Catherine was sitting cross-legged in the middle of her bed when Jimmy passed through the open door. He propped his shoulder on the jamb, watching her. In her tiny robe with her washed hair wrapped in a towel, she had a glazed doughnut in one hand, coffee in the other. If it weren't for the half-dozen box of Krispy Kreme between her legs, her shaved cunt would stare Jimmy right in the face.
Shaking the images of Catherine's naked body from his mind, Jimmy remembered the reason he'd gone looking for her.
"Change of plans," he said. Propelling off the doorjamb, Jimmy strutted in the room and took a seat on the edge of the bed. He swiped a sugar doughnut from the box, trying to ignore how close his fingers were to the heat he sought after. "Cucuzza's not in town for the next couple of days, so we're gonna we're gonna meet him tomorrow afternoon instead."
Washing down her mouthful of doughnut with coffee, Catherine's forehead creased. "If he's out of town, where are we meeting him?"
Jimmy tried to hide his smile the best he could, but even he was excited. "Vegas!"
Catherine froze. Unsure she heard him, she dropped the half-eaten doughnut in the box, shoving her mug into Jimmy's hand. Jolting up, she tightened the belt of her robe around her waist.
"Vegas. As in Las Vegas? Sin fucking City?"
Putting his doughnut back too, Jimmy got up, setting the box and her coffee on the dresser. He loved every second of her beaming like a kid on Christmas who woke up to find her most wanted present under the tree.
"Aye. We're going to Las Vegas, baby!"
As soon as the confirmation left Jimmy's mouth, Catherine exploded with shrill shrieks. She jutted into him, wrapping her arms around his neck and squeezing as tight as she could. Jimmy took off the towel she had wrapped on her head, tossing it on the bed so he could kiss the top of her head.
"I booked us a room at the Bellagio for three nights, and you've gotta get a move on because our flight leaves at nine tonight."
There was so much for Catherine to unwrap, she wasn't even sure where to begin.
"I can't fly commercial, Jimmy. And the hardware. If we're meeting Cucuzza there, how are we getting the stock there? It's not like we can bring it with us on a plane."
Jimmy ran his fingers through her damp curls. "We're flying domestic, so there won't be any bullshit to worry about with immigration. Just use the driving license I gave you a while back and you'll get right passed TSA with no issue. Luke, Cameron, and Eddie are making the drive with the stock so — if all goes well — they'll be rolling up in the desert around two in the afternoon tomorrow."
Unwrapping her arms from around Jimmy's neck, Catherine took a step back. She shook out the pins and needles from her hands, her heart starting to flutter from the surge of nerves. "I don't think it's a good idea for me to get a plane. Not with my name on the Interpol list."
"You flew commercial last year," he reminded her. "Didn't seem to have a problem then when you came out here to meet with McKeavy."
"That was before youse sanctioned clipping Ian."
"Fair play to ya on that. I suppose we'll just have to see what happens."
Catherine's face was all but plastered to the window in the cab. The flashing lights, the roar of the bustling crowd — it was sensory overload, unlike anything she's experienced before.
Next to her sat Jimmy, mirthless as he scrolled through the messages which flowed in while during their flight. The sights and sounds of Las Vegas were nothing new to him, though it brought him a sliver of joy to see how elated the trip made Catherine.
"It's bleedin' gorgeous, so it is," she marveled.
The cab driver glanced into the rearview mirror, chuckling to himself. "First time here?"
"Aye," said Catherine. She couldn't tear her eyes away as they drove down the strip.
When they reached the Bellagio and a doorman opened the cab door for her, Catherine couldn't get out of the car fast enough. The illuminating fountain mesmerized her as the streams of water danced. Jimmy tipped the cab driver and the doorman for getting their bags from the trunk.
"What do you say we get settled in, a chuisle? Then we'll go for a wee dander if you're feeling up to it." Jimmy looked at his watch. It was inching towards eleven p.m. and he wanted her rational-minded for the meeting with Cucuzza and his son, Anthony.
