"So, you tore up my court-martial summons because you were mad at me, then decided to try and solve the situation yourself, instead of just tellin' me about it. Then you disobeyed an order by goin' to Newry to see Jimmy, where you accidentally told him about our plan to have him excommunicated. After he obviously started ragin', you stabbed him."

"Aye," Catherine nodded, popping a handful of Skittles into her mouth. "That's the long and short of it, so it is."

Dessie stubbed out his cigarette in the overflowing ashtray before pressing the heels of his palms to his sore eyes. "Paddy, would you…"

Reaching over, Patrick thwacked the back of Catherine's head. She winced, more so out of surprise than pain, and set the candy package down on the desk to rub the sore spot.

"Hell was that for, Da?"

"Because you're an eejit!"

"How am I the idiot when just a couple'a days ago you were irritated with me for not shootin' him?"

"Because if you're gonna go after Jimmy…kill the fucker! All you've managed to do is piss him off, and that means bad news for everyone."

Dessie leaned back in his chair and tossed his feet up on the desk. He wanted to tell her he was proud of her for even thinking to ram her blade into Jimmy's thigh, but Patrick had a point, so he needed to keep his mouth shut. Plus, he was angry she hadn't told him about the court-martial the moment Fiona handed over a copy of the summons. That would have avoided this entire situation.

"I figured stabbin' him would be the better alternative to ya know, killin' the True army chief of staff. It's just a flesh wound; I'm sure he's already up and about."

Dessie snorted, "Yeah, up and about lookin' to murder the two of us because you opened your goddamn mouth without thinkin'."

"He threatened to tell youse about Ian and the Kings. I wanted him to know he had nothin' to threaten me with - there's nothin' he can do to me anymore."

"You're lucky those Newry lads didn't drag ya out into the street the hair and fuckin' shoot you in broad daylight." Patrick reminded her.

Folding her hands in her lap, Catherine focused her attention on a scratch in the leather of her right boot. It made her feel like absolute shit hearing Dessie and Patrick rip into her the way they were, but she understood she deserved every bit of it. By stupidly opening her mouth, she not only put Dessie and the rest of the ONH lads in danger, but she also put herself in a vulnerable position.

Sure, Jimmy would never have the stomach to take Catherine out himself, the same couldn't be said for the men who were still loyal to him. Being pregnant with two kids wouldn't stop them from pulling the trigger and littering her body with hollow points.

"What do we do now?" she meekly asked.

Dessie cleared his throat. "First and foremost, I think it's safe to assume that you and I are no longer part of the True IRA. That leaves us with no other option than to make the split of ONH and the True army official. Then, it would be a good idea for me, Jimmy, and Fergal to sit down somewhere in the Republic and fuckin' figure out how ONH, and the True and Continuity armies can bloody coexist without us killin' each other. In the meantime, I've two lads from Derry goin' out to Ukraine next week to work out a deal for us to move smokes, while a couple'a Provos are gonna show the blokes in County Louth how to distill spirits so we can make some goddamn money."

"Bringin' back Provo vodka, Dess?" Patrick smiled.

"It's a crowd favorite, and it's easier to make it than smuggle moonshine in from Eastern Europe."

"It would be cheaper to have me move moonshine from Belarus through the thirty-two counties," Catherine cheekily added.

Dessie and Patrick looked at her like she magically sprouted another head. It was Dessie who spoke for both of them.

"You tore up my court-martial summons and stabbed Jimmy O. Until I can somehow smooth things over in Belfast, you're not goin' any more north than Cullyhanna. So no, ya won't be movin' much of anythin' through the thirty-two counties."

"If I can't go past Cullyhanna, how the hell am I supposed to get the boys to school or get my house packed and sold?"

Patrick shifted uncomfortably, knowing his daughter wasn't going to like what he had to say. "Your ma and I are gonna keep the boys with us until the term is over. It's only for a few more weeks. We'll bring 'em down on Friday afternoons and pick 'em up Sunday nights."

"You cannot keep me from my boys for over a month!"

"There's no other option, Catherine," Dessie reminded her. "If you show your face in Belfast before tensions are cool, God only knows what'll happen to ya."

Covering her face with her hands, Catherine leaned forward the best she could despite her belly. She instantly broke out into tears, unable to fathom the idea of being separated from Eamonn and Sean for one week, let alone nearly four and a half. It irritated her more to realize she couldn't place the blame on Dessie or Patrick because they were making the right decision. Not being able to be Belfast was her fault. Stabbing Jimmy in self-defense was beside the point in their world; if she wanted to avoid a confrontation, she never should have gone to Newry.

