Alfie Solomons x Reader: Beauty and the Beast
Authors note: this is my first time writing for Peaky Blinders, and my first time writing a fic in a while, so please feel free to bully me for my inaccuracies! also I might change the title later cuz idk what else to title this. Enjoy!
Polly pretended to disapprove of you and Arthur’s shenanigans. Reality was, she knew with you around, Arthur couldn’t get into too much trouble. True, it was not the most respectable of hobbies for a lady, to be playing cards and hanging around bars every Friday night. However, Arthur couldn’t be getting any whores pregnant when he had to watch over his young cousin. And he’d make sure you’d stay out of trouble, too. Tommy had a similar line of thinking. Although with this latest scheme, you weren’t sure you had his full support.
“Are you sure this is the best idea?”
“I think,” Arthur paused for a beat, stroking his mustache. “It will go smoothly. You want to prove yourself, that you can function in this line of business, this is it.”
“And what did Tommy say about it?” You questioned. He’d sent Arthur in his place for a meeting with Mr Solomons. You were sitting in the car outside of the distill- bakery. Arthur insisted that you come along to this meeting. Camden Town was a bit nicer than Birmingham-though not by much.
“You know Tommy, he’s, well, you know,” he blustered. In the back seat, Billy coughed.
So Tommy was not aware of this arrangement. “Right.” But you were not going to NOT go in.
You’d bumped into Mr Solomons once. He’d been leaving after having a conversation with Tommy. You scampered away before he could say anything to you. Not out of fear of him; you ran away because you were afraid Tommy would know you’d been eavesdropping. Though Mr Solomons had made a reputation for himself, from what you’d overheard, he sounded like a bit of a clown.
“Are you coming or are you going to stay in the car like a baby?”
“I’m not a baby,” you protested and stepped out into the cold air. “Finn is a baby.”
“Yeah, and I didn’t invite him for a reason.” Arthur punctuated the sentence with a slam of the automobile door.
You adjusted your outfit, making sure you looked proper and professional. “Let’s get this over with.”
A man awaited you by the door and led you inside the distillery. It was dark, and damp. The odor of rum-er, bread, permeated the air. The smell made you light headed. Your shoes echoed on the cement, the loudest sound in the room.
As you descended into the labyrinth, a man appeared from behind a corner. Mr. Solomons himself.
His hat cast an ominous shadow over his face- definitely planned for theatrical effect.
He did not react to your presence. If he recognized you he gave no sign. “Welcome, welcome! You must be Arthur!”
“Mr. Solomons,” Arthur greeted, offering a hand.
“I’ve head so much about you,” Mr. Solomons said. The amusement in his voice was evident. He wasn’t taller than your cousin, but he was stockier and way more intimidating. Billy stood on the opposite side of you, wary of the large man.
Arthur replied, “Shalom.”
You cringed. Mr. Solomons gaze flickered to one of his men behind Arthur.
“Let me just say, Shalom,” Arthur repeated, painfully serious. You felt ill. If it were a less tense situation you would have smacked him over the head.
Solomons tilted his head just enough for you to get a glimpse of the look of incredulity on his face.
“Shalom!” He said. “So glad you could join us for this most joyous of celebrations! And I see you’ve brought friends for the occasion.” Solomons nodded in your direction. You’d been instructed by Arthur to not speak too much or get involved. The same went for Billy.
Arthur shifted on his feet. “This is my cousin, and my associate. Shall we discuss business?”
“Cousin, eh? From the sounds of it, there’s a new Shelby every fucking week.” Mr Solomons chuckled. “Come along, come along.”
He lead you into a room with a table in the center. Something was off. Perhaps it was the comment Arthur had made. It had surely offended them. The Solomons men hadn’t even looked at you. Not that you wanted to be looked at. It was unusual, though. They weren’t even looking at each other.
Something else in the room caught your attention; a goat tied to the leg of the table. It bleated sadly at you. You resisted the urge to pet it.
Mr Solomons circled the table and gestured. You took note of the pipe in his hand that also seemed to function as a cane. “Take a seat, why don’t you?”
Arthur hesitated, both you and Billy watching him before making a move.
He took the chair on the end. Some of the Solomons boys were standing behind the three of you in a perfect line. Another one took a chair next to Mr Solomons, still not looking at you.
Mr Solomons himself remained standing, studying Billy like he was the most fascinating thing on the planet. “And you’ll be...”
Mr. Solomons focused his attention on you. “Shelby?”
“(Y/n),” was your answer as you sat down at the table. There were plates and cups arranged before you. You kept your hands in your lap, careful not to touch anything.
“(Y/n)...You know, out there in the sand, out there in the desert where me forefathers come from... started out as a little speck...”
“Is everything alright?” Billy leaned over to whisper to Arthur. One of the men lurking around had shut the door behind you while Mr. Solomons rambled on. Arthur tried to dismiss Billy’s concerns with a wave.
