Five: Dies Irae*

"We got careless," Chibs said, the flat shrug of his shoulders at odds with the emotional look in his eyes. "In more ways than one. But by the end, we were so close to gettin' out."

"Out of Ireland - you and Aoife?" Lyla asked. "You were going to leave together?"

He nodded, almost sheepishly, searching for the words to explain as he raked graying hair out of his eyes and got up from the bar stool Gemma had pushed him down on. The lit cigarette dangled neglected from his fingers, his free hand trailing over the green baize of the pool table as he stretched his legs again restlessly.

It was getting harder to sit still, harder to speak and yet near impossible to stop now that he'd started this.

"That lass don't deserve to be judged," came the rough warning. "She weren't some home-wrecking wee tart, chasin' a married man wi' a kid on the way. I know how it might sound, but makin' her the other woman, that were all on me. She was a good girl, sweet, kind. She tried to stay away, especially when she heard about the baby, but I ... I couldn't let her go. That was my fault, my weakness. And finally, I made the choice. I was gonna tell Fi' the truth, or some o' it at least. I thought maybe I could still be a dad without bein' a husband, even if we had to put some distance between us at first. I thought maybe it would be better in the end, for all o' us. God love me for that foolheadedness, but I actually thought I could see a way out o' it all."

"Let me guess," Gemma spoke up, having returned to her place by her husband's side. "Dear Fiona was having none of it?"

"She never found out."

December 1992: Falls Road, Belfast.

"She'll be hurt ..."

Hearing the guilt and pain in that softest of murmurs in the darkness, he trailed his hand gently down the smooth curve of her side as his girl lay with her back to him. "Aye," he admitted, pressing a tender kiss and then another to her bare shoulder. "A wee bit. And mad as all hell. But that, my love, is for me to worry about."

"Filip ..." Aoife sighed, a sure sign her infinite patience with him might be wearing just a little thin.

"I mean it, lass. Put it out o' yer head. C'mere to me."

"Filip ..."

"C'mere."

He didn't have to see her face to know he would have drawn one of those cute little reluctant smiles from her with his well-meaning order, even as she shifted to snuggle into his chest, wrapped in the protective circle of his arms under the blankets just like he wanted. He knew life was set to get even more complicated than usual for them both very soon and so, claiming her mouth again with his, he was determined to do everything in his power to make sure she was safe and warm and happy in the meantime. One more night where they could be together in relative peace and then ...

There wasn't so much as a knock before the front door started to crash in, its hinges giving under the weight thrown at it. A shoulder maybe, or a boot. Whatever it was, it had them bolting upright in a second and out of bed scrambling for clothes the next.

Ruing ever letting his guard down for a moment, Filip grabbed his gun from its hiding place and pulled Aoife behind him, dishevelled and trembling as she was in her jeans and his flannel shirt with the buttons still half-undone. It all happened so quickly, but the heavy steps on the stairs seemed to last for an eternity when all they could do was wait. And suddenly, his racing heart sinking, he knew exactly what was happening.

And how it was going to play out.

"Stay wi' me," he urged Aoife desperately, looking into those frightened green eyes. "No matter what, ya stay wi' me, love. I ain't lettin' him take ya. Not like this."

The bedroom door flew open and he fired blindly. Once, twice, three times. There were too many of them though. He knew there would be. Jimmy O'Phelan was no one's cannon fodder. The first meaty fist that reached him landed a blow that felt like it smashed his jaw, then his arm was wrenched and wrenched until he was forced to drop the gun with a grunt of pain and quickly found himself slammed face-first into the nearest wall.

All he cared about though was the sight of Aoife biting back a terrified cry as she was dragged roughly away. That was more than enough to make him struggle, regardless of the brutal punches it only served to heap on his already battered body.

"Jesus, Filip, what kind o' uncivilised way is that to greet anyone?"

Jimmy sounded half disappointed, half amused, and all Filip wanted to do was grab his gun and shove it down the smug bastard's throat before pulling the trigger and ending his bloody game-playing once and for all.

"Very unwise," the IRA leader added, having obviously spotted the efforts to break free and reach the discarded weapon. "And uncalled for, I feel. After all, I'm only retrieving what's mine here. I mean, did yous actually think this wee dalliance had somehow escaped my attention? Aoife, Aoife, Aoife ... What am I goin' to do wi' ya, huh? And Filip, I'd expect ya to understand – she is my baby sister, after all. I'm protective, it's a flaw. Ya think this is what I want for her? A married man skulking in the shadows?"

