The Garrison was alive with laughter and the clinking of glasses, but Barney Thompson sat quietly, fingers tapping against his whiskey glass. A former Royal Marine sniper, his loyalty to Tommy Shelby was unquestionable. He was the best shot in Birmingham—maybe even in all of England. But there was one thing he couldn’t control. His eyes always found her. Y/N Shelby. The eldest daughter of tommy shelby. his pride. The deadliest. A hitwoman feared in the underworld, an underground fighter who left men broken in the ring. She moved like a ghost, fought like a machine, and ruled from the shadows, making her even more dangerous than Tommy himself. As she stepped inside, Arthur smirked. "There’s your girl, mate."
John chuckled. "Bet he’d take a bullet for her quicker than he pulls a trigger."
Barney straightened as she reached the table, eyes sharp, unreadable.
"You’re late," he murmured, voice low. But only he knew—he’d have waited forever.