“Billy, don’t worry mate, yeah, if you want you can leave. If you need to go to the little boys room or something you can leave.” Mr. Solomons interrupted, sounding a little too much like a school teacher.
“He’s alright, he’s alright,” Arthur grinned, rubbing Billy’s shoulder. “Billy boy.”
Your stomach churned. Something was wrong. This was not the kind of conversation that Tommy and Mr Solomons had had the day you eavesdropped. This was not the simple meeting you were promised.
“You want to stay?” Mr Solomons asked Billy; staring at him so intensely you had to look away.
“You stay there, then, treacle.” Mr Solomons grimaced, and his voice suddenly became much louder. “So! The pharaoh! Have you heard of him?”
Without thinking, you nodded, and he pointed in acknowledgement at you.
“He kept my people, the Jewish people, in slavery for thousands of years.”
“Persecuted, right,” Arthur interjected, pleased with himself for making this astute observation. Mr Solomons eyes lit up with amusement.
“He did, he persecuted my race. killing the innocent, right. So this feast that we’re having here , is basically the day what when the Jewish angels decided the evil fucking Egyptians had pushed their fucking luck!”
“It’s part of our tradition to do this, for in order to make it good with god to kill a king.”
Oh fuck. You glanced towards your cousin. By the look on his innocent smiling face he had not come to the conclusion you had. Okay, keep it cool. From the rumors you knew Mr Solomons was an intelligent man who spoke in idiotic riddles. You could have been misreading things. Sabini could be the pharaoh in the story.
“Right,” Arthur said again. What was Tommy doing at this moment?
“That is the ritual of the sacrifice of the pass over goat.” Mr Solomons said.
Everyone at the table turned to look at the bleating creature.
Arthur looked ill. “A goat?”
Mr Solomons gestured to it. “Yeah, we’re gonna sacrifice it. Tonight. That’s part of the reason why we have to shut the doors as well.”
You wished Arthur had let you keep a gun. You were a sitting duck. Every muscle in your body tensed, ready for the action. No, Tommy wasn’t the pharaoh.
“But this year we thought we’d give the fucking goat a name!” He grinned.
You averted your eyes as a man put a knife to the goats neck. “Arthur?”
“You named the fucking goat.” He shifted in his chair. It seemed as if he was catching on.
“Evil fucking Egyptian pharaoh-“
“And you know what we called it?”
Your hands balled into fists.
“Tommy Shelby,” Mr Solomons answered with a hint of triumph.
As the blood of the goat spilled on the ground you dropped to the floor. Chaos ensued; a gunshot fired so loud your ears rang. It took a few seconds for your hearing to return. Arthur was screaming. You looked up to see poor Billy slumped in his chair, covered in blood, not moving. You brought your knees to your chest and covered your head to avoid any potential stray bullets. Three of the men had to restrain Arthur, who thrashed and cursed.
Heavy footsteps approached. You scooted back further under the safety of the table. Trying to help him would be useless; you were outnumbered and they had guns.
Arthur went quiet, his freckled face pale.
The back of Mr. Solomons came into view.
“That’s that. So, and the evil Egyptian scum was finally cleansed by the blood of the Passover goat. Mate.”
You covered your moth with a hand.
He kissed Arthur’s cheek twice. “That’s for Sabini.”
Then he promptly bashed Arthur over the head. Funnily enough, it brought back memories of all the times you’d seen Arthur do the same thing to someone else. The urge to laugh overwhelmed you.
Mr Solomons dropped into a squat and placed the gun he’d shot Billy with into Arthur’s hand.
While he was in this position he noticed you under the table.
“Ah, hello there,” he grunted, eyes looking you up and down.
You wanted to swear, or grab the gun from Arthur’s limp hand, or do something very impressive.
He stared at you, waiting for a reply.
“Hi,” you sputtered out. “Is he dead?”
“Oh, nah, that would ruin the fun. You were not supposed to be here tonight.”
“Right. What the fuck am I going to do with you?”
“Let me go?” You suggested. It was worth a try.
He scratched his beard, lost in thought. “Cute, but I think not. That wouldn’t exactly wrap things up nicely, would it?”
A heavy pause lingered in the air. You pulled your knees in even closer, in an instinctual effort to protect yourself.
“Ok. Well! Lads, why don’t you take our guest upstairs?”
One of the men grabbed your arm, yanking you to your feet.
“Hey!” You struggled to get your arm free.
Mr Solomons stood up and turned away from you.
“You’re gonna kidnap me and you can’t even look me in the face! Fucking coward!” You shoved the man off but slipped in the blood on the floor, letting him get the advantage.
Another grabbed your other arm and despite your best efforts you couldn’t elbow him off. The near tumble had discombobulated you.
Mr Solomons glanced over his shoulder, as cool as a cucumber. “My good friends the London police are here if you’d prefer to go with them.”
The shock of what he’d said made you forget to fight. “Wait, what?” He didn’t have police on his payroll. Oh, Sabini did, how could you forget?