Taking her duffle bag from Jimmy, Catherine slung the strap over her shoulder. She was far too excited to wind down now, though she knew a hot shower and bed was what she needed more than a walk down Las Vegas Boulevard. If she messed up the sale tomorrow afternoon, the rest of the trip would be nothing short of depressing.
"We should just stay in for the night. I wanna be fresh for tomorrow."
His bag slung over his shoulder, Jimmy took Catherine's hand, leading her into the hotel lobby.
Once they were checked-in, they headed to their room on the fourteenth floor. Catherine had been expecting a room with two queen bed, though it didn't surprise her in the slightest to see there was only one king.
"You try anything funny, O'Phelan, your arse is sleeping on the floor." She dropped her bag on one of the olive green armchairs, moving to turn on the bedside light, but he stopped her.
"There's more to wanting this room than just sharing a bed with you."
Pressing a button on the wall, the drapes opened, and Catherine's jaw hit the floor. Their room illuminated with the bright lights of the strip. She was eye-level with the replica Eiffel Tower in front of the Paris Hotel.
Standing in front of the giant window, Catherine pressed her hand to the glass. "I suppose the view makes up for it."
Jimmy chuckled, turning now turning on the light and closing the drapes. "Go take a shower so I can take one, then pass-the-fuck-out."
Grabbing her toiletries bag, Catherine scurried off to the bathroom.
Holding the towel tight around her body, Catherine's curiosity piqued when Jimmy's personal phone vibrated on the nightstand. She peeked at the glowing screen, her stomach twisting into a painful knot when she saw who sent him a message.
Siobhan. As in Siobhan Kavanagh.
It was almost eight in the morning back in Belfast, so Catherine wondered what sort of monumental problems could happen that early to make Siobhan text Jimmy. She fought the urge to pick up the phone and read the message, reminding herself Jimmy's personal life was none of her business anymore. Shaking the pins and needles from her numbing hands, Catherine took a step back, wanting to focus on getting into her pajamas.
But then it buzzed again.
Catherine lost the internal struggle.
Before Catherine even realized what she was doing, she had Jimmy's phone in her hand. She swiped up and took a shot in the dark at what the code to unlock it was. The home screen popped up on her first try. He needed to pick a combination that wasn't Eamonn's birthday.
Going straight for the text messages, Catherine wished she had just left well enough alone. She thought she would be sick.
"What are you doing?"
Startled, Catherine dropped the phone onto the bed. She looked up and saw Jimmy with a towel around his waist and a toothbrush hanging from the side of his mouth. Hearing the sink running in the bathroom, Catherine didn't know he was standing behind her, watching, the whole time.
"You're a fucking hypocrite," she bellowed. "Ya had the nerve to laugh at me for sending nudes to Dessie when Siobhan's been doing the same with you! And might I add, the nipple ring situation she's got goin' on… so fucking trashy."
Jimmy tossed the toothbrush on the bar, swallowing his mouthful of toothpaste. He'd seen the ugly monster of jealousy in Catherine with Fiona, but with Siobhan, it seemed worse.
He sort of liked it.
"I've never asked for 'em. She does it all on her own. I'm not gonna stop her."
"You're a pig, ya know that?"
"And Dessie isn't?"
"Dessie's my husband. There's a difference."
Jimmy laughed, which only aggravated Catherine more.
"Just admit it," he closed the void between them, "you're jealous of her."
"I am not fucking jealous of Siobhan Kavanagh."
"When you say her name like that, it sounds like you're a wee bit jealous."
"Please. I couldn't give a shite who you're sticking your dick into."
Catherine prayed she sounded convincing. Even she didn't believe the lie spilling out of her own mouth.
"You left me for Darragh and then moved on with Dessie. Am I not allowed to move on either?" he asked.
"Are you that fucking dense? I didn't leave you for Darragh. I left you because you're a sad excuse of a human being."
Jimmy's mouth pulled into a tight smirk. "You're jealous."
When he got close enough, Catherine tried to shove him back. He grabbed her wrist and pushed her down onto the mattress. Catherine didn't put up much of a fight when he untucked her towel, causing it to fall open and expose her naked body. She tried to cover her breasts, but Jimmy knocked her hands away.
