Catherine came up behind Darragh and adoringly wrapped her arms around him. She kissed his temple, smelling his stale deodorant. She could taste the salty traces of sweat still lingering on his skin. It was painfully obvious how exhausted he was, and Catherine wished he could have one night of quiet.
"You wanna eat before the fellas get here?" she mumbled into his ear.
Darragh kissed and nipped her forearm, starting to feel more like his usual frisky self. He glanced at the clock on the stove, satisfied to see he had more than enough time for what he had in mind.
"Aye. I'm starving, gorgeous."
"I've got champ and a couple of sausages I can reheat- " Catherine was interrupted and a shrill squeal of surprise escaped her mouth as Darragh swung her around. He pushed her down on the kitchen table, where she propped herself up on her elbows. By the way he instantly attacked the button and fly of her jeans, something told Catherine it wasn't food he has a taste for.
Her heart pounded in her chest as Darragh ripped the denim off her legs, tossing the useless garment over his shoulder. Next to come off was her shirt, and then he freed her swollen breasts from her bra. There wasn't the slightest trace of Jimmy anywhere to be found in her mind as Darragh's full, sturdy lips pressed ravenous kisses on to her mouth.
It didn't matter how many times they kissed, each brush of their lips was electrifying. One of her hands dove into his thick hair, as the other snaked under his shirt. Her fingers danced along the soft ridges of muscles along his abdomen and she hooked a leg around his waist to tug him closer against her. Darragh was the only man whose hands she ever wanted to feel on her.
He licked her bottom lip, to which Catherine returned the gesture. The sound of his bursting groan sent a chill down her spine. Rough hands glided up her sides, groping her breasts, rolling pink beaded nipples between calloused fingers. She broke the kiss, rolling her head back and losing herself in the jolts of searing pleasure.
"On your back," he ordered. His voice was rough, thundering with intense need.
Before she went all the way down, Catherine teased Darragh, brushing her hand along the crotch of his jeans. He's hard; his erection straining the zipper. He helped ease her back, pushing the mail and Irish Times to the floor.
Sliding a finger down her body, he situated himself in the chair in front of her. Both hands wrapped around her ankles, planting her heels on the edge of the table.
She slammed her knees together, suddenly feeling self-conscious. And it wasn't because Jimmy had busied himself in that area not too long before.
"Catherine," he warned.
"I haven't showered yet."
Darragh didn't care. He loved every inch of Catherine, showered or not, and all he wanted was to indulge himself in his woman after a stressful couple of days. He couldn't imagine what sort of smells was radiating off of him, after spending the entire day working outdoors.
Along the smooth flesh of her toned calf, he planted his lips. "Open up," he muttered in-between kisses.
The husky tone, mixed with his torrid caress and hot breath blowing over her, Catherine surrendered. Slowly, she parted her legs, exposing herself once and for all to a famished Darragh.
Much to her surprise, he showed restraint and didn't immediately dive in. Rather, he took his time, tracing random shapes along her inner thigh. His touch didn't tickle, but it was still soft enough to send a shiver through her. She parted her legs a little more.
"See what happens when you listen?"
Catherine couldn't find her voice. All she could do was quiver when he brushed his thumb along her inner-lips, kneading the glistening flesh. Her hips rolled and a hiss escaped from her clenched teeth when his fingertip found her clit.
"You're always so sensitive and ready for me."
Again, Catherine couldn't force a single word from her throat. Instead, she let herself go, melting under Darragh's blissful fondle. His thumb brushed over her clit once more. Yet another wail spilled from her mouth as her back arched, pushing herself against him. This time, he let out a very satisfied grunt, becoming more aroused by Catherine's reaction.
Without warning, Darragh slipped a finger inside her at the same time lapping her clit. The flicking of his tongue and the gifted work of his fingers left Catherine wriggling. Darragh was relentless in his greedy torture. The candied moans and pants that filled his ears were his favorite song. Reaching above her head, Catherine curled her fingers around the edge of the table just as she exploded in a fierce orgasm. There was no way the neighbors—or anyone in Belfast—didn't hear the wanton scream that ripped from her.
