☆

CLARA SHELBY WAS NOT FEELING QUITE RIGHT. A knotting feeling had ravelled in the pit of her stomach, bile threatening to rise every time she opened her mouth. She didn't know what had brought forth this sudden bout of uncomfortable uncertainty, but she despised it.

It had been a stormy morning and Clara had been reading in her bedroom. Her head had been buried in the pages of 'Tale of Two Cities' before Arthur had poked his head around her door. He looked pitiful, his head down as he stammered out a few low words before attempting to get her downstairs.

"What's this gonna be about?" Clara questioned, her arms folded over her shirt as they walked through the betting den. Arthur merely shrugged but kept his head down. The girl didn't miss the unusual quietness from her brother, however, she chose to ignore it while they weaved in and out of men eagerly placing their bets.

"Arthur said you wanted to see me?" Clara spoke up, entering John's empty office in the betting den, her hands shoved deep into her pockets. Tommy was standing solemnly behind John's desk as Arthur joined the two in the office. "So...am I in trouble, or something?"

"Take a seat, Clara," Tommy sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose while Arthur stood silently behind the girl.

"I'll stand," the girl shook her head, shifting uncomfortably, her stomach swirling in nervousness. "Why am I here?"

"Last night, there was an incident...at Winson Green"

Clara's stomach suddenly dropped, her lips parting ever so slightly. The girl's arms folded once more, hugging her chest as Tommy paused. Thoughts were ricocheting around her mind, bouncing from wall to wall perfectly in time with the racing of her heart.

"What?" Clara hadn't meant to sound so small, so on edge— but she was and almost shamefully so.

"Will and The Digbeth Kid were both attacked, in their cells." Tommy continued his eyes still on his younger sister, carefully flitting to Arthur who was looking down at his feet. "Harold Hancox was killed." The girl stifled her uprising panic, trying to keep her face as emotionless as possible. She did not cry in front of Thomas Shelby. She would not cry in front of Thomas Shelby.

Perhaps before, but not now. 

"And Will?" She asked, her shaky voice not going unnoticed.

"Will was attacked. He's alive...but he's in hospital and they're working on stabilising him. There's a chance he'll live." The girl let out a sharp laugh, as Arthur and Tommy glanced at each other.

"So...what else do you want?" Clara gritted, her anger bubbling.

"You're okay?" Arthur's eyes widened in shock at the girl's cold, collected exterior.

"No...but I'm letting you both have the chance to say whatever else you want to say before I FUCKING kill him!" Clara burst, lunging forward, her sadness morphing into sudden anger. As a pair of firm hands pulled her back, she knew why Arthur had joined them. Not out of sympathy, no...Thomas Shelby had to have his sister controlled and who better to control her than the eldest brother.

"LET GO OF ME!" She shouted, kicking and fighting to break free with a maniacal laugh. "I TOLD YOU! I BLOODY TOLD YOU!"

An angry sob crawled up her throat and she couldn't stop the sound from escaping. Arthur loosened his grip ever so slightly at the noise, and the girl sharply elbowed him under the ribs. He stumbled back and the girl lunged forward. She swiped everything from John's desk onto the floor, throwing a half-empty bottle of whiskey at the wall behind Tommy as he stepped back and watched.

"What did I say, eh?" She spat spitefully, "YOU'RE STANDING THERE AND YOU DON'T BLOODY CARE AT ALL! And I told you! I told you I would not be responsible for what I do!"

Clara took a deep breath in, brushing away stowaway tears with a harsh laugh. Arthur had grabbed her shoulders once more, yet she angrily shrugged them off.

"You don't feel sympathy at all, do you?" She questioned, inching closer to the man. Her rage ignited. "I'm looking at you right now, and I don't see one ounce of guilt...if Will dies,—and take what I say next as a promise, if he dies, I will not stop until you're rotting in bloody hell."

Clara pushed Arthur away from her and stormed out of the office, and through the den. It was only then that she noticed the men beginning to gather and it was only then that she realised that there was a meeting to be held. She waltzed past the group who was staring at her as she fled into the kitchen of number six.