"Don't you dare hide your beauty around me." Dropping his towel to the floor, Jimmy spread Catherine's legs. He parked between them, balancing on his knees.
Her jaw trembled as he towered over her, though she stared up at him in awe. Catherine couldn't help herself. Her hand darted out, caressing his lower abdomen. The way his eyes smoldered, it only turned Catherine on more.
"Does it make you jealous to know I kiss Siobhan the way I used to kiss you?" Jimmy fell onto his hands, pressing his lips to her neck. Her hands went to his shoulders, nails digging into his flesh.
Catherine almost lost her mind when she felt him stroke her inner thigh, his fingers creeping towards the place she was desperate to be touched. He teased her sensitive inner folds, making Catherine press her head into the mattress.
He kept placing kisses to her neck, while the tip of his middle finger slipped into her soaked hole. "Are you jealous I do this to her, too?"
Catherine squeezed her eyes shut, wriggling as his finger went deeper.
"There's one thing you need to understand; I am not Darragh. You let any fella put his fingers in your fanny, I'll pack your bags myself."
Hearing Dessie's voice screaming in her head, Catherine snapped to reality. She jostled him off of her, rolling off the bed. He settled with his back propped against the white leather headboard.
Grabbing her towel off the floor, Catherine wrapped herself up again. "I don't care what sort of disparaging relationship you and Siobhan have."
Jimmy amusingly furrowed his eyebrows, pointing to his erection. "You're soaked and I'm hard as a fucking rock. I think you wanna fuck me just as bad as I wanna fuck you. We're thousands of miles from home, no one we know is here. There's no way Dessie or Fiona will find out, so hop on and let's have a ride."
Catherine shook her head, running a hand through her damp hair.
"Mein Gott, was mach ich nur?" she muttered.
"Fick mich, Schatzi. I love it when you speak German to me." Jimmy hopped out of bed to Catherine, resting his hand on the curve of her neck. He tugged her towel free again, letting it fall to the floor before groping her breast. His thumb brushed along her puckered nipple.
Taking hold of his wrist, Catherine jerked him away. "Is Siobhan a better shag than me?"
"No," he said without the slightest hint of hesitation. "No, she isn't. At least I don't have to ask you the same of Dessie because you made it perfectly clear I'm shite compared to him."
Peeling Catherine's fingers off his wrist, Jimmy grabbed his toothbrush and headed back into the bathroom.
"Jimmy, don't be like this!"
When the door closed behind him, Catherine felt like she couldn't breathe. She hated to see him so upset, but she was determined to make her marriage work.
Once she dressed in her pajamas, Catherine unplugged her phone from the charger, sending Dessie a text.
I love you. Be home soon, was all it read.
Jimmy hated the obvious tension.
Digging through his breakfast skillet to find more potatoes, he couldn't look at Catherine. "You wanna talk about what happened last night?"
"Nope. I just wanna get this over with. When we're done, I'm gonna hitch a ride back to Cali with the lads."
Jimmy dropped his fork. The clatter echoed in the empty diner. "No, you're not. Quit acting like a child and eat your fucking food."
"I told you I'm not hungry," said Catherine, pushing her plate away. She knew she was being childish, but she didn't care. Still upset from the previous night's events, she wanted to tell Jimmy he was lucky she decided to meet Cucuzza with him. "I'm getting sick of having this same fucking fight with you over, and over, and over again."
"You don't think I'm done with it, too?"
"If you were, you wouldn't keep pushing me into having sex with you."
Jimmy pinched the bridge of his nose. He'd say anything to smooth this over and not be on Catherine's shit-list. "I'm sorry, okay? I misread the signals. On another note, Fiona told me Filip is bustin' outta hospital in a couple of days, so if you stay here with me, I'll let you see him again before you crazy bitches head back to Belfast."
Catherine took a heavy breath, and the tears welling her eyes took Jimmy back. He thought she'd be pleased with the compromise.
"Why do you always do this to me?"