Patrick reached over and grabbed Catherine by the back of her shirt to pull her in for a hug. She wrapped her arms tightly around her father's neck, burying her face into his chest. Dessie watched helplessly as Patrick rubbed her back in an attempt to soothe her. Though it seemed to do very little to stop the tears. Both men despised keeping Catherine from Eamonn and Sean for that long, but it was better to the alternative of having a police officer knocking on the door to tell Patrick and Olivia her body had been found with an army tag on her forehead.

She wasn't going to bend so easily to the proposed living arrangement.

"No," she said with a hiccup. "They're not stayin' in Belfast without me. Our only option is to get 'em enrolled at St. Patrick's now, even if it is for just a month. If I have to be down here in south Armagh, so do the boys. We're a package deal, so we are. Besides, it would be good for 'em…this way they can go into the summer with mates."

Dessie and Patrick stared at one another. She had a point. They had tried to stretch out upsetting their normal routine for as long as possible, but keeping Eamonn and Sean in Belfast just wasn't realistic anymore. Especially for Eamonn, who Dessie worried the most about.

"Fine," Dessie relented. "While I'm at work you can get the paperwork done. I also need ya to reach out to Fiona and ask if Jimmy has any trips comin' up. If he's out of Norn Iron, we can get your place packed up."

Though she was relieved she finally got Dessie to agree to pull the boys out of St. Matthew's, she shifted uncomfortably knowing he wasn't going to appreciate the bomb she was about to drop.

"I don't have to reach out to Fi for that info."

"Why?" Dessie asked.

She hesitated in preparation for him blowing up again. "Because she gave me his laptop. Which, I didn't tell you about because I was mad at you."

Dessie pulled a cigarette from the pack sitting in the pocket of his dirty work shirt. As he lit it, he said, "Paddy, please…"

Instead of popping her upside the head, Patrick lightly pinched her arm. He was cross, if not more than Dessie, over his daughter's lapse of judgment. It was no secret the pregnancy hormones were clouding her usual thinking, but to Patrick, what she did to Dessie just made her look small-minded.

"You need to pull your shite together, Catherine," Patrick scolded. "If this is your idea of respectin' your husband, then I wouldn't blame him for kickin' your arse to the curb."

Catherine caught Dessie's eye as his gaze bounced back at forth between the father and daughter. She mouthed an "I'm sorry," though it did very little to relax his tightened expression.

Ashing his cigarette, Dessie scratched at the faint beard starting to grow in since he couldn't shave on account of the sutures. He wondered what in the hell he was going to do with Catherine. No way could he let this go. Not after he had just been dog-piled about how he was too lenient with her. Sucking his teeth, Dessie thought about what he'd do with any other volunteer after finding out valuable intelligence had been kept from him. Holding up two fingers, he wiggled them.

"Two weeks," he paused to take a drag from his smoke, "you're suspended for two weeks. Besides, you need the break; I've been runnin' you ragged."

Catherine took a breath, realizing there was no point in fighting him on this. She had screwed up horribly and it was time she accepted the consequences.


After putting the boys to bed, Dessie almost went downstairs to grab a beer and settle in front of the television with the lads. He stopped himself, glancing down the hall to see the soft light of their bedroom pouring out from the gap beneath the door.

Catherine had snuck upstairs to bed when Dessie and Patrick finished laying into her. When Dessie tried to coax her down with the promise of pizza, even that didn't make her budge. The way she just blankly stared at the wall with the pillow clutched against her chest reminded him of the severe depression she fell into after Darragh's funeral.

He prayed to God the despondency was short-lived.

Slicking back the locks of hair falling over his eye, Dessie took off down the hall with heavy footsteps.

Gently pushing the door open, he smiled finding Catherine laying in bed reading his battered copy of Wuthering Heights. When she accidentally stumbled upon his collection of classic novels, he had been slightly embarrassed to admit his love for reading to her. As she opened the box stuffed to the gills with books he read over and over, Dessie wished it were a stash of porn instead. That would have been a hell of a lot less mortifying to explain.

But at least now he didn't feel the need to stash his current reading material around the flat and be in constant fear of Catherine stumbling upon it.

Sneaking into the bathroom, Dessie turned on the taps to the tub. Once the water was as hot as she liked, he dropped the plug. He wished they were back at his flat so he could toss in a handful of the floral-scented salts she liked but he didn't, because they always managed to get lodged in places where they shouldn't be.