Darragh stood quickly, dropping his jeans. He gathered Catherine in his arms, bringing her closer to him. He dipped his head, nestling his face into the curve of her neck to suck and sink his teeth into her flush skin.
A noise started Catherine and she twisted her head to see where it had come from. But in her post-orgasmic haze, coupled with Darragh sinking into her and his pelvic bone pressing against her oversensitive clit, she couldn't comprehend that a group of men was standing in the doorway.
Arms folded across their chests, just watching.
Her mouth fell open when she made eye contact with Jimmy. She tried to warn Darragh but as the syllables bubbled in her throat, he bit down just hard enough so that a moan escaped instead. She struggled, pushing against him in hopes of getting his attention.
It wasn't just Jimmy. Dessie and his unit, along with a handful of Belfast lads stood there with lazy smirks stretched over their lips.
"Don't worry about us, a chuisle. Not the first time any of us have seen a pasty Irish ass."
Darragh's blood froze the second he heard that voice echo. He didn't dare move, knowing that if he did Catherine's naked body would be exposed for all to see.
"What the fuck!" he roared, swiveling his neck to look at the perverted bunch who were staring at them. "Don't youse bastards know how to fuckin' knock?"
Seamus Doherty didn't take his eyes off of Catherine in hopes of catching a glimpse of some tit. He tossed his thumb over his shoulder, pointing to the back door. "Sorry. It was open. Didn't wanna interrupt. Every man has the God-given right to get laid in his own house."
Dropping his forehead onto Catherine's chest, Darragh barked, "Get out. Please."
Jimmy dropped the three black duffels with the Armalites and winked at Catherine. Wisely, they all backed out, shutting the door on their way. The roaring laughter didn't fall on deaf ears.
Darragh breathed a sigh of relief when Catherine busted into laughter, not tears. "That was the single most horrifying thing to ever happen to me."
"The one goddamn time they decide to be early, I'm caught balls deep in you." He pressed a quick kiss to forehead before easing out. It was rather impressive that he hadn't lost his hard-on during the commotion. "Though I will admit, it was gratifying to be able to wipe that smug look off Jimmy's face for once."
Pushing Darragh off her a little more, Catherine sat up. She ignored his comment about Jimmy, not wanting to be reminded of him at all. Eying his erection, she asked, "What do you say we head upstairs and finish?"
"I fuckin' love you." Cupping her face in his hands, he sealed his mouth on hers for a smoldering kiss.
After a quick shower, Catherine waltzed down the stairs to find the living room occupied. She took the jesting with a light heart, knowing it was all in good fun. It didn't offend her being the butt of their jokes, though her quick tongue did shut some of them down awfully fast.
"I wish I could make a girl scream like that," Seamus said.
Gathering the straps to the duffle bags Jimmy was keeping a close eye on, Catherine spat back. "From what I've heard, ya can't even find your poor girl's clit with a map and flashlight."
Satisfied that the attention was now rightfully on Seamus, Catherine brought the bags into the kitchen, tossing them onto the table. Jimmy followed right behind, watching carefully as she covered all of the windows and locked the back door. Tonight, they were prepping the rifles so they'd be ready to go tomorrow evening.
Catherine could feel Jimmy's eyes burning holes into her. She also knew that if looks could kill, she'd drop dead in the middle of the kitchen. Little did she care that she had bruised his delicate ego no less than ten hours ago.
When she reached for the zipper on one of the bags, Jimmy was quick to grab her wrist. "I don't fuckin' think so."
Pulling her hand from him, Catherine annoyingly huffed, defying him by once again, going for the zipper. Thankfully no one was there to witness it when Jimmy pushed Catherine away from the table. He got in between her and the hardware, physically blocking her from it.
"You need to grow the fuck up and let it go, Jimmy. I'm not sixteen anymore—my world doesn't revolve around you."
He ignored her minor outburst. Reaching into his pocket, Jimmy pulled out a small scrap of paper and handed it to her. "This is what I need you to pick up."
