Peaky Blinder Isaiah Novels & Stories

My blood boiled, but I leaned forward, lowering my voice to a whisper only his supernatural hearing could catch. “What the hell are you doing here, Isaiah?” He cut into his pancake, his voice a soft hiss. “Having fun, Damon. Living like a family. It’s… refreshing.” His eyes sparkled with mockery, daring me to call his bluff. “You’re lying,” I growled, my whisper sharp. “You see them as fodder. Nothing more.” Isaiah’s smile didn’t falter, but his voice dropped colder. “Fodder? Sure. But I’m not killing them yet. Where’s the sport in that?” He took a bite, savoring it like it was blood, not syrup.

“It was natural, and I think my brother deserved that scare.” I looked at each of the twins carefully. The twin I’d startled smiled, showing all his teeth, as if he knew I couldn’t recognize them yet. “I’m Isaiah, and he’s Isaac,” Isaiah said calmly. “While I’m a bit more laid-back, my brother isn’t afraid of absolutely anything, he has no filter, and he tends to be overly honest… at least about the things he can’t help but stare at.” My face flushed again. “I didn’t—”

What did she want from me? My dad's name is Chansey Slate, he is Beta to our Alpha, Brock Landon. My father is married to Rebecca Slate, and I have a brother named Tyler, who is my twin. We look like complete opposites. I have dark brown hair, his is raven black, which I envy, to be honest. He's darker-skinned toned than I am. He's extremely well built, meaning he's super muscular for his age, since he is always working out! And I mean working out all the damn time, just like his arrogant best friend, Blake.

"You mean the legendary god of the West City? The one who killed nine men with a knife in a fight?" Mrs. Adam grinned. "Exactly. That's a story from his early days. He now operates a whole gang behind the curtains and he doesn't need to get into fights anymore. He has hundreds of people working under him." "Then we should go talk to him. It shouldn't matter how much it would cost. We have to sabotage Hilda's project." "That should already be considered done." That night, Mrs. Adam met with Isaiah in an entertainment club. Isaiah was a burly and rough looking man. He accessorized with a huge watch and a thick silver chain around his neck. He left two buttons of his floral shirt undone to expo

he asks gruffly, wiping the slight stain of wine from his upper lip. "Alder's daughter. She's going to make a speech to some cameras,” Isaiah responds for me. I don’t look at him, even though I am grateful for him taking attention from me. He’s likely used to being judged by these people, all of high standing no doubt. "Great!" the man exclaims, laughing hoarsely. He nudges the man next to him, but he doesn’t react, more concerned with Isaiah’s rank than the other, it seems. "Good to see you're getting others to do your dirty work, just like your father."

He sought sanctuary with Derick, knowing that Blake wanted him dead. "Derick! Please, you have to protect me," Mr. Isaac pleaded, his voice trembling with fear. "Blake wants me dead. He ruined your company, destroyed everything you worked for. I had no choice but to do his bidding. Please, save me." Derick's expression hardened, the weight of betrayal and loss heavy on his shoulders. He looked into Mr. Isaac's eyes, searching for any trace of remorse or redemption. But all he found was a reflection of his own pain.