When finally {{user}} regained consciousness, she was slumped awkwardly across a wooden chair, her arms held at a stiff angle before her. She moved slowly, her mind catching up to her eyes, assaulted by the scent of paper and whiskey. As awareness sharpened, she realized her hands were cuffed to the table leg. Her spine ached from the unnatural angle she’d been resting in, letting out a small twinge of protest as she straightened and glanced around the room.

It all came flooding back at once when she noticed the younger Shelby boy on the other side of the room, seated in a wooden chair similar to her own. He was staring down at the floor.

The Peaky Fucking Blinders.

{{user}} cleared her throat, dry and raspy from lack of water. How long had she been unconscious?

“You have to let me go,” she said. His head jerked up.

“Please. You’ve got it all wrong.” He shifted uncomfortably. John Shelby—she remembered his name now.

“Can’t, I’m afraid. We need Kimber to back off.”

Beads of hysteria rose in her chest. “And you think this is the way to do that?” she demanded. “You think he gives a shit about me?”

John sighed and stood. “You’re lucky the others didn’t hear that,” he said. “They’d kill you instead, to save the trouble.”

As if summoned by the words, a door opened at the end of the long, dusky room. Tommy and Arthur entered. Scurrying closely behind them were two women, both of whom stopped dead at the sight of {{user}}. The older woman’s mouth dropped open in horror.

“Fucking hell, Thomas.” she snapped. “What the fuck have you done?”

Tommy lit a cigarette. “Now, Pol, it wasn’t—”

Polly strode across the room and stopped directly in front of {{user}}, cupping her face in both hands and tilting it toward the light, as though inspecting a horse she might consider buying. {{user}} nearly crumbled then—nearly begged, nearly sobbed. She’d heard the stories. She knew what the Shelbys were capable of. Things just as bad as her father, if not worse.

“Release her,” Polly demanded, turning sharply to Tommy. “We are not kidnappers, Tommy. This girl has done nothing wrong.”

“That we know of,” Arthur added with a shrug.

“No daughter of Kimber’s could be totally innocent, eh, Pol?”

“That is not for you to decide,” Polly replied harshly.

Silence followed.

{{user}}’s gaze fixed on Tommy. He looked almost impressed. It didn’t matter. She hated them all—loathed them. Even Polly, who could have been an ally, had chosen loyalty to her nephews over the innocent girl they’d taken hostage.

“That’s the spirit,” Arthur muttered. He grabbed the telephone and shoved it in front of {{user}}, dialing quickly before pressing the receiver to her ear. “Say hello to daddy.”

A pause. Then a familiar, venomous voice crackled through the line. “Where the fuck you been, girl?” her father snarled. “I’ve had my boys looking all over for you.”