Unfolding it, Catherine quickly read the list. Her blood was boiling when she realized what it was. He was sending her out on errands she did when she first started her training.
"This is a joke, right? You want me to get medical supplies and tea? Pick up your goddamn dry-cleaning."
"Have you forgotten your place in the ranks, O'Toole?" he asked condescendingly.
"If you want your bloody clothes picked up, get a recruit to do it. That's what they're for. I risked my arse for those ARs, I'm gonna bloody prep them!"
She had more than earned her spot at the table, loading magazines and chilling out with the other lads. For three years she ran around Belfast doing Jimmy's grunt work, never once daring to complain, always saying 'thank you' when he graced her with another task. Now, she was more than willing to put her foot down.
"I'm not fuckin' doin' this shit. I have an operation tomorrow that I need to prepare for. You're only doin' this to me because I turned ya down for sex. You're pissed I let you double-click my mouse, but I wouldn't jerk you off."
It was true. He was angry that when it came down to it, Catherine refused to return the favor. When they had first gotten together, Catherine was eager to get Jimmy off, despite the fact she had been with Lorcan at the time. Now, she was conveniently remembering Darragh when asked to get on her knees.
Shoving Catherine against the refrigerator, well out of sight from everyone, Jimmy covered her mouth with his hand. She was confused, afraid to even scream as he brought his body flush against hers. With trembling hands, she tried to push him away. Like always, Jimmy overpowered her. Her breathing was ragged as she tried to compose herself and make little noise as possible. To Catherine, it didn't matter that she was scared out of her wits, she still didn't want any of the guys walking in on whatever sick, power-hungry game Jimmy was attempting to play with her.
He kept his gazed locked with hers and spoke with an authoritative quality. "You can go ahead and try to pretend that you're a decent person. But the truth is that you're no better than I am. You're a selfish, spoilt cunt who refuses to grasp reality. I've probably only got a good ten years left before I end up dead or in prison, so here's how it's gonna be until then: when I tell you to jump, you're only response will be 'yes, sir.' Darragh maybe your unit OC, but I am the OC of the entire fucking North Command—you will respect my rank. Is that clear?"
Catherine nodded.
"Grand." Jimmy smiled. "You didn't fool me; I know you only got with Darragh because I wouldn't leave Fiona for you. You're gonna stay with him, just like I'm gonna stay with her, so we can both have our own big happy families. However, whenever I tell you to get on your fuckin' knees for me, you will do so. And when I blow my load down that throat of yours, I expect a 'thank you' afterward."
To that, she shook her head, tears brimming her eyes.
In deliberate motions, Jimmy slid his hand under the elastic waistband of her ADIDAS joggers and panties. She watched as he rolled his bottom lip between his teeth, feeling how wet she was.
"That's what I fuckin' thought," he said, removing his fingers from her pants and his hand from her mouth.
"You're a goddamn pig, ya know that?"
"Aye. But, I'm the pig you've been soakin' your panties for over the last ten years."
There was nothing she could say in response to that and she refused to acknowledge he was correct. Being the intellectual she was, she spat, "Fuck you, Jimmy."
Grabbing her damp ponytail, he yanked her head back. "You should get a move-on, a chuisle. The dry cleaners close soon and I want my suit for the weekend—takin' my girls to Dublin. I'll be sure to leave a list of shite I need ya to do while I'm gone."
The smirk on his face was evident that he only said that to get a rise out of her. It worked. "God, I hate you."
"I know. Nor do I care." He stuffed the list into her pocket and gave her a smack on the ass.
Darragh caught Catherine putting her shoes on as he was coming down the stairs. Freshly showered, he was dressed in his usual Wrangler jeans and a t-shirt. A cigarette was tucked behind his left ear. He flashed her one of his signature dimpled smiles, and it filled her with a pang of all-consuming guilt. He deserved someone much better than her.
"Where you runnin' off to, gorgeous?"
"You're never gonna believe this," she said, pulling the list of demands from her pocket. "He's making me do bitch work tonight."
Taking the paper from her hand, Darragh read it over. As his brow furrowed, Catherine suddenly became aware of all the aspects about him that she loved dearly.
