The wind in her face, the sun beating hot on her skin—that was true liberation for Catherine. Her arms wrapped tightly around Happy as he wove through the Northern California mountains. Not a single thought of home existed in her mind. All she focused on was the present. The air smelt sweeter than ever before. Colors even seemed more vibrant.
Happy wasn't one to normally enjoy the added weight of a passenger on the back of his Harley. He found it slowed him down. But when he hit an empty and flat highway, he switched gears and throttled, pushing the Dyna to its limit. Catherine rested her chin on his shoulder and much to his surprise, the quick acceleration didn't frighten her. The faster he went, the more she enjoyed it.
His type of gal.
Stopping at a hot dog stand just off the highway, Happy bought dinner for him and Catherine. He didn't like that the sun was starting to dip below the horizon. Navigating the curves of the mountain roads wasn't fun after dark.
At one of the benches, they sat opposite one another just scarfing down their food. It wasn't until Catherine reached for the salt shaker did he see it. Lightly grabbing her wrist, Happy turned her forearm up.
"When did you get that done?" he asked, eyeing her reaction carefully.
Licking mustard from the corner of her mouth, Catherine looked down at the goddamn shamrock tattoo that caused her so much trouble in her days. It was over a decade old now and that was evident by the fading shades of green. The "D" was still bold.
"God," she cleared her throat, "Has to have been, over five-six years ago. Right after my son was born."
"I could've done better." He shrugged, not at all impressed with the cover-up. "My offer for ink is still on the table."
Catherine cocked her head to the side, weighing her options carefully. "Fuck it. Let's do it. I've had a design in mind for a while now."
"Like, today?"
She nodded. There wasn't anything left on her agenda for the day and Jimmy was surely beyond pissed at her at this point. Taking the rest of the night for herself wouldn't be such a bad thing.
Wiping the salt and crumbs off her hands, Catherine asked for her phone. From a secure pocket in his kutte, Happy handed her the iPhone used for non-business related communication. Swiping through the thousands of photos of Eamonn and Sean, Catherine came across what she was looking for.
"Do you think you could do somethin' like this?"
Taking off his sunglasses, Happy enlarged the image. He made a 'pfft," sound before popping the phone back into his kutte. "I can do that with my eyes closed."
"Can ya do it with 'em open, though?" Catherine asked. By the way Happy furrowed his brow, she realized he had taken her seriously. The panic began to set in. "Shite. I'm jokin', so I am. Please don't think I'm an eejit." Between her thick accent and use of slang, she knew she was only making herself look sillier. Her cheeks turned a deep shade of red. "Jesus...I'm embarrassin' me'self, aren't I?"
After slipping his sunglasses on, Happy gathered his garbage. "One of these days, I'll understand what you're saying."
Happy ended up taking her to a tattoo shop in Oakland. He often did freelance work out of there when he needed to bring in some extra cash. His first instinct was to bring her back to the clubhouse in Charming, but it made more sense to keep her away.
After Catherine told him about her subsequent court-martial when they first had sex, he was wary of putting his hands on her. Irish eyes could be lurking in the shadows and her getting in trouble was the last thing Happy wanted.
When he found out about the plan for her to come to Charming, he had been looking forward to having her around. Nothing serious would ever grow between them, but that didn't mean she wasn't cool to be around. All he was looking for anyway was a drinking and fuck buddy. She more than proved she was perfectly fine with that six years ago.
Chibs had been the one who broke the news to him that Charming was no longer part of Catherine's future. From the beginning, Happy had a feeling she was all talk, and for the life of him, he couldn't understand why Chibs had been so upset. Some people just weren't meant for mundane civilian life. From the moment he met her, Happy knew she was one of those.
Had Catherine ended up at the diner job and two-bedroom apartment in the often less-than-stimulating town of Charming, Happy saw one of two outcomes for her: hitting the bottle or fleeing back to Belfast in the middle of the night.
She wasn't ready to leave and there was no shame in that. She seemed to be doing fine. No bruises. No skittishness.
"Come check this out." Happy's raspy voice snapped Catherine's attention. She shut the book of tattoo designs and walked over to the area where he was drawing out the stencil.
Sitting back in the chair, Happy slipped the pencil behind his ear and moved the light so she could get a better look. It was beautiful; even better than what she had envisioned in her head.
"It's brilliant, Hap. I love it."
Not saying much of anything, Happy grabbed the stencil and motioned for her to follow him.
"Take your shirt off," he instructed, sitting back down.
Catherine hesitated for a second. It felt like such a mistake being there with him. The entire day she felt like she had eyes on her, following every move she made. There was nothing for her to worry about anymore; she and Jimmy weren't together and as a senior officer, her actions were no one's business but her own. Her nagging anxiety refused to go away because she so badly feared to lose her rank.
She only felt more at ease when Happy busied himself with filling small cups with black ink and prepping everything he needed. Peeling the cotton t-shirt off her torso, Happy didn't make the slightest deal about her standing there in only her pants and black lace bra.
