eyes floating over to a slumped Charlotte.

"Alright, are they— are they making the lady uncomfortable?" The officer tilts his head, staring at Charlotte, "I'll leave you two love birds to it then, eh?"

"Please do," Charlotte manages to grunt out before the three officers are gone.

Thomas takes a deep breath before walking back over to her, his hands resting on both of her cheeks, "I need to get ya home, okay? Let Polly deal with your head."

She hums, nodding sloppily, allowing him to pick her up and carrying her out of the dirty Garrison pub, "Stay awake, love," He says down at her, "Please."

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word count: 1700