Jimmy stood in the doorway of a bedroom, staring at the sleeping form tangled in the sheets. The corner of his mouth twitched and he fought the urge to smile. But he couldn't help it, despite how pissed he was.
Catherine's snoring had always been something he found comical. He wondered how such a heavy snort could come from such a pretty little thing like her. Lying on her stomach and snuggled up with Eamonn's Spiderman pillow, Jimmy gawked at the ivory flesh of her ample ass peeking out from the bottom of her tiny shorts. A loose t-shirt hung unshapely on her top half, but he knew damn well deliciously thick Pilates toned curves were hidden underneath.
It was sinful really, the fact Jimmy could only think of doing unholy and lewd acts to her body. He'd make Catherine pay for her treasonous behavior alright, though the repercussions would take form in ways she wasn't quite accustomed to.
Shaking depraved thoughts from his head, Jimmy picked up the bucket of water he filled with the hose outside. He took two steps into the room then hurled the freezing water over her body.
Catherine sprang to life, jumping nearly three feet into the air. She yelped, scrambling out of the soaked bed.
"What the fuck is wrong with ya?" she screamed.
Not giving much thought to it, she quickly started stripping from her wet clothes.
Even though her naked body was on display with those taut delicate pink nipples just begging to be sucked, Jimmy somehow managed to keep his attention forward. He dropped the empty bucket, his features remaining unchanged.
"Get dressed. We're leavin' in fifteen minutes."
"Where we goin'?"
Jimmy shrugged and Catherine then understood she hadn't just been demoted to a rank-and-file volunteer. She was back to being treated as a meek recruit.
They held each other's gaze, the tension so thick it could be cut with a knife. He watched as her jaw and temples flexed, making it obvious she was trying to swallow words which would more than likely sink her further into the hole she dug herself. Catherine had no other choice but to comply with his orders, regardless of her still technically being in charge.
"What about Eamonn and Sean?" she asked, pulling on a dry tank top.
"They're comin' with."
"Absolutely not," Catherine sternly argued. "My boys will not grow up the way I did, where bein' around men in balaclavas is just a normal goddamn weekend! Besides, you've demoted me so far down the bloody chain there's no need for me to be there with you."
He closed the door and space between them. When he raised his hand, Catherine flinched. Her heart nearly burst from relief when he placed it on the side of her neck rather than smacking her as she thought. He stroked her jaw with his outstretched thumb.
"What's wrong with the way you grew up, a chuisle?"
She felt it was a trick question, but she answered, "You will not be teachin' 'em how to make gelignite or that addin' bicarb soda to a petrol bomb will practically create napalm."
"You expect me not to pass down any of that useful information?"
"It's not useful, Jimmy. Those boys are goin' to university in America or England and will never know this life."
He pursed his lips, realizing it was a dig at him. Catherine liked to remind him quite often that she resented the fact he convinced her not to attend Queens.
"Feel free to guide Sean down that path, but my boy will never attend an English university. Eamonn'll serve in the Irish Defense Force and then he will wear the black beret."
"Joinin' the Irish or British armies'll be no one's decision but Eamonn's. As for him swearin' into this dyin' fight, that'll happen over my dead body."
Jimmy smirked. "Very poor choice of words, because that can be arranged."
Everyone else would cower hearing him spew those words. Catherine had the advantage of knowing Jimmy far better than anyone else in the world. She'd seen the murderous twinkle in his eye before, though she realized it had never once been there no matter how angry he became at her.
"You can't kill me," she whispered, alluringly brushing her tongue along his lower lip. "Even if ya tired, you couldn't bring yourself to do it. You'll hesitate. Again."
The single act of seduction nearly brought Jimmy to his knees. Catherine wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her fingers in his hair before closing her mouth over his. Her tongue slipped passed his lips where it intertwined with his. Jimmy took a sharp breath as one of his hands crawled down her back. When Catherine felt it slip under the waistband of her underwear and grope her ass, she broke the kiss.
"Get out," she demanded. "I gotta get dressed."
He was flustered and frustrated. "Not until ya do somethin' about the hard-on you've given me."
Placing her hands on his chest, Catherine walked him backward. She reached around him and twisted the doorknob, pushing him out once the door was open. "I'll be ready to go in five minutes, take care of it yourself."
