Jumping off the bench, Brien sprinted straight into the SAMBEL clubhouse. Catherine was hot on his heels and he swore he saw steam exploding from her ears. She had every right to be upset with him, but he was hoping she'd be home longer than a day before the boys brought up his lip-slip.

With only the billiards table separating them, Brien tried to catch his breath. A crowd of leather and denim-clad Sons gathered to see what the commotion was about.

"I just wanna talk to you, Bri." Catherine also breathed heavily, thanks to her nearly pack-a-day smoking habit.

"Not a chance," he objected. "Not when you're angry."

"I am not angry. I'm perfectly calm."

Brien snorted, bouncing on his feet. He had to be ready to start running again. He'd seen this type of calm in Catherine before—this was how she reacted when her level of angry broke the gauge. Nor was she the kind of angry where she'd just beat his ass and then call it day. There was no missing the murderous glint that sparkled in those sapphire iris'.

He was a dead man walking.

"I swear to God it was an accident. You gotta believe me; I was spoutin' my mouth off to Kerrianne and I had no bloody idea Sean was right there. He's so fuckin' stealthy, so he is."

Catherine slammed her hand on the green-felt top of the billiards table. "That's your problem! Ya never know when to shut that fuckin' gob of yours. Do you have any idea what you've done? It's not Eamonn I'm fuckin' tryin' to protect, it's Sean!" Catherine ran her hands through her hair, not bothering to stop the tears. They sliced her cheeks like hot scalpels. "It's not fair that Sean has to live without Darragh."

Brien hadn't seen Catherine fall apart over Darragh since the funeral, but it's obvious how badly she was still struggling. A dull ache filled his chest. It wasn't fair to herself or her boys to keep holding on to the grief for this long. She needed to move on, and this point Brien was desperate to pull his sister into the present.

Rounding the side of the table where Catherine was standing, Brien wasted no time wrapping his arms around her. As her face pressed against his chest, he shoo'd his brothers away to preserve some of her dignity. They didn't need to see this.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, pressing his cheek to the top of her head.

Catherine held a white knuckle grip on the collar of his kutte.

The weight of the last several days was crushing her. It was only exasperated earlier that morning when Ian confirmed her worst nightmare. Jimmy, Patrick, Donny, and twelve other lads had been locked up because Liam informed the PSNI they were moving weapons from Hannahstown to Dundalk.

She wanted to tell Brien what their brother was up to, but Army business was Army business.

Brien picked Catherine's head off his chest, cupping her jaw in his hands. Like so many times before, he wiped away her tears with the calloused pads of his thumbs.

"I feel like the biggest arse in the world for what I did, because it wasn't my place to say anythin'. Tellin' Eamonn should have been up to you and Jimmy, I get that. But its been a long time, Catherine, and the two of youse need to figure your shite out. You can go ahead and hate me for this, but think about what kind of damage it would'a done to him if he wasn't told soon."

"But what about Sean? He'll-"

Brien cut her off. "Christ, stop worryin' about Sean, will ya? Just like his ol' man, the wee fecker is resilient. Look, Jimmy is the biggest prick on the face of this Earth, but for some reason you three are the only ones he's capable of feelin' any sort of normal human emotion for. He loves you, he loves Eamonn, and if ya give him the chance, he'll love Sean."

Catherine opened her mouth to interrupt, but Brien simply covered it with his hand. "I'm not sayin' completely erase Darragh—he was a good lad who treated ya well. What I'm sayin' is, let Sean have whatever kind of relationship he wants with Jimmy. Just like Eamonn, he needs a da, too."

Feeling better now that he got that off his chest, he dropped his hand. Catherine cocked her head to the side, placing her hands on her hips. She pouted like a child.

"I hate when you're right," she huffed.

"I know."

"And, I hate you."

Brien rolled his eye. "Believe me, I know."


HMP Maghaberry - Lisburn, Northern Ireland

When the steel, airlock door opened, she stood immediately looking for Jimmy. The biggest smile spread across her mouth when she finally spotted him.

He was dressed in Wrangler jeans and a sand-colored sweater. Of course, his black boots were pristine and shined. Catherine couldn't remember the last time she saw him wearing such casual clothes.

Unlike her, Jimmy refused to show much emotion around the guards and other prisoners. That didn't change the fact he was all but jumping for joy on the inside to finally see Catherine. Fiona had visited without Kerrianne the day prior and her attitude soured his mood for the rest of the day.

Seeing that radiant smile of hers was enough to brighten his spirits.

Once the guard released the cuffs, Jimmy made a bee-line to Catherine. He wrapped her tight in his arms, with her head resting on his chest. He nuzzled his nose into her hair, breathing deeply. The notes of her coconut curl butter were euphoric, reminding him of home.

"Holy shite, I've fuckin' missed ya," he mumbled.

Catherine curled her fingers into the cotton of his sweater, never wanting to let go. "I've missed you, too."