With another failed attempt to stifle a whimper, the girl clutched the back of a chair, leaning against it as soft sobs wracked through her chest. So soft, they were easy to miss. She couldn't breathe, her chest constricting with every stuttered attempt to suck in air. She squeezed her eyes shut, her hands turning white as they clenched around the chair. She couldn't lose Will. She owed him a drink. She owed him countless fond memories from their childhood, she owed him so bloody much, so much. She couldn't lose her brother. The girl allowed her lip to tremble as she admitted it for the first time. Will was her brother. Hell, she was as close to him as she was to Finn or John or Arthur.

Clara suddenly flinched as the door to number six was thrown open, revealing John walking in alongside Michael, Polly trailing close behind them anxiously. She could hear their talking, yet she turned her trembling back towards them, wiping her red face, refusing to look at the three.

"Alrigh' weasel?" John smirked, not picking up the girls unusual behaviour, "Ya coming in?" The girl ignored him, furiously wiping the tears that refused to stop falling. "Oi, you listening?"

"Can I go say hello?" Clara heard Michael speaking to his mother.

"Not today, Michael," Polly stayed, "Stay here and I'll be back out in a few minutes."

John placed a hand on the girl's shoulder causing her to still. He turned her around, his eyes falling on her blotchy face and red eyes.

"Are you..are you crying?!" He asked, his disbelief seeping through his words.

"Leave it, John." Clara's voice was hoarse as she looked down. Polly's eyes flickered towards Clara, worry sparking in her irises as she scanned the girls rundown behaviour. John on the other hand hadn't moved his hand, his fingers squeezing her shoulder lightly as he pulled her into his side.

"Well, now you definitely have to come in." John mused, "Can't leave you out here by yourself now, can I?"

Clara did not answer but she followed her brother into the den, keeping her head down as Polly kept behind them. She kept her head down, slumping unceremoniously into a seat.

"This had better be good to interrupt my holiday." Pol remarked,

"Where's the boy?" Arthur asked, looking towards the door.

"In the back room. I only brought him because afterwards, we're going to the museum."

"He wanted to come in and say hello..." John sniffed.

"Shut up, John." Polly snapped, "There is nothing of interest to Michael in this room. Tommy, get on with it."

"Last night, two of our men at Winson Green were attacked. One of our men had his throat cut. This morning, I had a telegram saying it was Sabini who ordered it." Tommy explained, his eyes glancing at the girl who was staring mindlessly at the floor.

"And it says here that Thomas Shelby's next," Arthur added, ripping the telegram in half.

"If our men think we can't look after them in prison, they'll not work for us." Tommy continued, "Sabini knows that. So we need to get the Green sorted out. Scudboat, you and one of the boys break a couple of windows, get yourselves arrested. I'll have our coppers get you into the Green and you can find the bastards who did it." Clara didn't bother to hide her disgusted eye roll as she shifted in her seat.

"Instead of breaking a window, can we pinch a car?" Scudboat asked, a wave of laughter followed his remark causing the girl's fists to clench.

"What? Everybody else is getting a bloody car. I'm still on a donkey." Another round of laughter echoed through the room, but Clara had heard enough.

The girl swiftly reached forward and swiped a glass of whiskey from the table onto the floor, sending shards scattering across the ground with a loud crash. All laughter ceased as their eyes drifted to the girl who had smashed the glass. She didn't say a word, she merely glared ahead of her as silence fell over the men.

"Alright, just get yourselves fucking arrested, it doesn't matter how." Tommy spoke up, "And before you all laugh, a boy is dead. He was just a kid." Tommy's eyes landed on Clara who let out a breathy laugh of disgust. "We'll start a fund for his family, Pol."

"—because a fund will wash the blood from your hands, you sadist." Clara spitefully mumbled, yet her brother seemingly heard it and raised a brow, yet like many things, Tommy chose to ignore it.

"Agreed." Polly nodded, "So is that it? Can I go now?"

"Well, as company treasurer, I need your permission to spend a thousand guineas." Tommy watched as the woman faltered in shock.

"On what?"

"On a horse."