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"Control me!" she said, a little louder than intended. Catherine lowered her voice, blotting the tears off her cheeks as to not ruin her makeup. "Ever since I… Ever since we started working together, you've had this hold over me. Constantly telling me where to go and when, or who I can and cannot see. And there's always fucking conditions on everything you let me do."
He snorted, "I don't do that. I've always let you do whatever the hell you've wanted. For years I've had the lads breathing down me neck, saying how I let you get away with murder compared to them."
Catherine jutted back in the padded booth, realizing this conversation was a dead end. The sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach told Catherine it would be a long time before she saw Chibs again. If she wanted to spend one last time with him, she had to play Jimmy's game.
"Fine," she conceded. She held out her pinky finger. "If I stay, you'll let me see Filip?"
Jimmy curled his little finger around hers. "I promise. Now eat, please."
Picking up her fork, Catherine dug into her stack of pancakes despite having no appetite.
"Happy?" She shoved the forkful into her mouth.
"As long as I'm with you, always."
Catherine wasted no time hopping out of their rented car when Luke, Cameron, and Eddie rolled up. The three of them barely unbuckled their seatbelts, let alone got out, before she popped the hatch for the trunk.
Jimmy cooly got out, slipping on a pair of sunglasses, all the while keeping an eye on Cucuzza and his crew. He knew he could trust the mafia boss, but that didn't stop his usual jitters. There was so much that could go wrong in such a small amount of time.
Eddie and Luke rounded the SUV to unload the crate with the AKs, while Catherine collected the green ammunition box.
In her four-inch pumps, pencil skirt, and chiffon blouse, Cameron never understood what men saw in Catherine. Tight curves, nice tits, and a sculpted ass didn't make up for the fact she was a vapid narcissist. He pitied Jimmy and Dessie for falling under her spell, and he thanked God every day Eddie — who was the same age as Catherine — never became tangled in her venomous web.
This was his sale to make. His chance to make up for the blunder he made with Samcro, which got the True army into business with ONH. Cameron needed to show Jimmy he could still handle the pressure of being the Stateside contact.
She had no fucking business being here.
"Bout ye, darlin'?" Eddie smiled at Catherine. "It's been a wee minute since I've seen ya."
Catherine beamed with her usual radiance, her features softening. "Brilliant. And yourself?"
"Could be worse. Hey, I heard about the copper in Belfast. That wasn't by chance your crew, was it?"
Cameron wanted to smack his son upside the head. "Watch your lip there, boyo."
Mortified, Catherine wanted to crawl under a rock and die. Did everyone know about her relationship with Ian?
After formal greetings between the Irish and Italians, Eddie popped the screws out of the crate. He handed Cucuzza and his son, Anthony, each a rifle while the three other enforcers Cucuzza brought along hung back by their vehicle.
Grabbing one for herself, she took the magazine Jimmy loaded. "They have a standard thirty-round magazine, though I can get you a drum that holds seventy-five."
"It shoots NATO 556 cartridges?" asked Cucuzza. He didn't look away from the rifle as he inspected it.
Catherine stiffened and stopped trying to load the magazine into the rifle. It was a trick, insulting question she knew was only being asked to test her intelligence on the hardware. A man like him wasn't stupid enough to think a Russian-made weapon shot the same ammunition as the counties invested in NATO. She wondered if Cucuzza would have asked the same to Cameron, Eddie, or Jimmy.
Probably not, she figured.
Glancing at Jimmy, he gave Catherine a look that told her to swallow whatever smartass remark was sitting on the tip of her tongue. Catherine did that, snapping in the magazine and pulling the bolt to chamber a round. She smiled, handing it off to Cucuzza before accepting the empty one so she could load it next.
"No, these shoot 762, which we also get straight from Russia. When it arrives in Ireland, we take the ammunition out of the original boxes before shipping Stateside because it's less likely to be searched by American customs if it's in a container without the Russian markings."
"And they're fully automatic?" Anthony pipped in. "They're not fixed to be only semi-auto?"
