On Friday afternoon, Patrick stormed into the Short Strand pub where he knew Jimmy would be. The seething father roared, "O'Phelan!"

Patrick hated that smug grin plastered on Jimmy's face as he made his way out from the back of the pub. Never in his life had he wanted to bash a man's face in so badly. Jimmy wasn't dumb, he knew exactly why Patrick had come searching for a fight. He really couldn't blame Patrick as he would have done the same if the roles were reversed. Although, Jimmy would fully admit he enjoyed seeing the rise he got out of the temperamental father of three.

"Fancy seein' you on the east side of the river." Jimmy teased.

The only thing Patrick could do was roll his eyes. He wasn't interested in small talk so he got right to the point. Pointing his finger at Jimmy, Patrick told himself to keep calm. Having so badly screwed up his relationship with Catherine, he knew she would blame him if he were to give Jimmy the same black eyes he had given her.

"Stay the hell away from my daughter. Worry about your own goddamn family and keep your nose outta mine. Her future is none of your fuckin' business. So if this is the path she wants, I'll take care of it."

Jimmy stayed quiet for a moment, then he cocked his head to the side and huffed. "I suppose it's a bad time to tell you I got the votes last week. Just haven't found the right time to tell her."

Learning that was a bitter defeat for Patrick. Olivia had warned him months ago about the changes in Catherine's behavior and he chose to ignore it, hoping the appeal of it all would fade the moment she was nabbed by the RUC or a soldier. What concerned Patrick the most was that its appeal would probably never fade for her. This was something she was good at doing.

With Catherine under Jimmy's command, it wasn't the wrath of the British Army or the RUC that Patrick feared for Catherine, it was international governments. Jimmy would exploit Catherine's ability to be clandestine and charming, and send her around the world to do the dirty work with him. Transporting weapons through international borders would land her in prison—God knows where—for the rest of her natural life. Patrick would rather watch her die in the streets of Belfast than suffer such a fate.

But, the one thing that destroyed Patrick was the thought of what was to come next for Catherine. Jimmy prided himself on having the most loyal and disciplined volunteers the True Army had ever seen, and they didn't get there through praise and coddling. He relied on tactics that teetered the blurred lines of a war crime. They would be considered a clear transgression of human rights, yet no one stood up for the recruits he terrorized simply because they did their job and they did it extremely well.

Patrick's heart shattered into a million pieces as he imagined his daughter being subjected to the torturous initiation. If she made it through the mental breakdown, then Catherine would be given her black beret. Only to be sent away to county Kerry for six weeks of physical training.

"Anythin' happens to my girl, her blood is on your hands."

Jimmy couldn't believe Patrick didn't see the irony in his statement and he let out a dry cackle.

"As far as I'm concerned, the only person here with Catherine's blood on their hands is you."

Patrick physically recoiled at Jimmy's words. He knew it was nothing more than a sad attempt at a low blow, but it worked, nonetheless. The cuts on his knuckles tormented him every second of his day, serving as a painful reminder of how badly he screwed up.

"It is a shame how badly ya beat her face in, Paddy. That cute little nose'll never look the same. Ya know, she fell asleep last night after cryin' her eyes out. But havin' her in my arms." Jimmy took a deep breath as his brow furrowed. " She's gorgeous. We all know she won't be a virgin forever, so, I figured why not show her what it's like to be with a real man-"

Like any sensible father, Patrick snapped. He didn't care that Jimmy was a superior officer as he had taken it too far by speaking of his daughter like that. Grabbing Jimmy by the collar of his suit jacket, Patrick thrust him against the wall. Well aware there were five men ready to pounce on him the moment the first punch was thrown, Patrick tried to get his point across without a single blow.

"If I find out you've placed a single finger on Catherine Mary, I fuckin' promise ya no one'll ever find your body."