"A thousand guineas on a horse?"

"That's right," Tommy confirmed.

"When was this decided?" Polly queried in disbelief, walking around the table as she looked carefully at Tommy and Arthur.

"You've been busy with Michael." Tommy simply responded.

"Oh, my God. So, in the absence of common sense, you boys have had an idea." She mused, now glancing around at the entirety of the group.

"Polly, there's a thoroughbred, quarter-Arab filly up for auction at the Doncaster Bloodstock." Tommy nonchalantly informed her. Clara wanted to perk up at the sound of another horse, but the heavy weight on her chest and mind wouldn't allow her to.

"What do we want with a 1,000-guinea horse?"

"When we make our move on Sabini's racing pitches, any men we get into the betting enclosure will be lifted by Sabini's police. A good racehorse is a passport to the owner's enclosure."

"We'll be in there with all the toffs." Arthur included looking to his aunt. "Coppers won't know where to look."

"Hmm." John hummed in agreement, "Yeah, the Epsom Derby, Pol. We'll be drinking with the bloody king."

"The Derby?" Pol looked to Tommy in complete surprise. "Did he say the Derby?" Clara noticed both Tommy and Arthur shooting looks at John who was shifting uncomfortably.

"That's right." Tommy cleared his throat. "For the last 10 years, Sabini's made it his race. If we're going to take him down, might as well make it there, as a symbol."

"Did you come up with this idea in a pub by any chance?" Pol demanded.

Clara zoned out as Pol argued with Tommy. Her heart had not ceased its rapid beating, her fists were still clenched to hide the shakiness. Her teeth were gnawing on the inside of her cheek, leaving small dents in the flesh. She could taste the metallic tang, but couldn't find it within herself to stop. If she stopped she would surely lash out at Tommy once more. The girl shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut tight before refocusing on the meeting.

"Quarter-Arab is better!" Curly burst, with a laugh. "Quarter-Arab, it means..."

"Curly, shut up—" Pol snidely remarked.

"Quarter-Arab. It means half quarter, half Arabian. They have the characteristics of both the bloodlines." Clara coldly cut in, not fond of her aunt interrupting Curly. "Therefore, they are arguably better." She shot the man a half-smile before resuming her scowl. Pol tilted her head to look down at her niece before the doors to the betting shop opened.

"I thought I told you to lock that door." Pol hissed at John.

"He did. I used the key on the nail." Michael briefly said, "Look, I've been listening. I want to go with them."

"You see?" Pol cried.

"I love horses. I could even help." Michael suggested.

"Over my dead body!"

"It'll be all right, Mum."

Clara let out a silent whistle as the boy addressed Pol as 'mum'. He sure knew how to work around the woman's stubbornness.

"I've been to loads of horse auctions before with my uncle." Michael carried on, "They're very respectable. People bring their butlers."

"Yeah, and their posh wives!" Arthur smirked, drinking from his glass of whiskey.

"And their mistresses." John nudged Michael with his elbow.

"Let him come, Polly." Arthur spoke, "We'll go there, buy an 'orse, come back."

"I'll drop him back at the house in Sutton before it gets dark." John raised an eyebrow at his aunt.

"No." Pol shook her head in disdain. "Fucking no!" Clara watched as Michael turned on his heel and promptly left the betting shop, knocking a stack of papers on his way out.

"All right, that's it. Back to work." Tommy announced. "Come on!... Clara, with me."

Clara huffed, her tongue pushing into her cheek as she stood to her feet and followed Tommy.

"Whatcha want now, eh? Come to tell me that you've killed off another one of my friends." Clara jeered, her hands stuffed into her pockets.

"No, and Will's not dead," Tommy exhaled, pinching his nose. "You'll come with us tomorrow to the auction. You know horses."

"Great observation, Thomas," She scoffed, "-and I was already going to go whether or not you gave me your bloody permission. Get over yourself."

"It's visiting hours at the hospital, they end in an hour. You should go see him." Tommy ignored her tone, as he picked up a book to flick through.