Jimmy let her go and quickly sniffled, trying to hide the fact he was tearing up. Taking a seat at the respective sides of the table, he immediately reached for her hand. He held it softly, rubbing his thumb along her knuckles.

"How was your search? The screws didn't get handsy with you, did they?"

"No, it was just a quick pat-down, thankfully."

Even though it was the answer he was looking for, a sort of wry expression fell upon him. Catherine figured he was just generally annoyed with the prison bullshit altogether.

"Have ya been doin' alright?"

She couldn't bring herself to lie to him—not when he was surely wracked with worry over her and the boys—so she nodded her head once, keeping her mouth shut. The day he's released will be the day she'll feel the slightest bit okay.

"How's Sean?"

"Doesn't seem too fazed. I think that's because he doesn't understand what's goin' on, ya know?"

He nodded, then dryly asked, "And my boy?"

Catherine maneuvered in the uncomfortable metal chair, trying to formulate an intelligent thought. Did she tell him? She worried that it would break his spirits even more if he knew someone else had broken the news to Eamonn. Then, on the other hand, she wondered if, in the long run, it would do Jimmy some good.

"He," Catherine started. She looked up at him, her eyes softening and brimming with tears. "Eamonn knows—he knows you're his da, and he wants to see you, but I don't think it would be a good idea to bring-"

Jimmy went lightheaded as a bubble of fury popped in his core. He pushed it down. She'd never tell Eamonn without him being there, too, so it was safe to assume someone else had let it slip.

"Who fuckin' told him?" He tried to hide the roughness in his voice, but it was impossible.

Thankfully she didn't seem fazed by it. The last thing he wanted was to scare her.

"Brien did, but I swear he didn't mean to."

"I don't give a shite if it was an accident. We were all in agreement there wouldn't be any talk of it when the boys are around to keep this very fuckin' thing from happenin'. How did he react?"

"He seems oddly okay. Call me crazy, but it's like subconsciously, he always knows. When it first came up, he used your name, but then without missin' a bloody beat, he—he called you daddy."

Leaning back in his chair, Jimmy crossed his arms over his chest. He pursed his lips, feeling the weight on his back suddenly becoming ten pounds lighter. The longer Catherine insisted on waiting, the worse it would have been for Eamonn in the end. Having the news broken to him now would save him from an even more confusing and angrier future.

"Next month," he said, jabbing his index finger into the tabletop, "If I'm still here, you bring him to see me."

Catherine nodded in agreement. It was so far against her better judgment to bring Eamonn to the maximum-security prison, but then she remembered what the Kings wanted from her. If she was going to get Jimmy closer and comfortable enough to start letting more of his secrets slip, this was the perfect way to do it. Using Eamonn as a pawn was a terrible thing to do, but all she could think about was staying alive.

She pushed up the sleeve of his sweater. Her jaw began to tremble when she saw his wrists were raw and bruised. The guards were purposely slapping the cuffs on too tight. He quickly covered the evidence.

This was far from the first time Jimmy found himself confined to a cramped cell. It was, nonetheless, the first time Catherine was seeing him at the mercy of Her Majesty's Prison Service. He fucking hated it.

"Most importantly, how are you doin'?" Her voice was barely above a whisper.

He shrugged. "Gettin' some readin' in. Turns out when I don't have shite to worry about, I can sleep. Other than that? The screws are fuckin' assholes and I could do without the strip searches. But, beggars can't be choosers."

Catherine's stomach twisted; acid charred the back of her throat. It was naive of her to think Jimmy wouldn't be subjected to the usual practices.

"Do you have a date for a bail hearin' yet?"

"Of course not. They slapped me with two more bullshite charges yesterday afternoon. Conspiracy to direct acts of terrorism and conspiracy to commit acts of terrorism."

"Mother'a Christ, Jimmy. Please tell me you're just takin' the piss."

The way his expression became serious told Catherine he was wasn't lying. He reached up and nudged her chin with the knuckle of his middle finger. "I don't need ya worryin' about me when you've enough on your shoulders already, yeah? I'll be home with you and the boys before ya know it."

"Aye," she said, her brow somewhat relaxing. "I'm thinkin' when you're released, if you wanna spend a few nights with me and the boys, I wouldn't object."

Jimmy raised an eyebrow. "Oh, yeah? What's with the change of heart?"

Several times in the past he suggested just that but was turned because Catherine said she was worried about confusing Eamonn and Sean.

Being back in front of Jimmy, feeling the warmth of his hand in hers, and the conversation with Brien at the forefront of her mind made Catherine sick to her stomach. She regretted telling the Kings about his decision to push the Sons. When the vision of the four of them sitting around the dinner table flashed in her eyes, she wondered if there was a way she could throw the Kings off the scent trail.

Catherine wasn't sure who she was trying to convince. "I just want my family together."