To say they annoyed Catherine was an understatement. All Anthony had to do was flip the rifle over and see the switch could be set for automatic. It took every ounce of self-control she had not to shoot at the ground by his feet to prove that yes, when she said she's in the business of smuggling illegal high power assault rifles, she wasn't lying.
Catherine mustered the most fake polite smile she could manage. "Aye, they're full auto."
While she gave Luke the rifle to hold on to for a second, Jimmy dug Catherine's ear-plugs from his pocket. She slipped the hot pink foam into her ears, then tied her hair up into a tight bun at the crown of her head. As Cucuzza and Anthony protected their ears, Catherine accepted the rifle back from Luke.
She couldn't let the two Italians have all the fun. Not after their sad attempts to discredit her knowledge.
"The more aggressive you are with it, the less aggressive it'll be with you," Catherine remembered Jimmy telling her the first time she fired an AK. Once she had a grip on it, she held the butt flush and tight against her shoulder. Her index finger resting on the trigger guard, she looked to Cucuzza and Anthony.
"Youse ready?"
The men nodded, and Catherine pressed her cheek against the hot butt to line up her sight. When Cameron and Eddie were out of the firing line after setting up targets, the three of them opened fire.
Standing behind Catherine, Jimmy plugged his ears with his middle fingers. He was concentrating on the sight of her in those red-soled stilettos as she shot more than anything else. The kick-back of the rifle when it was in full-automatic made her ass jiggle just enough to remind him of what it looked when he plowed her from behind.
It took five seconds for the trio to empty a thirty-round magazine. Lowering the gun, Catherine peered out into the distance and squinted her eyes to get a proper look at the target. She kept a poker face, though she was pleased with her grouping. The red chest portion of the target took the brunt, with two holes in the throat, and one in the head. Taking out of the empty magazine, Catherine passed the AK off to Jimmy as Cucuzza and Anthony reloaded.
"So, what do ya think?" she asked.
"I think you're a better shot than me," Cucuzza grinned, nudging his head toward the targets.
Anthony lifted the gun into position. "It feels good. Fires great, too. Have you ever had one of these jam on you?"
"Never," said Catherine. It surprised her Jimmy was allowing her to take the lead on the sale. By now he would have jumped in. "My crew is partial to the Armalite 18, which I can't understand for the life of me. I believe this is the single greatest piece of hardware in the Soviet arsenal. Even if it's covered in mud or filled with sand, it will not break, jam, or overheat. That's why the gangbangers are loyal to it… it's loyal to them."
"How much of a profit does Clay make selling these?" Cucuzza wondered.
Catherine shrugged. "I don't ask. Our business is strictly wholesale. All of our buyers set their own price depending on the bottom line they need to meet."
That answer seemed to satisfy.
Cucuzza and Anthony shot off another magazine with Jimmy. Catherine took the smiles on her potential customers' faces as a good sign.
"Let's talk numbers." Cucuzza gave the rifle back to Eddie so he could start packing up. "How much, and how often do shipments come in?"
Catherine handed her earplugs back to Jimmy. Watching her run this like a pro made him kick himself in the ass for allowing her to get away from the True army.
He should have never demoted her.
Jimmy always took the reign of laying out the numbers. There was much less of a fight if it came from him. "We'll ship a minimum of one dozen a month, and no more than four. It's a flat rate; fifty-five-thousand for the first year, with a fifteen percent cut. After that, it's sixty-four-thousand, with a five percent cut."
Anthony laughed. "You micks can't be fucking serious. We're not paying that. Not when the market is flooded with Kalashnikovs."
Catherine could see the vein in Cucuzza's forehead throbbing, but she didn't give him a chance to straighten his son out.
"You can't look at the unitary price. It's no secret that every business has ancillary costs. Certificates have to be forged and notarized. Shell companies have to be established for laundering. There's insurance we have to pay to our supplier in case shite goes arse over tit. We have to hire a crew to man the cargo ships, and then my men get a cut for transporting. Let's not forget about the bribes. Nothing, and I mean fuck all, gets out of Russia unless there are multiple bribes attached to it. Nor can we get anything into Ireland or America without one either. The offer stands. Fifty-five and fifteen."
