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Being a Shelby was not easy, there is no denying that. But being married to one? That was a whole new level of complicated and (Y/N) Shelby knew that very well.
Your relationship with John had not been easy since the very beginning. Flirting here and there, stolen kisses and sneaking out at night to go swimming or play in the snow. Nothing too serious, never putting a name to it. That’s it, until war broke off and he knew it was just a matter of time, either he volunteered, or they would come for him. There was no way out; sooner or later John would wear the uniform, and leave everything behind, including you. Two weeks before his departure he asked for a picture of you, to carry with him in France. His request took you aback, for you didn’t think your relationship was so serious for John to ask for a love token. Yet you complied; anything that gave him a piece of home, something to hold onto during the long nights in the trenches.
The full weight of his departure didn’t strike you until the train pulled out of the station, carrying loads of boys, proud and eager to defend their country and families. Many tears were shed that night in the handkerchief he gave you, with his initials carefully embroidered in a corner by his aunt. The full extent of your love came into full realization right as that bond was put to a test by time and distance. He was off to fight the Huns, and you were left to sit and wait.
Oh, how long you waited.
Four years was a long time, but he never slipped out of your memory. The three occasions in which he came home on leave were more than enough to keep the flame alive. The moment rumours came of a possible truce, John promised you he’d put a ring on your finger the moment the war was over. You gave yourself to him that night, and when he came home six months later, you were the first one he saw in the train station, one hand laced on Polly’s arm, the other cradling your baby bump.
Six years and two more kids passed since then. Just as promised he married you shortly after your son Joseph’s birth and you two moved in together. Your love for him burned just as bright as the first day, but he wasn’t the boy you dropped at the train station in 1914. He laughed less, drank more and became much more deeply involved in the family business, specially the dirty work. You had lost count of the times he crept back home at the ungodly hours of the night, bruised and bloodied, sheepishly waking you up so you could patch him back together. You never asked, and he never told; that was the agreement.
The growing business meant a growing number of enemies and a growing paranoia from him. Your house door had four locks, and a rifle was always loaded and ready by the entrance. The kids were never out of sight, and you didn’t walk alone anywhere, not even in broad daylight. You insisted, begged and nagged to be taught how to fire a gun, in your opinion that was just another reassurance for him that you’d be able to protect the family if the occasion arose. But John set his foot down on the matter; no woman of his would have to shoot a person while he was around to defend her.
In all honesty, the entire family say you as a dainty little flower. They had known you since you were John’s playmate as kids, and even now that you were a married woman with three children, and had worked alongside Polly to keep the business afloat during war, you were still a child in their eyes. In all of them but Polly’s. She had never been one to overlook a strong woman and had been a first-hand witness to your fierceness and courage when times required it. So, she taught you, behind your husband’s back and in between business hours; how to shoot, how to handle a knife, where to attack a man. Even gave you a beautiful garter, perfectly designed to carry a knife under your dress. She would not have defenceless women working for this family. Besides, her instinct told her someday, you’d have to fire a bullet for your husband.
~
John thought he had been smart and sneaky, telling you about a family gathering in Watery Lane. Family gathering for no good reason, when most times they could not even get half the family together for Christmas. Right after dinner, the men excused themselves, saying they were off for some drinks and would return after midnight. Did your husband think you were a bloody idiot? Even though you knew John only had the best intentions, not wanting to worry you and keeping you away from the harmful side of business, it was still infuriating. When you got married you promised to be there in the good and the bad, and to always be truthful to each other. Yet he lied to you, every day, and every time you asked about the things he did. The answer to your questions was always ready to fall of his lips; everything is okay, business is running smooth, our enemies are at bay. Always kept in the dark, truly believing he was doing you a favour.
You had known for weeks about the rival gang they had been having feuds with, constantly attacking each other’s businesses and territories, never coming face to face. You had also found out, straight from Polly’s mouth, that Tommy intended to end everything that night, whatever that meant. No more defensive measures or taunting techniques; now they were going straight to attack. This was the last stand. Last man wins.
Tension in the room was so thick you could cut it with a knife. Karl had already been sent to bed, and your two boys were laid to sleep in a bedroom upstairs, huddled together under a blanket. All that remained of the family now were ladies. Polly lit candles and mumbled prayers by the fireplace, the ashtray near her filled to the brim with completely consumed cigarettes that never made it to her lips. Ada paced over the same spot for so long the carpet would soon be worn out; her bottom lip trapped between her teeth and your little Helena in her arms, the 10-month-old child peacefully sucking on her thumb. Linda had sat down to embroider, but the needlework lay forgotten in her lap as she stared absently into the fire.