He shook his head, as if saddened, and adjusted the already perfect cuffs of his shirt while he appeared to mull over his next move. "No, no, this'll never do, so it won't."

"Jimmy, please," Aoife begged, pulling one arm free of the hired thug holding her and reaching out to her brother, already well aware of his capabilities. "Please, don't do this. Please, just don't kill him."

He turned to her, his face softening, and reached out to caress her cheek. But the gesture only made her flinch and that in turn knit his brows in an almost offended frown. "Aoife, my love, think what yer askin' me ..."

"I know exactly what I'm askin' ya," she managed, tears slipping down her cheeks.

"Ya know how this whole sordid mess betrays me."

"I ... I know," she whispered, hanging her head. "And I'm sorry. I'm so s-sorry, Jimmy."

He only reached into his jacket and produced his own gun, ignoring Filip's fresh curses and renewed efforts to free himself. The cold steel of the barrel trailed down his youngest sister's cheek as she trembled and squeezed her eyes closed.

"Are ya gonna tell me yer in love wi' the likes o' him?"

"Aye," came the soft reply. "I am."

"Well, then I'll gi' ya a choice," Jimmy said, sounding sympathetic to her plight. "That's the least a big brother can do, isn't it? And ya did ask me not to kill him."

"Please don't," she repeated, braving a glance to where Filip was still fighting his own captors. "That's all I'm askin'. Please, fer the love o' God, don't kill him."

"Option number one then, sweet sister, is simple – watch while I shoot him where he stands, then come home where ya belong ..."

"No!" Aoife cried out as she wept, lashing out with her feet against the silent hulk of a man struggling to hold her.

"Or there's option number two. Walk down those stairs wi' me right now to the car waitin' outside. Get in it and ya have my word, I won't kill yer precious cheatin' Scotsman."

She was obviously confused, still sobbing even as she racked her brain for the catch. "T-That's it? I leave him and ya let him walk outta here too? He ... He could come after me ..."

Jimmy acknowledged that with a simple half-shrug. "I wouldn't stand in his way."

"He's lying, Aoife – the devious bastard's lying!" Filip yelled, yelping in pain when he was cracked in the face again with the butt of a gun. He could taste blood, but none of that mattered. Jimmy always had a plan. No way would he make it as simple as that. "Let him do what he likes to me, darlin'. Don't trust that fuckin' snake!"

Fighting back tears, trying to think straight, Aoife wiped her eyes on her sleeve. Her breath was hitching in her chest and the distraught look on her face was causing Filip's heart to twist in his.

"W-What if I ... won't choose?"

"Oh, my wee pet, don't do that to yer own brother. Don't make me shoot the pair o' ya."

"Ya fuckin' murderous bastard!" Filip roared. "Aoife, darlin' ..."

"Aoife, listen to me," Jimmy said, his voice suddenly low and urgent. "Ya think I want to hurt ya? Yer my wee sister, my girl! We can get past all o' this. Ya just have to accept yer an O'Phelan. Everythin' I've worked towards, built up, ya can still be a part o' all that – it's not too late. It's never too late. Not fer family."

"No," came the whisper.

"What? Aoife ..."

"No," she said, stronger this time but with something else dawning in her eyes. "I can't be like ya, Jimmy. I'll go with ya, to save Filip, but I'll never be what ya want me to be."

A hard look levelled on her and her brother's jaw tightened. "Think. Very. Carefully."

"Not much o' an option, is it?" she smiled tearfully. "But it's the only one yer givin' me."

"No, it bloody is not!" he barked suddenly, slamming a hand down on the dresser in a flash of temper. "This is on yer own head, Aoife - yers and his! Yer the one who chose spreadin' yer legs for him over yer own family, so don't try to pin this on me, ya backstabbing wee slut!" He lashed out again, but this time his hand left a flaming print across her cheek and whipped her head painfully to the side. "See what ya made me do!"

"Some big brother," Aoife managed, her trembling voice barely audible over Filip's helpless fury.

"Shut yer mouth and get down those fuckin' stairs, if yer goin'," Jimmy snapped, jerking his head at his men. "Bring him too."

"Jesus Christ," Jax breathed, having shifted to the edge of the couch where he was leaned forward with his head in his hands. Fresh insight into the dealings of a man the club had been backed into an uneasy alliance with didn't seem to be sitting too well with the young VP, who'd always been particularly close to the now ashen Scot.

Even with all that he'd seen, he was chilled to the core and he didn't even fully understand why yet. Only that one of his most loved brothers – laidback, tough as nails Chibs, whose heart somehow managed to be even bigger than his quick mouth – was dashing the back of his hand over teary eyes, and the sight went straight to his gut.