The old wooden steps creaked beneath Jimmy's shoes as he jogged down. Before he could reach the bottom, Eamonn and Sean ambushed.
"Is there time for you to kick around the football with us before we leave?" Eamonn asked, a green, white, and orange ball tucked under his small arm.
Jimmy detested the pleading looks on both their faces, not wanting to disappoint them after having been gone for weeks without the slightest explanation. He glanced over at Dessie who was sitting on the couch with a cup of coffee as he watched the morning news coverage on the shooting death of a police officer in Belfast the previous night. Seeing Dessie sparked Jimmy's memory of the condoms he found in Catherine's nightstand. Pushing back the sleeve of his suit jacket, he looked at his watch.
"Aye," he said, hopping off the last step and guiding the boys outside.
As he kicked the ball with them, Jimmy was more focused on how to bring up the question of which IRA lads were coming around more than usual. A part of him didn't even want to ask, fearing his suspicions of Dessie sliding in were true. Ever since Catherine let it slip years ago she was mildly attracted to Dessie, Jimmy couldn't squash his jealousy.
Several years younger than Jimmy, Dessie was just as dangerously handsome as Darragh. He wasn't as tall or as built, but it was painfully obviously Catherine had a type—unapologetically masculine with dark hair and eyes, a fondness for tattoos.
"When I was gone, did any of the fellas come over to see your ma?" Jimmy kicked the ball to Sean, keeping his eye close on Eamonn's body language.
His light brows furrowed, clearly thinking back. "Uncle Brien came over a lot with Padraic. Seamus and Dessie, too."
"Dessie come over a lot?"
"Sometimes he'll come over before bedtime, sometimes Mammy takes us to see him in Crossmaglen-"
Sean interrupted his brother, "It's fun goin' there 'cause he taught us how to hit cans with rocks usin' a slingshot."
Jimmy couldn't care less about Catherine letting Dessie teach them how to use a slingshot when she made such a scene about them being around that kind of activity earlier. What he was more focused on was how she managed to spend weekends in Crossmaglen without him hearing about it. She'd only told him she was taking the boys to either Dundalk or Donegal when in reality she wasn't even leaving the six counties. That meant one thing—the south Armagh men were purposely being selective with who they told that information to.
And their intention wasn't to protect Catherine.
They pulled up to the same house tucked away in the Irish countryside where Catherine experienced her very first debriefing.
The flood of cars in the gravel driveway didn't surprise her one bit. A shipment of cigarettes was expected to come through the port in Dublin later that afternoon and the seclusion of this place made it perfect to solidify the plans one last time. Considering Belfast was still buzzing after the officer's shooting, no one felt comfortable crossing the border during the daylight hours just yet, forcing them to conduct all business in the Republic.
Jimmy parked behind a Ford with no license plates and killed the engine. Catherine looked into the backseat at Eamonn and Sean who passively arguing over who got to hold the football. To some extent, she felt comfortable having them with her, because at least then Jimmy would be on his best behavior.
On the flip side, this was the first time they were being thrust into the confusing and often terrifying world that the IRA. She worried how they'd react to it, but they needed to be warned just as Patrick had warned her the first time he brought her to a safe house.
Reaching back, Catherine grabbed the football from Sean. Needless to say, that got their attention and she shushed then, telling them to listen carefully. "When we go inside, youse are to not ask any questions about or repeat anythin' ya hear. This isn't playtime like it usually is when youse see the fellas—it's serious work, and Jimmy and I'll be busy so we won't be able to help with anythin'. All I want ya doin' is either quietly watchin' television, or playin' outside. Am I clear?"
It wasn't often Catherine became stern with them, so when she did they knew she meant business. After they nodded, she handed the ball back. Once the boys scrambled out of the car, Catherine and Jimmy followed.
"Not gonna lie," Jimmy chuckled, "watchin' ya get all serious with 'em like that is fuckin' sexy, so it is."
"Ya know, I'd call you a liar, but ya do get hot and bothered watchin' me scrub the floor."
"I'm a man; I can't help it that my mind goes to one thing when I see ya on your hands and knees."
Rolling her eyes, she jogged off to catch up with Eamonn and Sean.
Jimmy entered the house first, with Catherine and the boys behind.