Minutes seemed to tick by too fast and too slow at the same time, making you ask yourself when it all would be over, while also wondering what was taking them so long. The heavy struck of midnight startled you all, heart leaping in your chest as a nasty feeling settled on your stomach. Polly went to pour herself a whiskey, but suddenly, her face went paper white, the empty glass slipping from her grasp and crashing into pieces onto the floor. The noise made you jump from your spot, and rush to your now crying daughter. As you tried to soothe her back to sleep, both yours and Ada’s gazes were fixed on Pol, who seemed to have lost all composure, one hand still in the liquor bottle, the other gripping the mantelpiece for support. She looked as if the Devil himself had come pouncing on her back.
“Pol?” Ada called tentatively, reaching out her hand slowly, as if she were about to touch a wild animal who could bite if scared.
“We have to go” Puzzled looks were exchanged between the three of you, absolutely clueless as to what to do “Ada, you grab the baby. (Y/N) you come with me. I refuse to sit here and wait for my boys to die” The mere mention of death sent panic coursing through your body. Ada wanted to protest about being left behind with Linda, but her aunt’s expression was enough to keep her mouth shut and grab hold of your girl, just in time for Polly to drag you by the sleeve into the betting shop.
Clearly there was no time for questions, for you hadn’t even gotten to say a word before a revolver was shoved into your hand, and a handful of bullets dropped into your coat pockets along with a second gun. Polly took two of her own and placed them in her purse, acting as if she had been expecting for this to happen all along. You knew it was an exaggeration, but this amount of weaponry made you feel as if you were off to war. The guns were not foreign to you, yet you had never fired one against a person.
Would that change now?
~
“Polly, are you sure this is a good idea? They know how to handle themselves” The question would have been more appropriate back in the house, not now when you both stood in front of a factory warehouse in the outskirts of town. There was no sign of the building being occupied, not a sound could be heard, nor could the glow of a lamp be seen. Just the howling of the wind, and the frantic hammering of your heart. You didn’t ask how she knew if this was the place; Polly Gray always knows.
“Of course it is. They always think they know everything, but they rarely do. It’ll be a bloodbath if we don’t butt in” You swallowed the lump in your throat, the saliva in your mouth having turned to cement. Polly led you to a side door, moving with confidence as if she knew the way by heart, her footsteps silent like a cat. Clearly the gang had already made their way inside; the more you walked into the building; the more men appeared scattered around. A wince left your lips each time you had to pass over a pool of blood, ignoring the twisting of your gut as you sunk further into the place, down and down until you reached what seemed to be a fortified basement. Polly pushed a heavy metal door open, and suddenly you felt as if the gates of Hell had opened. Screaming, cursing and the whistling of bullets mixed with each other. A battle royal fought in a labyrinth of crates and machinery, illuminated only by the fading glow of the furnaces. Bodies lay here and there, fear rising in your chest at the prospect of John being one of them.
A bullet ricocheted in the door behind you, sending both you and Polly into a crouching position, creeping in behind some piled crates as you both tried to find your way to the Blinders in between that maze. Everyone was too wrapped up on their battle to notice your presence, which gave you the surprise factor. Polly and you split up, taking different directions in an attempt to find the boys while avoiding being seen. But destiny wanted to lend you a hand, in a wicked sort of way. You found yourself behind two men who definitely were not on your side. But you didn’t have the skill to shoot both, or the guts to do so. A cry of pain who sounded awfully like Arthur gave you the boast of strength you needed; it was either you or them.
Bracing your feet, both hands holding the revolver, you aimed for the man on the left’s thigh. You couldn’t find it in your heart to kill him, but he had to be taken out somehow. Gritting your teeth, you pulled the trigger, the man immediately crumbling to the floor in a heap. His partner turned his head to you, and that split second was all it took for a stray bullet to cross his head. The sight made bitterness rise to your mouth, but you pushed your feelings to the back burner. You’d handle the guilt later on, now you had to find your man.
Once you were past the first shock of actually shooting a person, the rest wasn’t so bad. You still felt your throat tighten with each bullet, and the stench of iron in the air made you want to retch. In your way around you found a few men, both dead and alive, from both gangs. Isaiah almost shouted when he saw you, but you quickly signalled for him to shut up before giving him your scarf to contain the blood oozing from his chest. He had been forced to lie down and hide, unable to hold the rifle anymore.