With the boys spending the night with Brien, she decided to head to the pub in east Belfast and get some work done. Catherine poured herself three fingers of the single-malt scotch Jimmy kept tucked away in the bottom left drawer of his desk. The spicy-honey flavor was far stronger than what she was used to, but it did the job.

Licking a drop of scotch off her lower lip, she straightened in the chair and fanned out the papers Ian gave her earlier. She suspected a long time ago Liam had tied himself up with the PSNI. Though, she always held out hope her gut feeling was wrong. In Catherine's mind, there was nothing that justified becoming a tout. If it came down to the issue of money, she wished he would have come to her. Without a second thought, she would have given it to him—no questions asked, no pressure of repayment.

Seeing her brother's name on that list forced her to rethink everything she knew about him. A million questions were sitting on the tip of her tongue, yet she wasn't sure if she cared to know the answers. Mainly because of how mad she was. She wasn't mad because he touted in the first place. What utterly pissed Catherine off beyond belief, was the fact she was the one left to deal with the mess he created. The love she felt for her eldest brother swelled more each day. Now, she'd be forced to sign his death warrant.

An echoing knock at the door pulled Catherine from her thoughts.

"Come in," she said, quickly stuffing the list of informers into the center drawer.

Seamus Doherty pushed the door open just enough to stick his head inside. Like the rest of them, he looked exhausted. "Sorry to bother ya, Catherine, but your da's here."

"He drinkin'?"

Pityingly, Seamus nodded his head.

The fucking cherry on top of this entire cluster fuck.

She dropped her head and swore to herself, wondering why another problem she'd have to clean up was dumped in her lap.

Standing up, Catherine grabbed the knitted cardigan off the back of her chair and strolled over to Seamus. He opened the door more, allowing her to exit the office. Under the fluorescent lighting in the hallway, she couldn't ignore the dark purple circles under his dull eyes. He was more ashen than usual and there were wrinkles in his forehead that hadn't been there a week ago.

"Go home, Seamus," urged Catherine. "Go be with Orla and the wee one."

Seamus did something that was beyond out of character for him; he pulled Catherine in for a tight hug. Resting her chin on his shoulder, she reluctantly placed her hands on his back and hugged him back. By how he squeezed her, Catherine realized he needed the hug just as much as she did.

He whispered, "I'm not goin' anywhere for as long as you're sittin' behind that desk."

The show of support Catherine had gotten in the last several days since her return blew her away. She never expected her comrades to welcome her as chief of staff with such open arms.

Heading into the main area of the pub, Catherine quickly spotted Patrick alone in a back booth. A warm pint of Harp was nestled between his hands and an empty shot glass sat at the edge of the table.

Taking a deep breath, she ignored the gnawing guilt which accompanied her thoughts. This was one battle Catherine didn't have the strength to fight. Sometimes a girl just needed to share a pint with her daddy.

Making her way behind the bar, she pulled herself a pint of Harp then grabbed a shot glass, and tucked a bottle of whiskey under her arm.

Patrick didn't so much as flinch when Catherine slid into the booth. He looked up at her through his ginger eyelashes as she poured both of them a shot. A sense of failure sank in when she passed him the glass, but that didn't stop him from picking it up and tossing back the harsh liquor when she did.

In silence, they drank and smoked. Just enjoying each other's company, decompressing from the long three days.

Patrick was elated to be home, and Catherine was elated to have him home. Being locked away in Musgrave was always far more stressful for him; the anxiety of whether or not he'd ever see freedom again wasn't easy to shake.

Catherine poured another shot, needing the liquid courage.

"Liam's been sayin' more than just his prayers."

Patrick swallowed the whiskey hard, his vacant eyes remaining emotionless "You're sure?"

"Aye. I have a source at Musgrave and he was able to give me a list of names—Liam's was on it." Catherine rolled the glass between her hands. "I have no idea what I should do."

"The fuck you mean you've no idea what to do? Decision's obvious."

Catherine's jaw nearly fell to the floor. The lump in her throat cracked her voice. "He's your son!"

"He's a tout," Patrick bitterly muttered, bringing the pint to his mouth for a sip. "He took the Saxon's shillings so his hand put the goddamn noose around his neck. Ya want Eamonn's da home, Catherine Mary? Then ya put on those fuckin' big-girl knickers an' act as the chief of staff."

"It's a council decision, Da. I can't just order-"

"Since when do you give a shite about what the bloody Kings have to say?"

Catherine's lower lip began to tremble. It took every ounce of self-control to keep the tears brimming her eyes from sliding down her cheeks. She couldn't let Patrick see her get upset. Not now; not when she's supposed to be the backbone.

She wanted to tell him she had to tread carefully with the Kings after finding out Jimmy threw her under the bus about Ian. But there was no way she'd be able to. Catherine knew for a fact Patrick would never see or speak to her again if he found out she'd intimately been with an English policeman.

She'll figure it out. She always does.