"Chibs, man ..."

But the storyteller shook his head, finally determined to see this through as he stood with a shoulder cocked against the wall by the clubhouse door.

"They dragged us down the stairs," he said, swallowing a lump in his throat at the memory. "Musta bin maybe three in the mornin' by then. And the minute we got outside, I realised what Aoife already guessed ..."

"Mother o' Christ ..."

The sight of two cars parked in the deserted street robbed Filip of his breath as soon as it sunk in. Jimmy's plush ride, with a driver keeping the engine ticking idling, was to be expected. But the black cab, with its blacked out windows and fake plates, could only mean one thing.

"No, Jesus, not that," he choked out, falling to his knees despite the pull on his arms by his captors.

O'Rourke and McKelvey, key figures in the IRA's so-called internal security unit, climbed out of the front of the cab and leaned against its side to wait for their orders. Their eyes were on him, but it was Aoife that Jimmy pushed towards them.

"Ya made yer bed," he snarled in her pale face. "Now fuckin' lie in it!"

"Jimmy ..." she whimpered, only to have his gun aimed right at her face. "At least ... At least let me say goodbye."

At his curt nod, she hurried to Filip and crouched down to cradle his bruised, tear-streaked face in her hands.

"Ah, love, please don't," he groaned, coughing from the pain in his chest after the vicious onslaught he'd faced while trying to get away. "Ya don't know what yer doin'. I don't want this. Ya hafta let him shoot me, Aoife ... Then ya can go home and at least ... At least I'll know yer safe."

Somehow, she managed the ghost of a smile for him through her own tears, but she still shook her head. "I can't do that, Filip, I just can't. Don't ya see? This is the only way ... Don't argue with me – ya have a baby, my darlin', and that changes everythin'. That wee girl needs her daddy and I can't be the one who costs her that. Maybe Jimmy will go back on his word, but at least I'll know I ... I tried."

"Aoife ..."

She cut him off with a hard, desperate kiss and choked back a sob when she pulled back, her hands fisting in his t-shirt. He wrenched one arm free to pull her close and she clung to him for a moment.

"I'm scared, Filip," she managed, fresh tears streaming down her face. "I'm s-sorry. I love ya."

"Fer fuck's sake, Aoife, please ..."

But he was hauled away from her with a howl of anguish even as she scrambled to her feet and headed for the cab without looking back. Jimmy didn't watch as it drove away. Instead, he just pulled out his knife.

"Let's see if we can't bring back that smile, Filip," he said evenly. "After all, I only said I wouldn't kill ya."

Chibs couldn't look at any of them as he reached for a discarded bottle of whiskey and slugged a long drink straight from the neck, barely even conscious of their horrified eyes on him.

"And that, lads and lasses, is how I got the scars," he declared, in much too light a tone for the occasion – at least until it cracked with emotion and he slammed the bottle back down on the bar. "And so ends Jackanory time, with a blood-covered miserable bastard and a wee lass disappeared."

"But ... But you must have looked for her," Juice spoke up, somewhere between hesitant and urgent, as if unable to believe the story ended there – for his brother's sake if nothing else. "Aoife, I mean. It's not like she could really just disappear. Like, with the net, you can find practically anyone if you just ..."

"Juice!" Tara hissed, trying to stop the well-intentioned Son from putting his feet any further in his mouth.

But despite the obvious pain, and the alcohol setting in, it seemed that Chibs wasn't going to take offence. "Bless yer heart, Juicy," he said softly. "She didn't disappear. She was disappeared. Search it on that computer o' yers, I need some air."

The younger Son had the sense to wait until the Scot had gone outside, with Jax following after a moment's pause, before turning wide eyes on the rest of the group. "I don't get it," he admitted, ploughing ahead before anyone could get a word in. "Okay, okay, Jimmy's connected and the whole IRA thing is bad news, but she's his sister – what's he really gonna do? For all Chibs knows, he smuggled her over the border and she's been holed up in ... in Dublin or somewhere this whole time! All these years and we could totally find her for him! Why the hell are you all looking at me like that? What's up with this disappeared shit?"

It was Happy who spoke up from the corner where he'd sat quietly through the whole dark tale.

"The Disappeared are people the IRA took," he said gruffly. "They take them, they kill them, and they don't get found. End of story."

Juice's face fell.

to be continued ...

*Dies Irae - Latin which translates as Day of Wrath. It's a hymn which features in Catholic Requiem Masses.