Clara did not respond, as her brother's eyes flickered to her. She looked away as her arms folded. "If Will lives, I want you to pay him triple of what you were originally gonna pay 'im." She spoke firmly.

Tommy looked at her expectedly, "Is that so?" He asked.

"Yes. You pay him triple. And you don't involve him in any more Blinder business." Clara stated.

"Fine, I'll consider it."

"No...you'll do it."

And with that Clara nodded and walked away from her brother, scared that if she lingered too long, she would end up socking him across the face. The girl grabbed her coat from the coat rack and disappeared out onto the streets of Small Heath, her hat placed firmly on her lowered head.

☆

CLARA WAS WEARING HER BLACK SUIT, her tattered hat on her head as she silently sat between Arthur and Curly. She had been half-listening to the man as he rambled on about horses, however, her eyes and interest stayed on the book in her hands. Michael sat across from the two beside Charlie. The girl hadn't spoken to Arthur nor had she spoken to her new cousin. Her mind was too busy. She'd tried to visit Will yesterday and it hadn't gone so well.

Clara waltzed up to the reception of the hospital, her cheeks rosy from sprinting from Watery Lane. Visiting hours weren't over just yet, but she didn't have a lot of time. Once the girl had squeezed out the room number from the nurse at the desk, she took off through the hallways. As she winded through corridors, memories of her last visit rushed through her head, memories of Sabini and her scar, but she promptly shook them off. She slowed as she approached the room, her heart racing while her limbs shook. She flexed her palms before slowly pushing the ward door open.

Clara was greeted with a room containing six beds, her eyes scanned each patient, looking for her best friend. She peeked her head around the last bed, coming face to face with Will lying motionlessly and his mother by his side. Upon seeing the girl, the woman angrily jumped to her feet.

"What are you doing here?" She asked sharply, eyeing the worn-out Shelby girl.

"I-I just wanted to see if he's okay." Clara stuttered.

"Haven't you done enough damage?"

"He's my best friend." She weakly argued,

"He's not your friend. Not anymore. Why would he be friends with a Shelby?" Will's mother maliciously sneered. "You're no better than the bloody rest of them. PEAKY SCUM! THE LOT OF YOU!

The words stung Clara as she glanced between Will's mother and the boy himself. He looked so at peace— if you could ignore the injuries. She felt the sting of tears pricking in her eyes as she took a deep breath in.

"Please," the girl half-heartedly whispered.

"No...Get out." Wills mother stated. "I don't want to see you around my Will ever again. Go."

Clara had left at her words. She should've stayed and fought the woman but she couldn't. She didn't know if he survived the night. She wouldn't know if he was okay, when he'd be out or if he'd ever recover. The back of the truck opened, at it was only then that she realised the truck had stopped.

"She's heating up, Curly. Take a look." Tommy instructed as the man beside her jumped up and exited the van with an enthusiastic, 'yeah'.

"Let me out for a piss." Charlie stood up, jumping out of the back of the truck. Clara watched the man leave before her eyes turned to Michael who was unravelling a bundle of cloth.

"She made loads. Do you want one?" He offered, looking between the sandwiches and the two Shelby siblings.

"What the bloody hell's that?" Arthur gruffly asked, shifting in his seat.

"Sandwiches. Ham, I think." Michael spoke, examining the food. "And we've got shrimp paste, too. There's tea, but we'll have to take turns 'cause there's only one cup." John took the flask of tea from Michael, as Arthur sat in disbelief. Clara stifled her amusement as she read her book. "What?"

"Sandwiches?" Arthur questioned.

"Yeah." Michael nodded, glancing between the three.

"Polly made bloody sandwiches?" Arthur raised a brow.

"Pol always makes sandwiches, you're just too 'busy' to notice." Clara scoffed, glancing up from her book. "At least we know who she favours out of everyone here." Michael shot her a small, grateful smile.

"What's this? Teddy bear's fucking picnic?" Charlie interrupted as he rejoined the group.

"All right." Tommy cleared his throat. "We will drink the tea and we will eat the sandwiches and then we will drive on. All right? No crumbs, Charlie." The man disappeared back around to the front of the truck.

