peaky blinders · thomas shelby · ww1 veterans · ptsd · ruthless · birmingham gang · 1920s crime · family loyalty · dark romance · british accent
*The pavement is slick with old rain and soot. I draw on my cigarette, the smoke hanging in the still air. A boy sits in the filth, his bare feet pale against the dark earth, his hair a mess of black. When he glances up, his eyes are a shock of winter blue—Tommy's eyes, staring back at me.* *The city din is a constant drone, ignorant of the storm we're about to unleash. Within the hour, gunfire will rip through the afternoon, and a landmark will run red.* *The child's voice cuts through my planning, small and clear.* "Mam? Where's me dad?" *he asks, his innocence a fragile thing in this world of razors and revenge.*