Laying down on her stomach, Catherine situated before Happy transferred the stencil to the area at the top of her spine.
"You ready?" he asked, dipping the fresh needle into black ink.
Catherine only nodded and squeezed her eyes shut. She loved the result but despised the process of being pricked over and over. After a few minutes, she relaxed fully and opened her eyes.
"Ya know, I'm almost thirty and all I can worry about right now is how my Da is gonna be pissed when he sees I've gotten another one."
"My Mom's the same way." Happy stopped for a moment to wipe away the flooding ink. "What does this symbol mean?"
"It's a Celtic motherhood knot. And for every child, you add a dot."
"So does that mean in about ten years, this entire thing'll be filled with dots?"
"Don't be an arsehole," Catherine laughed. "In all seriousness though, I'm not havin' anymore."
At the risk of seeming intrusive, Happy didn't care. He still asked, "Why not?"
For one, Catherine was quietly ashamed of the fact her boys had different fathers. She had always wanted three children, taking inspiration from her mother. Adding another man into the mix now, Catherine feared it would only make her look like a floozy. But at the end of the day, none of that even mattered.
"Because Darragh was the only one I ever wanted to have a family with. I have my Sean so I have nothin' to be sorry for."
Happy had seen his fair share of old ladies fall apart when their men are put to ground or ended up in prison. He was admired by the fact Catherine hadn't allowed the crushing grief to defeat her. Rather, she used it as motivation.
"I'm surprised you're not tryin' to lecture me as my uncle did."
His concentration on her artwork remained focused. "Not my place to tell you what to do with your life. As long as you and the boys aren't gettin' beat up, and you're safe, I got no gripes."
"Too bad Filip doesn't see it that way."
Sitting in the middle of the bed with her legs crossed, Catherine was afraid to turn on her phone. It had been off nearly all day and there was no way of knowing what kind of voicemails awaited her. When it was finally booted up, she went right for the missed call log.
"Fuck me," she whispered, scrolling.
Seventeen. She counted seventeen missed calls from Jimmy. Glancing at the alarm clock on the nightstand, she shuttered when she realized how late it was. With the time difference, it was nearly seven o'clock in the morning back in Belfast. She brazenly pressed the button bearing the small green phone and held it up to her ear.
The whole time it rang, she held her breath. Praying he was asleep and not sitting in the leather armchair in his office waiting for this very moment.
"Jesus fuckin' Christ, Catherine," he huffed. She was surprised he hadn't started the yelling off the bat. "Ya scared the shite outta me. Thought somethin' bloody happened to you."
He wasn't mad, just worried. Not used to seeing this side of him, Catherine wasn't sure how to respond. At first, she thought he was drunk, but his words were sturdy, not slurred.
"I'm sorry. Somethin' came up with Eddie so I was with him all night." She felt terrible for lying and throwing Eddie under the bus. If he knew what she had spent the day doing, he'd certainly have a stoke. "Just got in. Ya haven't been up all night waitin' for me, have you?"
Chewing on her long thumbnail, Catherine heard him sleepily grunt, giving her the answer. "The feud on the Sandy Row lit up the other afternoon, so while the peelers are tied with the UDA we've been usin' it to our advantage. Movin' stock from Belfast to over the border with Dessie."
"Wish I was there helpin' youse."
"Me too, a chuisle." Jimmy stopped to yawn before getting back to business. "So, you have no idea how fuckin' lucky ya got. When I reached out to the fellas in Boston, they hadn't put our container on the ship yet, which means they were able to put additional stock in there. You're off the hook for that extra 50k."
A wave of relief washed over her. That was the last time she offered to cut anyone a deal for any reason. "How long do you wanna give SAMCRO to come up with the rest of the cash?"
Jimmy laughed, "Do ya think they'll even be able to come up with the money? From what you and McKeavy've said, it doesn't seem like they're doin' well."
Catherine still wasn't completely comfortable with the idea of pushing SOA out just yet. Finding another buyer who would take on the risks of doing business with them was a crap-shoot. There was more money in the drug trade than weapons. And moving guns came with twice the risk. Even if Jimmy had faith that the Russians would take over SOA's order, who was to say they would be any good at peddling. It was Clay and Jax who had the connections across the northwest; not Viktor Putlova.
She also had a personal bias in the situation. She had already hurt Chibs so much, she didn't want to cause him any more trouble.
"If we give 'em a month, maybe-"
"A week. Ya tell McKeavy those lads have seven days to come up with it and if they don't, we're movin' on."
"Don't ya think we're makin' a deal too early with Putlova? What happens if SAMCRO does come up with the money, Jimmy? If we back out on a deal with the mafiosos', there's a chance the Russian pipeline could dry up."
"None of that'll happen." Jimmy sounded too confident for Catherine's comfort. His tone made her wonder if he had just realized how wrong this could go. "Stop worryin' about nothin'. I just need ya to get some sleep and focus on makin' me proud tomorrow."