Anthony flexed his jaw, suddenly despising all things associated with Ireland. He didn't appreciate a woman embarrassing him.
"Ten percent."
"How about twenty?" Catherine crossed her arms over his chest.
Jimmy lit a cigarette, hiding his amused smirk. There was no point in stepping in when her drive to prove a point would only put end up putting more money into his pocket.
Anthony pointed his index finger at Catherine, about to hurl a round of insults when Cucuzza stepped in.
"Enough!" He barked. He wasn't about to let his dimwitted son ruin his chance to get his hands on the hot Irish commodity. They were one of the few who seamlessly moved stock in and out of Moscow, Dublin, and across the United States. "Twelve percent. Then after the first year, sixty-two and five percent."
Catherine could live with that. The counterfeit booze and smokes were enough to keep ONH in the black. The guns at this point were just a supplement — a favor to Jimmy. And they'd be making more of a profit off the mafia than Samcro.
Holding out her hand, Cucuzza shook it. "Pleasure to do business with you, gentlemen. When the shipment comes in, Cameron'll let you know where to pick it up."
The deal with the Neo-Nazis and Samcro squashed, Catherine realized the fun was only about to begin. Now she had to break it to Dessie that she renegotiated a brand new deal when all he wanted was out of the gun trade.
Standing under the cool stream of water, Catherine closed her eyes, washing her hair for the third time. She felt only a little less grimy, itching to scrub the sand, sweat, and gunpowder from the rest of her body.
From the bed, Jimmy heard the gush of water hitting the tile floor in the shower as she rinsed the shampoo. Flicking the remote onto the mattress, Jimmy heaved himself out of bed. He undressed, stepping over the pile of clothes to the bathroom. Catherine left the door open, which he took as an invitation.
Quiet as a church mouse, Jimmy towed open the heavy glass door, stepping in behind her. This time when he placed his hands on Catherine's bare hips, she didn't jump. It took him longer than she expected for him to join her.
Spinning around, Catherine pressed a feather-light kiss to the patch of red, purple skin on his chest near the crease of his armpit. "You're bruising."
"So are you." Popping off a magazine in the AK never failed to leave them battered and bruised, no matter how many times they did it. "How's the shoulder?"
She rotated her right shoulder, wincing. There was no point in lying to seem tough. Not when he was aching just as bad. "Fucking sore as shite. If I ice it before bed, it shouldn't be too bad in the morn."
Jimmy took the washcloth hanging from the door handle. He soaked it, then lathered it up with her lavender body wash. With his thumb and forefinger, he took her chin to move it up. In gentle circles, he washed her face.
"Did you want to stay in and order room service, or head down to the casino?"
Tipping her head back, Catherine held her breath as she washed the soap from her face. Once the suds were gone, she took the cloth from him and moved out of the way for Jimmy to shampoo.
"I'm in Las Vegas without my kids," she reminded him, starting to wash her chest and stomach. "I plan to drink and gamble until I pass out or go broke… Whichever comes first."
"You're a lass after me own heart."
"What can I say? I learned all the best vices from you. Now move over so I can get this soap off me."
Scouring the same grime from caked Catherine from his scalp, Jimmy hoped the lukewarm water would keep his erection down as she washed her legs. He averted his eyes to the ceiling. The last thing he wanted was to get caught gawking at her breasts.
Raking his fingers through his hair, Jimmy raised his eyebrows at her. "Only if you ask nicely."
Instead of indulging Jimmy's request, Catherine jabbed her thumb into his tender bruise. The nasty sting running down his arm and up his neck made him grunt. Catherine took advantage of his moment of weakness, nudging him out of the way with her hip.
Watching the suds slid down her body, there was no shame on Jimmy's part this time as his eyes explored every inch of her.
"You should know by now I'm not a very nice person." She winked, turning the water freezing cold before jumping out.
Sans his towel, Jimmy headed into the bedroom. He almost had a stroke. Catherine stood in the middle of the room, bending at the waist to wrap her hair in the towel she used to dry off. His hand begged to smack her ass, though he knew if he did it would more than likely end with him getting slapped.