So there would at least be bubbles, Dessie squirts some of Catherine's shower gel into the water stream. Instantly, the calming scent of lavender and vanilla filled the bathroom. With the lighter from his pocket, he lit the candles that were sitting on the window ledge. When the tub filled enough, he shut off the water and the lights before heading back into the bedroom.

Strolling over to her, Dessie took the book from Catherine's hands. Placing it on the nightstand, he ignored her protests.

"Stand up," he said, grabbing her hands to help hoist her up.

On her feet, Catherine giggled having seen the laser-focused gleam in his eye. At this point, she gave in and decided not to ask any more questions.

On the surface, Dessie was hardened, but underneath there was a sensitive man Catherine felt privileged to have gotten to know. She had seen him pull a man's tooth out without even batting an eye, but yet he was also the master of romance when he wanted to be.

Grabbing the hem of her shirt, Dessie lifted it over her head. After letting it fall to the floor, he reached behind her to unclasp her bra. With her bra on the floor, too, he went for her joggers. Though this time Catherine stopped him.

He watched her intently as she took them off, kicking them to the side. She hooked her fingers into the waistband of her panties, and this time he knocked her hands away.

Dropping to his knees, Dessie slid the cotton garment down her silken legs. Placing a hand on his shoulder for balance, Catherine stepped out of them. Quickly throwing the useless material behind him, he wasted not a single second to run his hands up and down her beautiful, growing body. He pressed light kisses to her left hip, moving across her waist to the other.

"If only you knew just how fuckin' sexy you are," purred Dessie between kisses. He rested his hands on her ribcage. "I already can't wait to put another wee baby in you."

Catherine bit her lip and closed her eyes, sliding her fingers through his hair as she soaked in the warmth of his kisses.

"I have a feelin' ya won't be sayin' that once ya realize how much of a wee cock-blocker an infant can be."

Getting back on his feet, Dessie chuckled when her hands went right for the hem of his shirt, tugging it off of him. "Yeah, okay. You're just as bad as I am, if not worse. I swear you're randier than a goddamn teenage boy."

"Oh, poor you," she teased, going for his belt. "How tragic for you to have a woman who loves ridin' your cock. I'll try not to feel too sorry for ya."

"Correction," Dessie pulled Catherine closer to him, brushing his lips along hers, "I have a bleedin' stunner of a woman who loves ridin' my cock."


Dessie settled into the bubble bath first. He held out his hand for Catherine to take as she stepped in, and once she was between his legs, he wrapped her in his arms. Resting his chin on her shoulder, Dessie kissed behind her ear. When she cupped water in her hand to splash over her belly, he caught the sparkle of her diamond in the candlelight. Gently taking her hand, Dessie held it up to get a better look at the ring on her swollen finger.

"Havin' second thoughts about marryin' me?" she asked.

"Never. Why would you say that?"

Catherine rested the back of her head on his chest and played with his fingers. "Because I majorly screwed up. I hid somethin' incredibly important from you, and then made things a thousand times worse by tryin' to fix it me'self. If you wanna suspend me longer than two weeks, I wouldn't hold it against ya."

Dessie took his hand away from hers, running his fingers through her hair. He kissed her temple. While she did deserve two months, not two weeks, Catherine was too valuable of an asset to have sitting on the sidelines during such an important transition period. He also understood why she reacted the way she did, but, that wasn't enough of an excuse to completely forgive what she had done.

"I'd like to think this isn't somethin' you would've done if your mind wasn't out of sorts. I remember how crazy ya were when you were pregnant with Eamonn. Ya fuckin' shot a guard after I bloody told ya not to. And to be fair, ya went to see Jimmy with the intention of helpin' me…can't say I wouldn't do the same for you."

"I dunno what happened, Dessie. I thought for the first time I had him, ya know? Like, finally there was nothin' he had to threaten me with; I was finally out of his hold."

When he had finally made it to Forkhill after work and he managed to get the full story from Catherine, Dessie got the sense she had left out a tremendous amount of detail when it came to the struggle. He didn't blame her. After experiencing Jimmy's wrath first hand, Dessie only had to use his imagination. What he didn't want to think about were all the ways it could have gone against Catherine. Easily she could have been the one who ended up with the knife in her neck, rather than the thigh. And how she managed to evade Jimmy's enforcers was beyond him.

At the end of it all, the only thing that mattered was the fact she was in a bubble bath him, wrapped snugly in his arms.

"Promise me you'll never do somethin' that stupid again," he mumbled. "No matter how mad you are, ya can't keep things from me. There's no battle you have to fight on your own anymore, Catherine."