“Get the fuck off me!” You screamed.
The two men dragged you out the same moment as the doors flung open. A group of police stormed the room.
“Fucking animal came in here with a gun and he shot him in the face!” Mr. Solomons gestured with his cane, ignoring your pleas for help. “And my lads restrained him. Look at him! He’s dead! Is he dead! He’s fucking dead!” His false astonished voice followed you down the hall.
You fought back with all your effort.
“Stop fucking fighting, you’re lucky he didn’t shoot you too!” One of them said.
“Oh, how kind! How generous! Please be sure to thank him for me! Arthur! Arthur!” You didn’t know why you were screaming for him. They were carting him off to jail. Fuck. Would Tommy know? How long would it take for him to find out? “Bastards!”
Going upstairs was the worst part; you managed to slither out of their grip and ran up a few steps before tripping onto your face. They at least had the decency to not laugh.
The upstairs appeared to be some sort of flat. The two assholes threw you into the closest room, probably out of desperation to be free of you.
“What are you going to do with me?” You demanded, although you were scared of the answer.
They exchanged glances. They had let you free but blocked the door.
“Well, we’re not sure. He didn’t really give us instructions.” One said.
“I could give you some instructions. How about you go shove a-“ the threat was enough. Without rhyme or reason you charged at them like a bull.
Before you could spring your attack, they slipped out, locking the door behind themselves.
Slamming your fists on the door, you swore at them, every word imaginable.
Once you exhausted yourself you switched gears. Taking in the room; you noticed a bed shoved against a wall, a large, messy desk, and a small window. The style of the room was at least ten years out of date, and was covered in what looked like ten years of dust. This must be where Mr Solomons slept. For someone who had money he didn’t live like it.
You moved to the one window in the room. Here was a potential escape route. Except for the crowd of men huddled outside smoking. They wore aprons, like the others you saw. There was no way you could get past all of them.
But you could once they left. The only issue was making sure nothing happened to you in between then and now.
Who knew what upsetting plans he had for you? He fucking shot Billy. He could have shot you. Maybe the only reason he did it was because the police were nearby. He could be on his way up here at this very moment.
You needed to block the door. Anything to stall for time.
There was a coat rack in the corner that you used. The large cabinet full of decorative China plates looked easy to push; after a few tense moments of pushing you abandoned it and went for the desk. You investigated your work. The door could still be opened a few inches. Anything more than that would be blocked.
It should be enough. It didn’t feel like it. You were becoming aware of the heavy, dull ache in your muscles. Your ribs hurt from you dropped to the floor and bruises had begun to appear on your arms. You sat down on the creaky bed. If you were trapped in here, you might as well enjoy the “comforts” of this place.
A few hours passed. It had to be the next day already. Your thoughts were with Arthur, wondering if he’d woken up from the bashing yet. And Tommy, if he knew you were being held hostage. He was smart. He’d get you out of this. Unless he’d finally had enough of your antics and disowned you. No, no. Polly, John and Ada wouldn’t let that happen. You were spiraling and tired but too paranoid to sleep. Laying back on the bed, your eyes closed as you strained to listen for any sound. Why in the ever loving fuck had you let Arthur do this? When had he ever done anything smart?
Someone knocked at the door.
“Fuck off.” You said, a conditioned response from years of your cousins barging in on you.
Mr Solomons huffed. “Yes, yes. Listen. I’m not going to shoot you-well, I might if you get on my nerves- I have actually come to the conclusion that you may be quite useful to me.”
Mr Solomons opened the door, and to your relief, it got stuck on the desk. “Moving my fucking desk around?”
“I doubt I’m any use to you,” you said in your bravest voice. “Tommy will be looking for me. And he will want revenge for your betrayal with Sabini.”
He jiggled the door again. It didn’t budge. “Yeah, exactly. Revenge and all that. And I know he’s fond of you- you were at his house that day- so if I have you, right, as leverage, he’ll be less likely to put a fucking bullet in my head.”
“Did you really put Arthur in prison?”
“Yes, and I’ve just gotten word that Michael...Gray, is it, he’s been locked up too. So Tommy is probably a bit busy at the moment.”
Michael? That was probably a lie. A bluff. Polly would be in shambles.
“So are you going stay in there forever or are you going to come out?” Not taunting. Curious.
“You can come out, I’m not going to fucking hurt ya-“
“I saw you shoot Billy in the fucking head! And nearly kill Arthur!” You barked and flung the nearest object you could find, an empty bottle, at the door.
He cursed and shut the door before the bottle could slam into his head. “Didn’t you listen to a fucking word I said? Tommy Shelby would really come after me then.”
“Fuck the fuck off!” Another bottle flew through the air for good measure. This time the liquid contents splattered on the papers on the desk.
“Fucking hell,” he growled. “Stay in there as long as you want then, yeah?”
Your voice wavered. “He’s gonna come for me! And you’ll be sorry when he does!”