“Here” He whispered as he handed you more ammo. Did he think you were off to shoot an entire army? How many more men were still standing? “John and Arthur are near the back door. Don’t let John see you or he’s going to go berserk” His forehead was cold, yet doused in sweat, and you internally prayed for him to hold on a little longer. He was just a kid and you weren’t letting him die on you “Go get them tiger. I knew you had more in you than they gave you credit for”
Despite the situation, a small smile made it to your lips. It wasn’t so hard for someone to have a little faith in you, was it? “Thanks Is. If anyone asks, I’ll take the fall and say I shoot you, so you’d let me go. Rather risk your dignity than your job”
Before he could complain you had moved away. Voices and bullets had become scarce, signalling there were just a few men standing. And you had found one right around the corner. Discarded guns surrounded him, along with countless fired bullets, yet somehow not a single one had come as close as graze him, by the looks of it. You had the big fish right in the shot range of your little revolver; all you had to do was fire in the right spot. Your intention had been to shot at his shoulder, but then it happened. Something so stupid changed everything. Your foot colliding with something, the scrapping noise against the cement just enough to drag his attention. Eyes widened in utter shock. It all happened too quickly.
He fired.
You fired.
And then a scream.
~
You fell on your hands and knees, the bullets digging painfully onto your flesh, but that was nothing comparable to what you felt in your chest, a coiling pain ripping through your heart. You thought you had screamed, but the sound died in your throat, sounding more like a choked gasp. Air seemed to be escaping you, no matter you deep your breaths were. Your hands trembled as you lifted them to your eyes, palms coated in dark blood.
Except, it was not yours.
A meter away laid down the man, your bullet having ripped clean through his neck. You had never meant to kill him, but in the heat of the moment, instinct overtook your rational side. No long after, the echoing of firing guns stopped completely, replaced by the hurried clicking of heels, and a woman calling your name.
“(Y/N), (Y/N), where the hell are you?” Her voice became louder, and the footsteps stopped right behind you, Polly sucking in a sharp breath “Holy Jesus” Your actions caught her off guard but she collected herself quickly. You were pulled to your feet, her expert hands inspecting you for any wounds before dragging you to the opposite side of the warehouse. Those who could still stand were gathering the injured, but your eyes were fixed on the body propped against the wall, his shirt stained red.
How many times you feared this moment may come? How many nightmares about this you endured? Tears shed in anticipation, yet now you found yourself too shocked to cry. Trembling like a leaf in the wind, your now clumsy feet rushed to John’s side, knees buckling under your weight. Much to your relief, you felt his warm breath when you pecked his lips, your fingers tracing his features until his tender eyes opened, staring dreamily at you.
“Fucking hell, did I die already? Because I’m seeing an angel right now” His light-hearted words were music to your ears, nervous laughter escaping your lips as you buried your face in the crook of his neck. One arm lazily hugged your waist “(Y/N) love… what the fuck are you doing here? I left you back home for a reason”
Now that you had seen him safe and sound you allowed yourself to feel anger, taking off your hat to smack him in the arm repeatedly “Are you kidding me? I came here to save your ass. John Michael Shelby how dare you scare me like that?” Your words were intertwined with more smacks, until he snatched the assaulting weapon off your hands and tossed it away. Polly kneeled by his side, wiping the blood from his neck with her sleeve. It was just a flesh wound in the shoulder but extremely close to his neck. Too close. It had been too close.
“You should be thanking this girl. She took down the gang leader with a single shot. Better than any of you ever did” She clicked her tongue as she moved onto the next man, having installing upon herself the role of healer “Always the same, you men fight wars and women have to win them”
“You did what?” Surprise filled John’s words. He wasn’t quite sure what took him aback more, you knowing how to shoot or you coming face to face with the ruthless gangster, and leaving without a scratch “Well look at that, the little kitten turned out to be a lioness” His warm hand cupped your face, calloused thumb gently rubbing across your cheekbone. The small but tender gesture made your heart flutter. He rarely said ‘I love you’, but his actions made up for any lack of words.
“I am a Shelby girl too, remember? I am no damsel in distress, so you better stop seeing me as one” You smoothed back his hair, feeling the adrenaline leaving you with each passing second. The things you had done for this man. But you’d do them a thousand times to keep him safe “Fucking idiot, you are. But you are my idiot and I love you so fucking much”
His lips broke into a lopsided grin as he pulled your face down for a kiss, hands now cradling the back of your neck, with yours lightly pressed against his chest, feeling his heartbeat against your fingertips.
Being married to John Shelby was not easy, not one bit.
But damn, it was so worth it.