Catherine detested how utterly benevolent he was being when she didn't deserve an ounce of his sympathy.

"I promise. And I promise I'll never keep things from you."

"Thank you."

Turning her neck, he kissed her. Dessie could taste the sweetness of her strawberry balm when his tongue snuck passed her lips. It had been far too long since he last gave her a proper kiss, and it helped him relax when he felt her tense muscles slacken.

Reaching behind her, Catherine curled her fingers around the nape of his neck, occasionally tugging on his hair. She arched her back, deepening the kiss, while Dessie gingerly flicked her taut, albeit tender, nipple with the pad of his thumb. His other hand caressed her soft inner thigh.

Feeling his middle finger start to wander in search of her velvet heat, Catherine grabbed Dessie's wrist before he had a chance to find what he was looking for.

"My Da's downstairs," she croaked. Hearing the lustful gravel in her voice did very little to curb his thirst. "You better behave yourself, Dennehy."

Patrick being within earshot of his daughter's filthy cries of ecstasy hadn't stopped Dessie before and it sure as shit wasn't going to stop him now.

He took his hand off her breast, dragging his thumb along her plump lower lip.

"Well, I guess that means you'll have to stay quiet then," he said, slipping his thumb into her mouth while at the same time his middle and ring fingers found their way inside of her.


Connor, Jack, Aidan, and Patrick were sitting around the kitchen table playing Texas Hold'em. It was nearly one in the morning. Dessie and Catherine had long since gone to bed, leaving the four men to gamble and drink the night away.

"I fold," Patrick said, tossing his cards on the table. He took a long drag from his cigarette before placing it back in the ashtray. "Youse wee feckers are cleanin' me out."

"Should've played more poker when you were on the run, Paddy," snickered Jack.

Patrick stared down the youngest man in the south Armagh brigade, wondering if Dessie would really care if he gave the smart-mouthed bloke the beat down he's been cruising for all night. If he weren't surrounded by two other south Armagh lads who seemed to have a fondness for Jack, he would've done it.

"There wasn't time for poker when I was a Provo. We actually had shite to do whether we were on the run or not."

Aidan lit a cigarette, tossing his lighter down along with his cards. "Here's to hopin' Dessie can get Catherine on board with the bomb we're plannin' for Fork-" Hearing a knocked on the backdoor in the kitchen, Aidan instantly stopped talking. Then he whispered, "Who the fuck could that be?"

The location of the farmhouse in Forkhill was relatively unknown to most volunteers outside of the south Armagh leadership circle. When the profits from their cigarette smuggling started rolling in, Dessie, Kieran, and Rory pooled their money together and bought the place as a way to hide assets. Wanting to keep most of their business outside of Crossmaglen, it quickly became the place where operations were planned, and gave them space - mainly privacy - to handle interrogations and assemble bombs and mortars. To keep their clandestine appearance, besides Catherine, Patrick, and Seamus, no one from the Belfast brigade know of its existence.

They each checked their phones to see if they had any unread text messages. Nothing.

Patrick reached for the Glock in his waistband and handed it to Connor as he stood up. Silently inching his way towards the door, Connor made sure there was round chambered. Wrapping his hand around the grip, he kept the barrel pointed down and his finger perpendicular to the trigger.

He called out, "Who is it?"

"It's me, you gobshite. Open the fuckin' door." Kieran hissed.

Twisting the deadbolt, Connor got it open as quickly as he could. He stepped aside for Kieran to walk in.

"Why the hell didn't you just use your key?"

He ignored the question, not wanting to admit he had forgotten them during the mad-dash from his house in Crossmaglen. He was still dressed in the tracksuit bottoms, and t-shirt he had gone to bed in, his shoes were lazily tied, and his hair was disheveled.

"Where's Dessie? I stopped by his flat but got no answer. He's not answerin' his phone either. Please don't tell me he's in Belfast with that fuckin'-"

Kieran stopped himself the second he saw Patrick sitting at the table.

"That fuckin' what?" challenged Patrick. "Please, finish your thought, boyo."

Kieran didn't have the nerve to. Not with the news he came bearing. "Good to see ya, Paddy. Where's Dessie? Hugh reached out to me from Belfast with news he's gotta hear straightaway."

"He's upstairs; dead to the world, so he is," said Connor. "Poor bastard hasn't slept in days."

Patrick took his pistol back from Connor. "What's the craic from Belfast?"