Jimmy couldn't tell if Patrick was bluffing or not. Unlike Filip, Patrick was far more unpredictable and would fly off the handle without a moment's notice. Evident by Catherine's face, he didn't care who he was wailing on; he let his emotions and fists take over. Jimmy decided it would be best to keep his mouth closed and not instigate Patrick any further. If one or both of the men would end up battered and bloody, the only person it would hurt was Catherine.

Pushing Patrick off of him, Jimmy straightened out his jacket. He wasn't about to show his men that Patrick's unstable temperament had sparked a bit of intimidation in him so, he found a way to play it off.

"The next time she shows up at my house with a broken nose and two black eyes, I fuckin' promise you it'll be the last time ya see her."

That was fair, Patrick thought.

"Go easy on her, Jimmy. Ya know you can trust her."

"Aye," Jimmy agreed. "But, I can't treat her differently because of who she is to me. Wouldn't send the right message to my men."

That wasn't what Patrick wanted to hear. "Today's her last before Christmas break. Come get her tonight and just get it fuckin' over with."


It was one-thirty in the morning when Patrick saw the headlights pull up in front of the house. He stubbed his cigarette out and got up unhurriedly, feeling as though time had stopped. From the front window, he watched as three men, plus Jimmy, exited the SUV and made their way up the path.

Patrick recognized the three young men—who were dressed in stolen RUC uniforms—from the South Armagh Brigade. None of the men in Belfast could bring themselves to do this to Catherine so, Jimmy outsourced.

"She's in her bed," Patrick croaked, letting them in. "First bedroom on the right."

Jimmy pipped in. "Her nose is broken. Go easy on her face."

The men simply nodded and started up the stairs. Jimmy and Patrick stood in silence near the front door. Neither man had anything to say to the other and this wasn't a time to pretend otherwise.

On cue, Catherine's blood-curdling scream shook the house on its foundation. Her shrill petrified cries of "Daddy," pierced Patrick like a thousand daggers. It utterly destroyed him that is was yet another event he couldn't protect her from. The thuds and rattles coming from the ceiling overhead was a clear indication that Catherine was fighting them. She was fighting back hard.

Jimmy stiffened when the Armagh men appeared at the top of the stairs. One of them was holding Catherine by the ankles, another had his arms hooked under her armpits. She was blindfolded with her hands cuffed behind her back, but that didn't stop her from thrashing and kicking.

As they carried her down the stairs, Patrick turned into the living room not being able to stomach much more. He choked back tears as she continued to call for him, Liam, and Brien. Her brothers never came to her aid as Patrick had made sure Olivia and the boys were gone for the night. He didn't want the scene of Catherine being dragged from her bed for her IRA initiation to be seared into their memories.

Ungracefully, Catherine was dropped on her back to the floor in the hall. Before she had a chance to move, her hips were straddled.

"Let's try this again," one of the Armagh men spoke in a convincingly fake Scouse accent. "Are ya Catherine O'Toole?"

"If ya get arrested, never give 'em yer real name," Catherine remembered Jimmy drilling into her.

She shook her head vigorously, the words could barely leave her throat she was breathing so heavily. "No! I'm Nicola McKenna, you've got the wrong girl!"

Jimmy sighed in relief of hearing her ramble off the name that was on her fake license. So far, she was holding up under the pressure but this was only the beginning.

Pádraig Flanagan—the man straddling her—cocked his fist back and offered a not so soft blow into Catherine's ribcage. The wind was instantly knocked out of her and she was so disoriented she didn't even bawl. Even though she was still fighting for half a breath, Pádraig wrapped his hand around her neck. Not tight enough to cut off her air supply, but enough to introduce more angst.

"Your fuckin' name!" He screamed.

Hot, fat tears bubbled out from under her blindfold and Patrick fell into a squat, a hand over his mouth to keep himself from saying a word. All he could do was watch helplessly and hope Jimmy would come to his senses and call it off. She didn't deserve this. Becoming fourth-generation IRA, Catherine knew how to handle herself in the wake of questioning. On several occasions, she had been accosted with questions about Patrick's whereabouts and never once did she let a single truth slip.