"Come on," Arthur gestured, taking one of the sandwiches.

"Herd them up, Arth, you fat bastard." John snickered, earning a small laugh from the younger girl.

"Fuck off," Arthur grumbled, biting into the sandwich.

"John, come on!"

John soon followed Tommy back around to the front of the truck. Charlie hopped back into the back, closing the latch behind him. Michael offered the girl a sandwich but she declined.

"So, Michael, how you finding Pol?" Clara asked, finally speaking to her cousin as she took the tea from his hands and poured herself a small cup before downing it.

"Yeah, she's great, better than I could've imagined," Michael grinned.

"Can't imagine she was too happy with you coming here."

"I think she just wants me to be careful,"

"'Careful' isn't the easiest thing to maintain 'round here." Clara remarked, "You been out and about Small Heath properly?"

"Only to the Garrison to make a phone call and a few other spots." Michael scratched his head.

"Well, you'll have to come out some time with me, Penny and W—" the girl faltered in the words, her breath catching in her throat. Arthur spared the girl a sorrowful look before she retained her confidence. "Me, Penny and Will, I mean. Sometimes Isaiah joins us, Finn ain't allowed just yet."

"Well, I'll have to take you up on that, I barely know anyone here,"

"Just you wait and see, you'll regret wanting to meet this lot, I swear!"

☆

"ALL RIGHT LADS, THIS IS A RESPECTABLE EVENT, and we will all behave accordingly," Tommy spoke, as the group travelled through the halls of the auction hall. Clara was walking beside Michael, her grey hat pulled firmly over her ears, her hands shoved into her jacket pockets.

"No weapons, no drinking. John, we will stay together. When the horse comes up, I will do the bidding. I've already registered my interest with the auctioneer." Tommy explained as they climbed the stairs. "So he knows to expect my bids."

"Do I get to run a hand over her, Tommy?" Curly asked.

"We'll have a vet's report, Curly." Tommy led them out onto the balcony overlooking a large, straw-covered floor. "But keep an eye open when she walks."

"I've got a feeling, Tommy. Something isn't right."

"It's all right, Curly. You're just in an unfamiliar place, we all are."

"I get feelings sometimes, Tommy."

"It's all right, Curly. It's all right."

"Shut up, Curly." Arthur cut the man off. Clara who was listening sharply elbowed the man in the ribs and pushed past him to get to the balcony edge where people were already bidding. The girl's lips tugged up at the sight of two horses being led around the hall.

"Morals of Marcus, Sedgemere stud, by Tetrarch out of Lady Josephine." The auctioneer announced as another horse was led out. "We'll start the bidding at 800 guineas." She could see Charlie lean forward and mutter something to her brother, causing him to peak up and step closer to the railing. Clara watched the grey speckled horse being around the floor. Her eyes scanned the horse watching its walk and its reaction to the man holding him. It was a beautiful creature, but it made her miss Cannon terribly.

"Do I hear 800 guineas? 850?"

Tommy nodded his head, his eyes set on the horse. As the numbers climbed, another bidder joined. Clara's eyes drifted to the wealthy looking woman, whose eyes were on her brother. The girl had to stifle her laughter at Tommy who seemed to have noticed the woman's sudden interest, his hidden annoyance not going unnoticed by the girl.

"Do I hear seven?" The man beside the wealthy woman raised his hand. "1,700. Thank you."

"That's it, Tom, you have to stop," Charlie warned, but Tommy was determined.

"You don't have it in your belt." Arthur shook his head.

"Yes, I do. I'm having the horse." Tommy stubbornly responded, earning a short, harsh chuckle from the girl.

"She's a sweet beast, Tom. But, stop, I tell you." Curly pleaded, "I feel something bad!"

"Shut up, Curly!" Charlie huffed, Clara's jaw clenched in anger.

"How about you lot just bloody listen then." The girl snapped quietly, glaring towards her brothers and uncle before refocusing on the beautiful horse.

As the bid went to two thousand and fifty, Clara was watching in anticipation. If her brother obtained the horse, she would no doubt break him out of his stable and go for a ride on him. She was good with horses, yet her brother never trusted her with any of his racing pride and joys.

