Arabella || Peaky Blinders [Michael Gray]

twenty one

Chapter Twenty One
"That's a fucking order."

The sky had become overcast with grey clouds by the time they pulled up to the building Charlie was being held in. The vehicle came to a slow stop, and the engine was promptly switched off, leaving the car in complete silence for a few moments.

Arabella cast a glance over at Michael, who was staring out of the window, his expression plain and unreadable. "You wait here," he eventually spoke up, all trace of emotion in his voice gone. "I'll do the killing. That's a fucking order."

"Michael–" Arabella started, becoming cut off by the sound of his car door opening. "Michael!"

"Wait here," he told her firmly as she stepped out of the car, reaching for his arm to tug him back. Michael didn't want Arabella anywhere near this. He knew she could take care of herself, but he also knew exactly what Father Hughes was capable of. Michael just wanted to keep her safe – but, of course, he'd forgotten to factor in exactly how stubborn Arabella Newell was.

"I'm coming with you," she said decidedly, sparing a glance back at the men still in the car. "They don't have to, but I do."

Michael sighed. "Arabella–"

"It's non negotiable," she dismissed. "I'll get Charlie, you take care of Father Hughes." Michael turned to face her, their eyes meeting. "And that's a fucking order."

This time, Michael didn't argue.

The two of them slowly approached the building together, guns raised as they paused either side of the doorway, their backs pressed against the wall. Arabella could hear the sound of heavy footsteps inside, and immediately stiffened, realising the difficulty of what they were about to try and pull off. There was no room for slip ups, they had to stick to the plan and they had to get it right.

Michael made eye contact with Arabella, who held up her hand, slowly counting down the seconds on her fingers before nodding towards the door. As soon as she'd lowered her last finger, they both pulled away from the wall, bursting inside, guns aimed at Father Hughes.

The man's eyes landed on Michael first, and Arabella took the fleeting second of opportunity to carefully and quietly start making her way towards the back room to search for Charlie.

"What do you think you're doing, boy?" The Priest's strong Irish accent rang through the room. Arabella spared a glance back at Michael to double check he had things covered. She watched as he took a step towards Father Hughes, pointing the gun in his eye. The man recoiled backwards, his face contorting as he began to plead. "Please, don't. Please don't shoot."

Arabella heard a quiet whimper from the other room, breaking her from her distraction. She headed towards the door, pausing outside to listen in case somebody else was in there.

"Please don't shoot," Father Hughes continued to beg, as Arabella carefully slipped into the room, gun raised as she searched it quickly, eyes only landing on Charlie playing with a spoon in his hand.

She breathed out in complete and utter relief, tucking her gun away into the waistband of her skirt. "Thank God," she whispered, scooping the boy up in her arms. Charlie looked up at her with big, round, blue eyes, holding up the spoon for her to see. A smile formed on Arabella's lips, and she hugged the boy tighter to her chest, rocking him gently in her arms.

There was a sudden loud crash from the other room, the sound jolting Arabella. She moved back against the wall, tightening her grip on Charlie. "You rat!" She heard Father Hughes seethe from the other room. Michael's pained groans begin to fill the room, and Arabella closed her eyes momentarily, dread settling in her stomach. "What do you think you're doing, eh? Do you know who you're fucking messing with?!"

Arabella winced as she listened to Michael's beating, and Charlie began to whimper at the sound of the commotion, pressing his head into the crook of her neck. "Shh," she whispered into his hair, gently bouncing him up and down. "It's okay, baby, it's gonna be okay."

"I'll take the fucking life from ya, will I?" Father Hughes continued to shout above Michael's pained struggles. Arabella breathed in deeply, silently willing for Michael to gain the upper hand again. "You're a gypsy bastard."

An agonised yell burst through the room, and Arabella stiffened, her heart plummeting at the sound of a body hitting the floor. She pulled Charlie closer towards her, hand moving to the waistband of her skirt to get a grip on her gun.

Footsteps thudded through the room, and she halted, not wanting to make a single sound in case it wasn't any of their men.

"I'll do it."

"No!" Michael shouted back. Arabella fell back against the wall in relief at the sound of his voice.

"I will take him!"

"No!" Michael snapped again. "This bastard's mine! Go call Finn!"

Arabella heard the men's footsteps leaving again, and began to quietly move further back into the room. She so desperately wanted to go out there, to be on hand if Michael needed help, but she'd promised him she'd stay with Charlie, keep him completely safe until Michael had killed Father Hughes. So she put her trust in him, believing he could do it – though that didn't make it any less terrifying.

Arabella listened carefully, the horrid sound of skin and flesh tearing, and shallow breaths being the only noises she could make out. She held her own breath, hoping to God that Michael had managed to kill Father Hughes.

There was no sound of footsteps approaching the room she was in for a long while, and Arabella began to assure herself that if Father Hughes was still alive, he probably would have come for them by now.

Charlie began to fiddle with her hair, tugging lightly on it to capture her attention as she tried to reach for her gun again, deciding it was better to be prepared. As she was distracted, the sound of metal clanging against the floor captured her attention, the spoon Charlie had been holding clattering to the ground.

Arabella's eyes widened, and she quickly grabbed his hand to quieten him, moving back against the wall as far as she could.

"Arabella?"

A shaky breath released from her lips, the heavy weight lifting from her chest at the sound of Michael's voice.

He stood in the doorway, their eyes meeting from across the room. She swallowed thickly as her eyes moved over the sight of him, the blood staining his skin, the grazes on his knuckles, the colder look in his despondent eyes.

"Michael," Arabella breathed out in relief, moving across the room to reach him. She took a step in front of him, tentatively placing a hand against his cheek. "You're okay," she whispered to him, using her thumb to gently wipe away the blood underneath his eye. "You're okay. It's over now," she promised as he lowered his head, allowing her to softly graze her fingers across the side of his face. "It's over."

A/N

They make my heart go whoosh