Strutting over to his duffle, Jimmy dug through it. He grabbed a black velvet ring box. Reaching across the bed, he held it out to Catherine.
"I have only one request while we're here. The rings you're wearing, they've gotta go. I've always liked this one better anyway."
Catherine twirled her engagement ring and wedding band. In her heart, she understood the right thing to do would be to tell Jimmy to go to Hell and keep them on. Not wanting to create avoidable tension on what she wanted to make an unforgettable working vacation, she ignored the voice in the back of her head. Besides, Dessie wasn't there. No harm, no foul. What he didn't know wouldn't kill him. Catherine would rather be without them than have people assuming she and Jimmy were married.
Her fingers swelled from the heat, so it took a little more effort to take them off. Setting the bands on the nightstand, she took the box from him and opened it. When she saw the Claddagh ring with a sapphire heart resting between the padding, Catherine snapped the box shut and threw it back to him.
Fat tears bubbled in her eyes. She felt like this was some cruel joke. Her mind flooding with the memories attached to the piece of jewelry, Catherine recoiled. It was the ring Jimmy had given to her right before he almost drowned her in the bathtub after finding out she fucked Happy in the bathroom of some cruddy bar in Lodi. When she took a breath, Catherine's lungs burned with the same fiery sensation when they filled with water. She clawed at her neck, swearing she could feel Jimmy's tight grip again.
"Fuck you," she spat.
Turning her back to him, Catherine wiped the fresh tears from her cheeks, busying herself by looking for a pair of panties. As she searched for a particular black thong, Jimmy chucked the box on the bed before rummaging through his bag again. He found what he was looking for just as Catherine wriggled her way into the cotton and lace undergarment.
Coming up behind her, Jimmy wrapped one arm around her middle, holding out a red box in front of her face. She gasped, reading the gold cursive on the lid.
Cartier.
"I found the Claddagh ring in the bottom drawer of my desk, and I had a feeling you'd react as you did. And then I realized I never got you a gift after having either of the boys, so I picked this up for you while I was in Düsseldorf."
Gazing back at him, Catherine scoffed, "You went to Deutschland without me? That wasn't very nice of you."
He kissed her temple, then dropped his mouth to her ear. "You should know by now I'm not a very nice person."
A spark Catherine didn't expect shot down her spine.
"Go 'head. Open it."
At his behest, Catherine lifted the lid. Taking the box, she shook the smaller leather one into her hand and opened it.
"Oh… oh, my God. This is a stunner, Jimmy!" She replaced the bands Dessie had given her with this new one. It was unlike anything she ever owned. "How much did this you cost you?" she asked, admiring the interwoven gold, white, and pink gold bands.
"Don't you fucking worry about that," he chides. "I made a wee bonus and decided you deserve something shiny and new. There are three different golds there for each one of your boys, so don't get knocked up again."
Catherine rolled her eyes, just as he smacked her ass. "Now get dressed so we can get drunk and win some money."
They strolled out of the elevator bank and onto the casino floor. Jimmy tucked the room key into his pocket while he slipped his hand into Catherine's. Much to his surprise, she didn't pull away.
Jimmy stopped the first waitress who rushed by them.
"This is just for the first two hours," he said, slipping her folded hundred-dollar bills. "I'll be drinking Jameson and ginger, and she'll have Stoli and tonic with lemon instead of a lime. Every forty-five minutes, come find us with a fresh round. We'll be around the tables."
Nodding, the young cocktail waitress wore an expression like she just struck gold. She pocketed the money, rushing off to bring them their first round of drinks.
Catherine chuckled loud enough for him to hear.
"What?" he asked.
"Nothing. Just you, is all."
He dropped her hand long enough to light a cigarette and pass it off to her. At first, Catherine was hesitant to take it considering they were indoors, though once she realized smoking in the casino seemed to be a popular pastime, she took it.
"What about me?" Jimmy stole the smoke, taking a drag before handing it back.