He wanted to grab Jimmy by the shoulders and shake him while shouting, "Stop this madness! She's a loyal girl. If they ever arrest her, they'll beat her 'ta death before she rats any of us out!"

But, he kept his mouth shut instead.

Catherine simply repeated what she had already said. She pleaded for them to let her go, that she had no idea what they were speaking about when they accused her of being an Irish Republican Army member. She played dumb when they asked her who Jimmy O'Phelan, Donny Shea, and Michael McKeavey were. Catherine even denied knowing Patrick and Liam. Nor did she fess up to knowing about the murder that took place in Cluan Place, even though Jimmy had put her in charge of stashing the weapon that was used.

With sad eyes, Connor Broderick looked at Jimmy. He offered a simple nod, giving them the okay to move forth with the plan. So, Connor handed Pádraig the unloaded pistol from his waistband. Patrick hung his head and Jimmy turned away, unable to watch as Pádriag whipped Catherine on the temple with the butt of the gun.

As thick blood drained from the rip in her flesh, it was lights out for Catherine.


Two days had passed, but for Catherine, it may have been a lifetime. When Jimmy and Patrick entered the quaint house tucked away in the countryside of South Armagh, they found the three men sitting around a card-table in the kitchen. They made not a single peep as they chain-smoked and passed a bottle of whiskey.

"How'd she do?" Jimmy asked. He swiped the bottle from Pádraig and guzzled several mouthfuls.

Patrick declined when Jimmy offered him a swig.

"Not a word from her, Jimmy. She's fuckin' earned her beret and our respect." Connor watched his cigarette burn in the ashtray. After what he did, he wasn't sure if he could ever bring himself to smoke again. "I'll take you to her."

Jimmy and Patrick followed Connor to the back of the house where he pulled open the basement door. It was eerily quiet as they eased down the steps, but once Connor turned the light on, that all changed.

"Please!" Catherine screamed at the top of her lungs. "I told ya I don't know anythin'."

She sat on the cold concrete floor in only her underwear and a t-shirt. A chain was wrapped around a pipe on the ceiling, securing the cuffs that held her arms above her head. She was sleep-deprived, and visibly trembling as she attempted to bring her knees to her chest. Still blindfolded, Catherine relied only on her sense of hearing to offer hints as to what was going on around her.

Slowly approaching his distraught daughter, Patrick couldn't blink back the silent tears that slid down his cheeks. He wiped them away instantly and shuttered as Catherine coward. She could sense someone was approaching her and tried her best to avoid any more physical abuse.

Patrick noticed the patches of severe bruising along the length of both her legs. He lifted her shirt to reveal the evidence of the sadism she had been subjected to over the last forty-eight hours. There were slashes crusted with dried blood along her sides. Patrick turned away when Jimmy slid her shirt up, showing distinct cigarette burns on her breasts and chest.

Kneeling beside her, Patrick untied the thick piece of fabric covering her eyes. She blinked hard and fast, allowing her sight to adjust to the light. Her soul had been sucked right out of her; her eyes were dark and dead. Patrick equated them to two deep holes in the snow. She was so exhausted and spent, she couldn't even muster the energy to react when she finally saw Patrick and Jimmy beside her.

After Connor had freed her hands from the cuffs, Jimmy attempted to pull her into his arms. He hadn't expected Catherine to ferociously push him away and dive straight into in Patrick's warm, familiar embrace.

Seeing Jimmy there made all the pieces fall into place. He had given the order for this to happen. He didn't trust her; her devotion needed to be tested and she couldn't understand why.

The force at which she catapulted into her father's arms caused Patrick to fall back onto his ass. She nearly strangulated him with the vice-grip of her arms wrapped around his neck. The sounds of her ear-piercing sobs echoed off the walls in the basement as she replayed the whole ordeal in her head.

Jimmy watched hollowly as Patrick rubbed Catherine's back, his cheek firmly planted to the crown of her head.

"I've got ya, a thaisce." Patrick soothed. "It's all over, I promise."