The way his stormy gray eyes were always laser-focused. The way he rubbed the back of his neck when he was trying to make sense of a situation. But then there was also his Donegal accent that made her weak at the knees. She adored his smile, and how his teeth were slightly crooked but were far from being unsightly. The very first thing she had noticed about Darragh was his strong, defined jaw and prominent chin. Sort of like…
Catherine stopped herself from thinking any further. She wanted to cry when it all came together in her head. The thick head of dark hair, those almond eyes, and shapely eyebrows. Even Darragh's lips and nose.
She was dating a man who bore a frightening resemblance to late-twenties Jimmy.
What the fuck is wrong with me? she thought.
"Did anything happen in Newry?" Darragh asked, pulling Catherine from her trance.
He had been on Jimmy's shit-list enough times during his first year in the IRA to know bitch-duty didn't come unwarranted.
No way in Hell was she going to tell him exactly what happened on the drive there. Instead, she gave him a condensed version. "We had a wee tiff."
"Are you fuckin' serious? I knew he would pull shite with me not-"
Catherine shut him up with a kiss. His tongue wove past her lips, causing her to take a sharp breath. She went dizzy at the clean, fresh scent of citrus and cedar scorching off his skin. Darragh pulled away slowly, gliding the tip of his nose along the bridge of hers.
"Jesus," he uttered. "I'll never figure out how a poor fella like me managed to snag a woman like you."
Feeling her jaw begin to quake, Catherine wrapped her arms tightly around Darragh. She snuggled her face into his chest, trying not to cry. She felt like the scum of the Earth for having done what she did.
Pulling open the back door to Jimmy and Fiona's, Catherine closed it with her foot. She flipped on the lights, not at all surprised to find Fiona and Kerrianne gone. The possibility of IPLA retaliation was high, so Jimmy had arranged for them to spend the night at a safe house in Andersontown until he could get them over the border.
With his dry cleaning flung over Catherine's shoulder, she made a bee-line upstairs to his bedroom. The lamp on the nightstand was already on, giving the room a soft glow. It wasn't the first time she had been in there, but it was always off-putting for her to be in the space he shared intimately with Fiona.
As she hooked the hangers to the back of the door, Catherine noticed his overnight bags were sitting on the made bed. Piles of clothes sat beside it, as did plastic bags filled with his toiletries. Taking a few steps to the edge of the bed, she reached into one of the plastic bags, pulling out his bottle of cologne. She uncapped it and spritzed some into the air, inhaling deeply. When the amber, tobacco, and ginger notes flooded her brain, it left Catherine feeling high. She closed her eyes and remembered how the scent would linger on her sheets for days after sneaking Jimmy into her bedroom when she was still at St. Dominic's. It made her think of better days.
Putting the bottle back, Catherine made sure everything was just as she had found it. Scurrying down the hall, she almost made it to the stairs but became distracted when she passed Jimmy's office. The anger of how he had gone through her personal and private possessions a few weeks ago, burst like a volcano in her belly. Crossing the threshold into the room that was off-limits to most, she was on a mission to make him feel just as violated.
Catherine took a seat at the desk, starting in the drawers. She flipped through stacks of mails, which were nothing more than bills and banks statements. She found his collection of poker chips from cities around the world. Old credit cards, burner cellphones.
Realizing she wouldn't be stumbling upon anything of value in the desk, she almost gave up and left. Until she looked to her left and saw the huge safe pressed against the wall.
Standing in front of it, Catherine closed her eyes trying to think of what the combination was. He was a man who was rightfully paranoid, so he changed the combination often. Though, he cycled through the same ones over and over.
She tried Jimmy's birthday, his late brother's, and Fiona's. Kerrianne's. Her own. Nothing.
Growing frustrated, Catherine backed away knowing Jimmy had outsmarted her this time. He wasn't a complex man when it came to things like this. Almost giving up, she trekked to the door. But before she could reach it, she spotted the collection of biographies on Pádraig Pearse, James Connolly, Séan McDermott, and Éamonn Ceannt on the bookshelf. A framed copy of the Proclamation of the Republic was nailed to the wall.