Eamonn quickly dropped Catherine's hand, curling his fingers into the cotton of her sweater. He stood behind her, only poking his head out enough to catch a glimpse of the six supremely intimidating men who were dressed in their commando sweaters and camo pants; balaclavas covering their faces.
While Sean didn't let go of her hand, she could feel the grip he had on her tighten. He became unusually shy, pressing his forehead into her thigh.
Now Catherine understood why Patrick introduced her and her brothers to this world so early on. By the time she was Sean's age, seeing this didn't faze her one bit.
Jimmy turned back and noticed how uncomfortable they were, too. He was irritated with Catherine for having kept the boys on the sidelines, never introducing them to the defining aspect of their parent's lives. The last thing he wanted was for Eamonn to be frightened of the army he prayed his son would one day inherit.
"Doherty," Jimmy called out, garnering the man's attention. "Take the boys outside, yeah?"
Seamus looked passed Jimmy and right to Catherine. Until Jimmy was officially brought back to active status following his meeting with the security unit, he refused to follow any orders given to him anyone other than her. Silently, she bobbed her head once, and Seamus gently ushered the boys outside to play.
When the front door closed behind them, she hissed, "That's why I didn't wanna bring 'em."
Jimmy ignored her.
"We're ready whenever you are," said one of the masked men.
Jimmy turned around to find Donny standing behind him. "Did ya bring what I asked for?"
"Aye, it's on the kitchen table."
"Brilliant; youse head up with Donny and get started, I'll be up in a minute."
Catherine didn't hide her smug smile when the six uniformed men didn't budge—they too only took orders from their chief of staff. As for Jimmy, he felt like he was in the twilight zone. Only when she dismissed them did they head up the stairs with Donny.
Turning his head, Jimmy glared at her. If looks could kill, she'd drop dead right there.
"Follow me," he ordered.
Following Jimmy into the kitchen, Catherine guessed whatever coming her way was going to be extremely unpleasant.
She wasn't wrong.
On the table sat an old shoebox, and he flipped the top off before dumping out the contents; a heap of rusty, mismatched bullets she was sure had been dug up from arms dumps God knows how long ago. Holding a hard stare, Jimmy plopped a wad of steel wool into her hand.
"Clean 'em."
This wasn't just punishment, Catherine realized. It was also a test.
A test of just how sorry she was.
The steel wool in hand, she sat down in front of the pile of bullets. Picking one up, she started scrubbing.
He began walking towards the stairs, but halfway out of the kitchen Jimmy turned around and called out Catherine's name. She looked up at him, her expression was that of raw contrition. He held himself with arrogance, asking, "Who's the bitch now?"
Swallowing her pride, Catherine refused to allow his words to upset her.
Forty minutes later, Dessie showed up with the majority of his crew. As she sat in the kitchen still scrubbing those bullets, she never felt more humiliated. When he saw she was doing the menial work set aside as an initiation ritual for recruits, Dessie sent his guys into the other room.
"Why the hell are you doin' this?"
Catherine couldn't bring herself to meet his gaze, because she worried she would cry if she did. Nor did she trust her voice, so she didn't answer him.
Dessie reached out and grabbed her hands to stop her from working. She focused on the intricate tattoo of a rosary—the beads wrapped around his forearm and wrist, the cross resting on the top of his hand.
"Because I vowed to obey all orders given to me by a superior officer."
"Unbelievable. What a fuckin' prick," he muttered as smoke blew from his nostrils. Dessie stubbed out his cigarette and pulled the butterfly knife from his boot. He took the steel wool from Catherine, cutting it in half.
Keeping one for himself, he handed her the other.
Together, they scoured.
To break the silence, Catherine began to sing, "I'll sing a song, of the bravest men; the famous fightin' unit from Armagh. They are the men from Crossmaglen, among the bravest Irelands ever saw."
"At night you hear bazookas roar, Armalites are heard across the land. The IRA, their spirits soar, they know the reckonin' has come to hand."
Catherine and Dessie turned around then they heard a choir of voices fill the kitchen. "In Crossmaglen, the fire burns true—the patriotic flame'll never die. And when you hear the battle cry, it will be the fightin' men of Crossmaglen!"
The rest of his crew sang along to the rebel tune, sitting down at the table to help scrub bullets.
