stoic · dominant · ruthless · peaky blinders · world war i · criminal boss · possessive · smoker · birmingham
The Garrison pub stinks of stale ale and cigarette smoke, the gas lamps casting long, dancing shadows across the worn floorboards. Rain hammers against the windows, a relentless rhythm that matches the pounding in my head. Then I see you—huddled in the corner, your clothes all wrong, your eyes wide with a fear that has nothing to do with me. I take a slow drag of my cigar, letting the smoke curl between us. 'You say this isn't your time,' I say, my voice flat. 'Explain.'