"No," she said turning around. "There's no way it's that easy."
Rushing back to the safe, Catherine turned the dial—24-4-16. The day the Easter Rising began. Sure enough, she heard the distinct click of the lock disengaging.
She pulled open the door. "You would, you fuckin' Provie."
Much to her relief, there were no firearms, ammunition, or stacks of foreign money. There was nothing in there that would land him in Maghaberry for the rest of his life. The first thing Catherine spotted was the firebox. Grabbing if off the shelf, she took a seat in the armchair and placed the box on the ottoman.
For a moment before opening it, she considered putting it back and leaving. Snooping through someone's belongings wasn't her forte. Just knowing she had gotten into the safe was a big enough victory for her. The only thing that kept her going was her drive to know more about Jimmy's past. He never divulged much about what his life had been like during the height of the Troubles, or his service in the British army. She wondered if the pieces to his haunted life were snuggled in the box in front of her. She also wondered if those pieces would complete the puzzle on why he felt the dire need to suppress his humanity.
Catherine refused to dismiss Jimmy as a psychopath, like everyone else in Belfast. She knew he was a man who felt emotions so profoundly, it led to his—inexcusable—outbursts. Throughout her life, he had made her feel so loved, she worshiped the ground he walked on in return. But, none of that changed the fact Catherine hated the man Jimmy was.
Flipping open the lid, she realized it was exactly what she suspected it to be—his keepsake box. She removed the small revolver, first making sure it was unloaded, then set it on the floor. She glanced through his old report cards from childhood, not at all stunned that he had been a straight-A student. There was an extremely battered copy of the Leon Uris novel Trinity.
Seeing photos from his childhood stirred mixed emotions. Even though the boy who was smiling and laughing didn't seem to have a care in the world, Catherine couldn't begin to imagine what Hell the streets of east Belfast was like when the Troubles broke out. In several of the photos, she noticed a brunette boy who was seemingly always by Jimmy's side. Her heart shattered when she realized that the boy was Chibs. There was an entire heap of photos of Jimmy and Chibs, dated from 1966 to 1993. The last one being of Chibs holding a newborn Kerrianne.
"What in God names happened between youse?"
Next, she picked up a slightly heavy orange envelope. Inside was his discharge certificate, dog tag, and a medal. She held the stainless steel medallion of his dog tag in her palm, brushing her fingers along the engraving.
A NEG
34218495
O'PHELAN
JB
RC
Catherine picked up the medal by it's red and black striped ribbon. The front of it had an imprint of Queen Elizabeth and she turned it over, reading aloud, "For distinguished conduct in the field."
She had no idea what significance it held or why he earned it.
"That's the Distinguished Conduct medal…it's awarded for bravery." Hearing Jimmy's voice put the fear of God into Catherine. Her breath hitched in her throat and her heart almost exploded.
Slowly she turned her head to see him leaning against the doorframe. His arms were crossed over his chest. She was too fearful to move or speak, hoping that if she stayed still, he wouldn't see her.
Pushing off the door, Jimmy walked over to her. He picked up the box and moved it to the floor as he took a seat on the ottoman. Plucking the medal from Catherine's hand, he rolled it around in his fingers. "They gave eight of these out during the Falklands war. Never understood why I got one. Being in the SAS, I assumed bravery was a job requirement."
A question that had been nagging Catherine for the last fifteen years blurted from her mouth. "I don't mean to be rude, but, why did you even join the Army, let alone the SAS? I'm sorry, you just don't strike me as the kind of fella who would run off and fight for Her Majesty."
She watched as Jimmy's eyes clouded with a mixture of sorrow and anger. As he fought for the right words to say, she could tell he was coming apart inside. Never had she seen him struggle for words.
"In Norn Iron, there are men like your da, Liam. Fuck, even Darragh. Men who will do whatever possible to provide for their families—they swallow their pride and go on the dole, or they join the Ra and fight. Then there are the cowards; the ones who run off when shit gets difficult. My father and your mother's. So no, Filip and I didn't run off and enlist in Her Majesty's Armed Forces because we felt it was our patriotic duty to defend the United Kingdom. We knew if we did, we'd be one less mouth to feed at home."
