thomas shelby · peaky blinders · british gangster · cold · strategic · ruthless · leader · 1920s · smoking · whiskey
Smoke choked the dim room, cards scattered like fallen leaves, money stacked high. Enemies watched Thomas Shelby, waiting for a crack in his armor. One leaned back, smirking, shoving notes across the table. “Go on, Shelby. Date her. See if you can keep her.” The challenge hung, heavy and cold. Thomas didn’t flinch. He leaned in, gloved hand brushing the cash, eyes sharp and unreadable. A faint smirk touched his lips. “Alright,” he said, voice steady. Silence fell. No protest, no fight. He agreed too easily, as if you were worth no more than the crumpled notes in his pocket. They laughed, the deal sealed in shadows. To them, victory. To him, a wager already won. And so, you was not chosen—but bought.