20It was only moments after Thomas left and Rosie had curled herself into the bottom of the wardrobe, did she hear the door swing open and the heavy boots of men storm in. She squeezed herself as small as possible, not daring to even breathe. Were they Blinders? Or the enemy who'd just started firing off rounds in the lobby?
Tommy had told her to wait for a Blinder to get her out of here. But how was she to know who'd come for her without giving herself away?
It didn't matter. A second later, they'd opened the wardrobe and grabbed her with thick hands. She screeched, shouting for Tommy, kicking wildly, but the man gripping her wrists covered her mouth and twisted her in his arms, dragging her out of the wardrobe and onto the floor.
She spat and kicked and scratched, but it did nothing. They picked her up and hauled her out of the room, down the corridor and into the main lobby.
Rosie screamed for Tommy, when her assailant's hand budged from her mouth for just a second.
She heard him down there, at the base of the stairs.
The men dragged her past the crowd of Blinders and Tommy, and to the other side of the lobby, where men wielding heavy guns were standing opposite. With them was a man kneeling, his face busted and bloody. She didn't recognize him.
But she did recognize the man standing off to the side.
Richard.
She would've screamed again if all nerve hadn't just left her body. Richard? Why was her brother here? Why?
He was eyeing her, face red and puffy. He was drunk again, maybe, or perhaps just shocked at the sight of her.
"Ah, here she is," said one of the men. He waved a hand and the man gripping Rosie let her fall to the floor. She groaned as her shoulder slammed into the tile, and felt her hands pulled back as they tied wire around her wrists.
"The girl on Thomas Shelby's arm. You could do worse, Shelby," said the man again. The leader, Rosie would guess, as she pulled herself up off the cold floor. He had thick lips and a nose so crooked she could only guess how many times it'd been broken. Her brother was only a few feet away, and her eyes were boring into him with all the icy fury her body could manage.
"Richard," she panted, her voice shaking from the adrenaline. "What is this? What are you doing?"
Some of the men hovering around her chuckled, but Richard only pursed his lips and scowled, looking away at last.
Across the room was Tommy, brandishing a gun. Behind him she could see Arthur and John, and the rest of the Blinders.
She saw Thomas glance at her quickly. He kept his face impassive and plain, like they were discussing golf on a Sunday afternoon.
"You really thought you had us, then, Shelby. Well, we found him in the Walls factory last night," the crooked nose man said, waving his hands in the direction of the kneeling, bound man beside Rosie.
"We had a deal!" He was yelling now, and pulling out his gun. "One man for one of our own. He killed one of us," he said, gesturing to the bound man, "and you were to put him down."
Thomas was quiet, perhaps waiting for the man to continue.
"Aye," he said at last, conceding. "We had a deal. A man for a man, no war."
"And you didn't pay it. Fucking liars, all of you."
"You've got Danny. What now? Another bullet in his head?"
The crooked nose man laughed. "That was last time." He shook his head and stepped forward. Thomas responded in kind, until they were only a few feet apart.
"This time I think I might just kill you," said the man with sickening glee, savoring his words. "Or maybe the girl. You wouldn't mind, Walls?"
He turned to Richard, smiling.
Richard frowned in response. "That wasn't part of the deal. Just grab her and—,"
"And what? Let her go? She was the one who hired the fucker, wasn't she? Or are you saying it was you who let him sneak onto your payroll?" The man tilted his head, coming after Richard now.
"No—,"
"So then it was her."
"I didn't even know we hired him! I-I don't think she did either. It was Shelby, all Shelby. He's in the books." Richard looked from Rosie to Thomas back to the crooked nose man. "I told her to stay away from him."
Rosie hissed. "If father could see you now—,"
"You don't kill women," Thomas intervened, his voice low.
"That was my uncle's practice," the man said.
"It's not like the Italians to forsake tradition," replied Thomas.
Rosie's mind was racing, barely able to stay centered on the scene unfolding in front of her, but she knew Tommy was calling a bluff.
If he was wrong…
"I don't know this man," said Rosie.
The man spun around to her, scowling.
"Shut up, bitch," he said, walking over and grabbing her by a handful of her hair, pushing the gun barrel up to her chin. She winced but didn't cry out.
"You're in with the Shelbys. Bitch or not, you get no exemptions from me," he rasped.
Her eyes began to water, but out of the corner of her sight she could see Thomas was holding his gun up, pointing at the crooked nose man.
No one said anything for a few beats. Rosie's heartbeat was pounding, screaming at her.
Finally the man let go and stood, sending Rosie backwards onto the ground. She rose to her knees and panted, her anger consuming her, and she found herself staring at the gun in his right hand, inches from her face.
He was saying something now, more threats to Thomas, maybe, but Rosie didn't hear. She wasn't thinking about Thomas or her brother. In a moment quite unlike herself, she wasn't thinking at all. In one movement, she lunged and bit into the flesh of his hand, as deep as she possibly could.
He shrieked, and his hand reflexed. Rosie felt, rather than heard, the bang as the gun popped off. The man drew his hand back and her mouth filled with blood. Then, suddenly, a white, searing pain began spreading at the back of her head.
More gunfire.
The hand dripping with fresh, hot blood and the man it was attached to collapsed. Behind her, a man toppled over, landing on her.
She wrestled away from him, but her movements felt slow and hazed, like her body was made of a thousand pounds of sand.
She felt a hand grip her arm. Rosie looked up. There was John-she could only really tell by the freckles that were strangely crystal-clear in the rest of the haze. He was pulling at her, but each second felt strangely like it was in half-time, and she couldn't seem to make her limbs work. She barely felt anything as he picked her up, grabbing her legs and holding her.
But as he did so, Rosie suddenly saw the battlefield. She saw Blinders, guns raised, but closer now. Their hats were off, and some were in their hands. And she saw Richard, on the ground now, a small hole in his head that wasn't there only a moment ago.
She would have screamed, but at the moment, all she could feel was the ringing in her ears and the thick, pounding knot on the base of her head.