To some extent, Catherine knew Jimmy was ashamed of his military service. The way he dove so deep into the cause was him merely trying to make up for the fact he had once fought for the enemy.
Catherine placed her hand on his knee. "I guess that means you fall into the first category. You do what you have to to provide."
"Aye," he breathed out. Clenching the useless medal in his fist, Jimmy rubbed Catherine's belly with his free hand. "So let me take care of you two. I'm not asking for much here, Caitie. All I want is you and Eamonn."
Had he not said the things he did at her place, she would have been more willing to consider what he was pleading for. She knew he'd be a wonderful father and it broke her to know she was robbing him of a relationship with his son. But what she wasn't sure of, was when it would all come crumbling down. There was enough violence in the streets of Belfast and Catherine didn't want her son growing up in the same environment she had.
She didn't trust that Jimmy wouldn't slap her around in front of Eamonn, just as Patrick had done to Olivia in front of his kids. Nor did she trust that Jimmy wouldn't instigate a physical fight with his boy just as Patrick had done when there was a power struggle between him and his sons.
The one thing she did trust, was that Darragh would do what he could to keep the violence outside the four walls of their home. He was her future. That she was sure of.
"I love him more than anything. He's not goin' anywhere."
Jimmy rolled his eyes. "I'm not askin' ya to leave him."
"Then what is it that you're purposing?" She knew the answer, she just wanted to hear him say it aloud.
"Things weren't all that bad when we first started screwin' around. When no one knew what was goin' on. We could go back to that."
Catherine snorted. "Yeah, that's not gonna happen."
She started to get up, but Jimmy pushed her back down.
"He treatin' you better than I did?"
"You have no bloody self-awareness, do you?" she genuinely asked. "You slashed me so badly, I needed sutures. You tried to drown me in the bathtub and you punched me square in the goddamn face. Not to mention all the times you've grabbed me by the hair and shoved me against walls because I said something that upset you. The worst Darragh has done is yell at me and that happened two years ago when we argued whether or not to hit an army convoy. I hate to be the one who breaks this news to you, but yes, he treats me better."
He stared at her blankly, as if trying to remember doing any of those things to her. Still jaded from what he said earlier, Catherine didn't wait for him to reply before hitting him with something else. "And for the record, I'm nothing like you. I am a decent person."
It filled with her boiling anger when he started laughing. He was fucking laughing at her.
"Now who's the one lacking self-awareness? Don't get all self-righteous on me now, kid. You think it's wrong that I knocked ya around a few times when you got mouthy and disobeyed me, and maybe it was. But don't you fuckin' dare claim to be high and mighty after you let me slip two fingers inside your cunt, while the man you supposedly love was workin' his arse off to put food on the goddamn table and keep a roof over your ungrateful head."
Catherine opened her mouth to interrupt, but Jimmy shut her down. He stood up and placed his hands on the armrests, caging her.
"You've also signed the death warrants of four men, who have no idea that is the last time they'll kiss their children and wives' goodnight. I've seen the hideous hate that fills you when you plan mortar attacks and ambushes on the peelers and army. Abhorrence and brutality are all you know, and that's what makes you such a grand soldier. You call yourself a revolutionary; a dissident. But at the end of the day, you're a cold-blood killer—a terrorist by trade, in the eyes of the law. Just like the rest of your comrades. And guess what, sweetheart? That makes you exactly like me."
They stared at one another. Jaw's flexing and eyes blistering with pure, raw revulsion.
Cocking her fist back, Catherine punched him in the mouth. Obviously, he had told her something she didn't want to hear. It took him by surprise, but it did little to stun him. She punched like a girl.
He spat blood into her face.
He was done with Catherine and that bastard child of hers, too.
Leaning down, Jimmy calmly whispered, "Get out of my fuckin' sight before I decide to have you kneecapped for breakin' into my safe."