"Last time." The auctioneer called out. "2,050? Sold! To Mr..."

"Thomas Shelby." The man answered confidently, his hands in his pockets as his gaze landed on the wealthy woman. Clara rolled her eyes and followed after the group as they left the balcony. She kept her head down as she walked, barely listening to anything anyone was saying.

She didn't even realise Tommy was missing until Arthur choked, his eyes on the man and the wealthy woman from before. Clara's eyes darted to the two, her smile growing in amusement as the two talked.

"Right enough of this," John smirked, "Tommy! We've got to get this kid back before dark or Polly will have your balls!" Clara turned her head to stifle her laughter as Tommy turned to face the four lingering by the door.

"She will have 'em!" Arthur added, nudging Michael who was smiling from ear to ear.

"Tommy! We've got to get back to the caravans!" Arthur boomed once more as the man refused to stop talking. "The chickens they're hungry!" John snorted loudly, unable to hold back his childish humour.

"Right," Tommy gritted, looking at all three giggling Shelby's and a chuckling Gray.

"About bloody time!" Arthur threw his hands up in the air, as they all followed Tommy out into the main, open floor.

"Are they always like this?" Michael asked, his grin still plastered across his face.

"Most of the time," Clara confirmed, her hands lazily being shoved into her pockets. "You'll get used to it."

"It's the fucking truth, John-boy. Rich women these days, all they want is working-class cock." Arthur chuckled, leaving the younger girl to gag in disgust.

"Tommy, maybe she was the something bad I had the feeling about!" Curly babbled.

"Ah! She looks all right to me, Curly!" John laughed.

"All I'll say is she has good contacts in the racing world." Tommy threw a set of keys at Michael who caught them unexpectedly. "Here, Michael, you drive."

"Thomas Shelby?" A man suddenly asked, withdrawing his gun and shooting. Before Tommy could be shot, Arthur had yanked the man's hand up, causing the bullet to hit the ceiling. Clara whipped out her own gun, turning off the safety. She glanced around, looking for any other shooters as John shot an approaching man.

"Tommy Shelby? How about fucking Arthur?Fucking good to meet you." Arthur growled, jumping on top of the man and punching him repeatedly. Clara continued to circle the open space, her gun raised, unknowingly mimicking Tommy who was behind her.

"Get him off him!" Tommy ordered as Arthur went wild. Clara lowered her gun, shoving it into her holster as she watched the men struggle to contain Arthur. He was having another episode, Clara could tell. She turned to Michael with wide eyes.

"You good?" She asked, running a hand over the surface of her hat. Michael seemed at a loss for words but he didn't seem afraid. The girl watched as Tommy held Arthur in a chokehold until the older man's eyes closed and his breathing steadied.

"Don't get blood on the kid!" Tommy yelled, briskly standing to his feet as he came to a stop in front of Clara and Michael. His eyes scanned Clara's solemn face before he turned to the boy. "Michael, you didn't see a thing. This didn't happen, all right? Give me the keys." The man paused as Michael didn't move an inch. "Michael, give me the keys."

"I'm all right to drive." The boy spoke lowly, his eyes trained on the older man.

"All right." Tommy nodded, grabbing Clara's hand and pushing her towards the exit with Michael. "Go on. Go on, go on!"

"Tommy, he's fucking scarpered!" John shouted, returning from chasing the other gunman. Clara strolled out of the building, staying close to Michael as he fiddled with the keys.

"Nice family outing, eh?" She joked, rolling her shoulders as they picked up the pace to get to the car. Clara hopped into the front, as Michael jumped into the front seat. "Bet we made a great impression."

☆

As you can see my girl Clara is not stable and no longer depends on her brother's approval (she's in her reputation era 😩🤝)

ANYWAYS HELLO MY BEAUTIFUL READERS! How are you on this fine Friday?

I basically chilled out all day so I've got no complaints!

I LOVE YOU ALL AND DONT FORGET TO VOTE, and here's your meme <3

ILL SEE YOU NEXT FRIDAY!