This chapter will focus on:
Charlotte consolidating her men and resources in Birmingham.
Her first big move into the racecourse world.
A sharper clash with Kimber's men that brings her and Thomas Shelby into each other's orbit more directly.
A subtler but stronger chemistry with Thomas — wary, magnetic, dangerous.
---
🌹 Chapter 2: First Moves (Re-written)
The night Birmingham breathed coal smoke and whiskey fumes.
Charlotte leaned against the frosted window of her rented warehouse office, her reflection haloed in lamplight. White hair fell in a curtain over one shoulder, catching fire in the glow, and her crimson eyes — those sharp, unnatural eyes — glowed faintly in the dark glass. She drew a drag from her vape, exhaled, and watched the plume twist like fog.
Below, her men were at work.
Five elites, immaculate in their sharp black suits, ran drills with their Thompson submachine guns. Their movements were precise, silent, an orchestra of efficiency. Five assassins melted in and out of shadow, practicing their art on straw dummies marked with chalked throats and hearts. Informants came and went like rats, whispering into the ears of her accountants, their scraps of knowledge already turning into numbers on ledgers.
And in the far corner, the five replicators bent over their impossible machines, coaxing whiskey bottles, silk gowns, and crates of bullets from nothing but humming light. The sight still unsettled Charlotte — modernity blooming like a fever dream in 1919 Birmingham — but it was her edge.
My teeth in this world, she thought, taking another drag. My claws.
She tapped the windowpane once, sharp, and the warehouse stilled. Dozens of eyes turned to her.
"We're not here to make noise," she said, her voice calm but commanding. "Noise is for men like Kimber. We're here to make shadows. Shadows that whisper. Shadows that bleed."
A murmur of assent moved through her men. The elites stood straighter. The assassins melted deeper into darkness.
Charlotte smiled faintly. Good. They understood.
---
First Blood at the Track
The racetrack was alive with clamor the next morning. Hawkers shouted odds, horses snorted clouds of white breath, and coins clinked from hand to hand in desperate wagers. The air smelled of sweat, leather, and smoke.
Charlotte moved through the crowd like silk sliding across grit. Her coat clung to her frame, drawing eyes she ignored, and her men fanned out discreetly — elites watching the edges, assassins gone entirely.
And there, like she had expected, were the Shelbys.
Thomas walked ahead of his brothers, calm, unhurried, cigarette burning between his fingers as though the chaos belonged to him. Arthur bristled beside him, jaw tight, fists itching. John grinned too sharp, always too eager.
Charlotte's lips curled around her vape as she watched them. So this is the beginning.
Kimber's men made their entrance not long after — loud, brash, shoving punters aside as though the ground belonged to them. Their coats swung like banners of arrogance. The racetrack stilled with unease at their arrival.
And then the moment sharpened like glass.
A Shelby bookie, a boy no older than nineteen, was cornered against a wall, Kimber's brute pawing through his ledger. "This ain't your ground," the man snarled. "You hand this over, or you bleed."
Arthur took a step, fury blazing in his eyes — but Charlotte's assassins were faster.
A whisper of movement. A flash of steel.
The brute staggered back, clutching his side, crimson soaking through his coat. Another thug turned and found his throat kissed by a blade that vanished as quickly as it struck. Kimber's men shouted, panic blooming in the crowd.
Thomas didn't flinch. He only exhaled smoke, watching with narrowed eyes as the chaos folded around him.
Charlotte stepped forward through the screams, white hair bright against the soot and blood. One of her elites ghosted at her side, hand hovering near the concealed Thompson.
Her gaze locked with Thomas across the yard.
Blue against red. Ice against flame.
For the briefest heartbeat, the noise died. The racetrack, the crowd, Kimber's curses — gone. Only two predators stood in the clearing, seeing one another for what they were.
Then Kimber roared, shoving through his men. "Who the fuck are you?" he spat at Charlotte, his face mottled red with fury.
Charlotte drew slowly from her vape, exhaled, and let smoke curl like a smile. "Someone who doesn't like bullies."
Laughter rippled sharp from Kimber's throat. "You'll regret crossing me, love."
She tilted her head, red eyes burning. "Men like you always think that."
Kimber snarled something, but the weight of Thomas Shelby's stare behind her words silenced him. Rage in his face, calculation in his eyes, Kimber finally dragged his men back, retreating with curses and promises of retribution.
The crowd began to murmur again, restless, fearful. Blood slicked the dirt, already darkening in the cold light.
Charlotte glanced once more at Thomas before she turned away.
---
Smoke and Words
Later, when the crowds had thinned and Kimber's presence had receded, Thomas found her near the stables. She leaned against a fence post, vape glowing faintly in the twilight, her white hair almost silver in the fading sun.
He approached without hurry, cigarette balanced between his lips, his eyes watchful.
"You made quite a scene," he said at last. His tone was flat, unreadable, but his gaze never left her face.
Charlotte exhaled, sweet smoke mingling with his harsher scent of tobacco. "So did you. Or was that not your boy getting cornered?"
Thomas's jaw shifted, but he said nothing.
"You've got ambition," she continued softly, her voice almost a whisper. "Ambition needs teeth. Kimber thinks his bark is enough. He'll learn otherwise."
"And you?" His voice was quiet, cutting. "What do you want in Birmingham?"
Charlotte's red eyes glowed faintly as she met his gaze head-on. "To play the game. And to win."
The silence stretched between them. Her men lingered in the shadows, his brothers watching from a distance, but in that moment there were only two people in the world. Two predators circling, wary but drawn.
Thomas flicked ash from his cigarette, eyes narrowing slightly. "You're not from here."
"No." Charlotte's lips curled faintly. "But neither are kings."
Arthur's voice shattered the stillness, calling Thomas back.
Thomas lingered a moment longer, then turned, smoke trailing behind him. "We'll see if you're trouble," he said.
Charlotte exhaled another cloud of vapor, lips curving. "We'll see if you can handle trouble."
---
Back in her warehouse that night, Charlotte stood among her men, eyes sharp on the humming replicators, the glittering goods, the sharp steel.
The Shelbys had noticed her. Kimber had feared her.
The board was set. The game had begun.
And Birmingham was already starting to bend.
---
✨ End of Chapter 2 (Re-written, ~1k+words).