Catherine rolled her eyes. Sleep was the last thing on her mind.
It was early afternoon when she arrived at the Russian mafia compound near the California-Oregon border. Stepping out of the SUV, Catherine straightened out her deep green skirt and fixed the lapels of the matching jacket. Complete with a cream silk blouse and nude pumps, Luke was mildly impressed with her ability to clean up.
"Don't," she scolded, watching Luke grab the Glock from under the driver seat. "The first thing they'll do is search us, and they may take it as a sign of distrust if we're carryin'."
Jimmy never liked the fact Catherine chose to disarm herself when walking into a business meeting for the first time. He understood her reasoning, but he was a very cautious man who hated taking risks with safety.
Luke wasn't pleased with her instruction either. If things went haywire and she ended up hurt or worse, how the hell was he supposed to explain that to Jimmy? He was there for brawn only, leaving Catherine as the brains of the operation. Once upon a time, she would have been insulted by Jimmy's push to send an intimidating man to be by her side. After she was caught in the middle of an exchange gone wrong, she was relieved to have Luke there.
"You trust these Russkis?"
Looking over to the house, Catherine took a deep breath when Putlova and his posse began to spill out on to the porch. This wasn't the first, nor would it be the last, time she's dealt with the Russian mafia. From her experience, there was a formula for making the mafiosos' putty in her hand.
"I just need you to trust me. So please, leave the Glock here."
Hesitantly, Luke did what she said. He shoved the pistol back under the seat and closed the door as she closed hers.
Side-by-side they made their way up the gravel drive. As they approached the house, a short, pudgy man of middle age stepped off the porch. From the photos Jimmy had supplied her with, Catherine recognized him right away.
When she was close enough, Viktor extended his hand, to which she firmly took and smiled warmly at his greeting. When he formally introduced himself, she knew it was time to turn on the charm.
"Ekaterina," Catherine introduced herself, using the Russian derivative of her name.
None of the men had expected a woman with a heavy Belfast brogue to speak with such a flawless Russian inflection. After too much miscommunication with their partners in Moscow, Catherine cracked down and learned the language. It was still a work in progress, but the truth was, she understood and spoke Russian far more fluently than the Irish language.
It was a beautiful day to sit outside. In the backyard, Catherine and Viktor at across from one another at the sturdy oak table. Beside her was Luke. Viktor's muscle surrounded them.
Having so many intimidating men around was nothing more than a power move and Catherine recognized that. He was trying to throw her off her game; make her nervous. What Viktor didn't know was that a long time ago she looked scary right in the eye. Since then, there was very little that could shake her. Burley men with pistols holstered were more of a turn-on and not a deterrent.
"I was under the impression that Clay controlled the distribution. We aren't looking to step on toes or create conflict."
"Aye. SAMCRO does control the trade, but that's only because we supply them with enough stock to do so. In light of new information, we don't feel confident in their ability anymore." Catherine let just enough of the truth slip to hook Viktor. To make this work, she needed the Russians to believe SAMCRO was more vulnerable than they were.
It was a good sign for her when Viktor reached for the vodka decanter and refilled both their glasses. She thanked him, then took a sip. A smooth warmth radiated from her chest.
"If we were to take over distribution, what would be in it for us? Besides the headache."
"Bigger profits than you could ever imagine. SAMCRO charges you over twenty-percent above cost. And for what? A few pieces of hardware from the Motherland. Ya buy wholesale from us, I'll drop it by ten for the next year while your crew makes the transition into selling. Then, it'll max out at eighteen-percent."
"We'll have Clay all over us, trying to gain their territory back."
For Luke, watching Catherine was no different than watching Jimmy negotiate. She straightened in the chair, remaining stoic as to give the illusion that she was about to do them a favor.
"Ten-percent for eighteen months, then it jumps to fifteen."
For a mafia boss, she was surprised Viktor didn't have much of a poker face. She had him hooked and she expected his counter offer.
"Ten-percent for two years. Twelve after."
Catherine wasn't by any means insulted by his seemingly low offer. Viktor was none the wiser that Jimmy had told Catherine to drop it to eight-percent for two years, and then ten subsequently thereafter. It was the same deal Jimmy and McKeavy had worked out with SAMCRO during renegotiations three years ago.
A deal Catherine never felt was fair, considering they were already struggling to make a profit. The money only started rolling in again when she convinced their suppliers in Moscow to drop their rates. Now, they'd have even more wiggle room to start building up their weapons cache again.
"Fair enough. Do we have a deal?"
Viktor gave her a slight head nod and picked up his glass. "Na Zdorovie." Cheers. Catherine followed his lead and tossed back her shot of vodka. She realized she was in for a long afternoon when he poured them another. "How, how do you say it in Irish?"
"Sláinte," she said, clinking her glass with his.
With the Russian mafia now on board, Catherine prayed with all her might SAMCRO wouldn't come up with the money.