Kieran set his car keys on the island, resting his hands on his narrow hips. "As Seamus was leavin' work from the Rock, a couple'a Jimmy's lads were waitin' for him, and they had a wee row. The details are dodgy 'cause no one's sayin' shite, but word is it got heated, and one of the lads shot Seamus. Fuckin' shot him dead."

A heavy somberness blanketed the room as each of the men crossed themselves to say a quick prayer for the fallen member of the ONH council.

"Dessie's gonna lose his fuckin' mind when he finds out." Aidan got up from the table to grab another shot glass for Kieran, before filling them with whiskey.

They clinked glasses, in unison saying, "To Seamus."

After tossing the drink back, Patrick swiped the bottle off the table to pour one out for Seamus.

"Honestly, I'm more worried about tellin' Catherine," Connor said, lighting a smoke. "They were close - took the same Green Book lectures, trained together. You should probably be the one to tell her, Paddy."

Patrick shook his head. "It should come from Dessie. We tell him first, and then he can tell her…privately."

The four other men nodded in agreement.


Kieran and Connor stood outside Dessie and Catherine's bedroom door. They had tried knocking, but to no avail, and they were uneasy about barging in to wake him up for several reasons. Mainly because they knew how much Dessie valued his privacy, along with the fact he was notorious for being cantankerous if woken up from a sound sleep.

"I'm not goin' in there. You do it," urged Kieran.

Connor shook his head. "Fuck no. You're his second in command, you do it."

Neither of the men heard Patrick come up behind them. When he placed his hands on their shoulders, they nearly jumped four feet in the air.

"Which of you pussies are gonna do it?" They both pointed to one another one, and Patrick rolled his eyes. "Fine, I'll do it."

Pushing his way into the bedroom, Patrick was only able to see thanks to the illumination from the moonlight. It slightly hit his nerves to see Dessie - who was only in his boxers - laying on his stomach, curled up with his daughter. He wondered how in the world Catherine managed to get any sleep with Dessie loudly snoring in her ear.

Marching over to the edge of the bed, Patrick nudged Dessie in the ass with his booted foot until the snoring stopped and Dessie rolled over.

"What the fuck?" Dessie hissed, sleep still thick in his low voice. "Someone better be fuckin' dead."

Poor choice of words, Patrick thought.

Patrick pointed to Catherine; she was still sleeping. He whispered, "Don't wake her up - you're needed downstairs. And it's Seamus."

"Huh?" Dessie propped himself up on one elbow as he rubbed his eye.

"Seamus…he's the one who's dead."


Dessie poured a shot of whiskey into his tea. There wasn't enough alcohol in Ireland to numb the gnawing sense of failure. It had been nearly eleven years since he lost a man under his command. He couldn't help but blame himself for not spreading the word to everyone within ONH to avoid Jimmy and his men. Foolish naivety was what Dessie chalked it up to. It was stupid to think Catherine was the only one they'd go after. They all had targets on their backs now.

"How do you wanna handle this?" Kieran asked.

Dessie stirred in the whiskey and took a sip. "The True army needs to know Seamus died as an active member of the ONH army council, and there will be swift consequence for their careless action. After work, I'll head up to Belfast to talk with Orla about the funeral."

"You should bring Catherine with you," Patrick said pouring himself a shot. "I know you don't want her in Belfast, but havin' her there may be good for Orla, especially since Catherine already went through this with Darragh."

Bringing Catherine to Belfast was the last thing Dessie wanted to do, but he couldn't dismiss the point Patrick was making. Having Catherine lead the difficult conversation on whether or not to have a full honors funeral was the best way to go. This time he'd be smart about it.

"When we're in Belfast, I want eyes on Catherine from every goddamn direction, youse hear? Connor, you're to fetch the Barrett - I want a sniper across the fuckin' street from Orla's. And from now on, everyone is to vary their routines; God only knows who Jimmy is lookin' to take out - "

"Dessie," Connor interjected a warning when he saw Catherine stroll into the kitchen. He inconspicuously pointed to the doorway.

Dessie turned around, his heart dropping into his stomach when he realized he'd have to break the news to her now. He'd been hoping to put it off until the morning.

Catherine pushed the sleeves of her pajama top up to her elbows, suspiciously looking at the six men huddled around the table. She noted that like Dessie, Kieran also looked to have been dragged from bed.

"Everythin' okay?"

Dessie thought he was going to be sick.

Standing up, he carefully approached Catherine, placing a hand on the small of her back. Patrick, Kieran, Connor, Jack, and Aidan all bowed their heads and winced as Dessie led her into the living room.

For one long minute, the house was silent. And then they heard Catherine's chilling wail of grief.