She had no idea how to answer such a loaded question. "Going out with you is a totally different experience than going out with Dessie is all."
"Dessie's cheap. Is that what you're saying?"
"He's not cheap," she defended. "He's low maintenance, I guess. And not in a bad way. He doesn't want the five-star hotel or the bleedin' bottle service. I don't need it either. I'd be perfectly fine if you and I were in some shite hotel by the airport playing penny slots."
"I know you would be. But even you have to admit this is fantastic. Don't deny you fucking eat it up when I spoil you."
Catherine felt her cheeks burn a few degrees hotter. She ignored him, not wanting to admit the truth.
"What are you feeling tonight?" she said, changing the subject. "Slots, poker, blackjack?"
"Roulette." Jimmy took her hand again and led her towards the roulette tables. "Every time I gamble, the first thing I do is put six-hundred quid down on the same six numbers. If I win, I play high-limit all night. If I lose, I take it easy."
"That makes no sense because even if you win on one number, you're still losing four-hundred on the other five."
"Don't diss the hustle."
When they approached the table, Jimmy cashed his money for chips then laid them down on the table when the dealer called for bets.
"Alright, big spender," she crooned, shaking her head. "What six numbers?"
"Twelve and thirty-one. One and eighteen. Five and twenty-nine."
Catherine squeezed his hand.
Her birthday.
Eamonn's birthday.
His late brother's birthday.
She crushed her cigarette in the nearest ashtray as the dealer dropped the small white ball into the rotating wheel.
When the ball lost momentum and dropped, Catherine went bug-eyed. Sure enough, it fell right into the black thirty-one slot.
"Holy shite," breathed Catherine.
Jimmy let go of Catherine's hand, picking his winnings off the table like it was nothing. The cocktail waitress came by with their drinks; he tossed one of the black chips — worth another hundred dollars — onto her tray.
"Christ," Catherine took a sip of her stiff drink, "by the night's end, she'll end up making more off you than I ever did."
Drinking the familiar whiskey, Jimmy's forehead creased. "Shut your gob. That's a two-grand ring on your wee finger."
Catherine lifted her hand and cocked her head to the side, admiring the ring yet again.
"So, Mr. High Roller. What's next? I think I wanna do something crazy like five-dollar slots."
"Oh, a chuisle," he chorused, throwing his arm around her shoulders. "Did you not learn anything from me when we went to Monaco? Slots are for people who take minimal risks in life. That's not who we are. We're gonna find a Craps table and either win a lot of money or lose a lot."
"I'm nowhere near drunk enough for that yet. Also, I can't go too crazy because I dunno how I'll explain to Dessie I lost four-figures playing Craps with you in Las Vegas when I'm supposed to be tending to my very injured uncle."
Through her dress, she felt his knuckles brush the side of her breast. "This trip is for you and I to bloody relax. Lord knows we've earned it. If you've got your wee kex in a knot over a couple of thousand quid, I'll give you whatever ya lose so it'll be a wash. That way Dessie will never know the difference."
Catherine untangled from Jimmy. She gnawed on the black straw in her glass.
"Dead on. Can I ask you a question?"
Jimmy rested his hand on the small of Catherine's back, leading her to the Craps tables. "You already did, but shoot."
"Why do you hate Dessie? Weren't youse close once upon a time?"
"I don't hate Dessie, per se. Okay, that's a lie, I hate him. Only because he's got you and I don't. And for the record, we were never close. It's not like I was grabbing pints with the lad on the weekends."
Catherine's heart dropped into her stomach. Jimmy opening up made her hopeful, yet uncomfortable. Reaching around her back, Catherine took his hand and interlocked their fingers.
"You'll always have me." She stopped walking and kissed his cheek. After rubbing the brick-red lipstick off of him, she smoothed the lapels of his jacket. "You're Jimmy-"
"Aye, and you're Catherine. Glad we straightened that out."
Catherine slapped his arm in jest. "Shut up, you arsehole. I'm trying to have a moment with you."
"I'm sorry," he kissed her forehead, "go on."
"As I was saying… you'll always have me. The relationship we have is nothing like what I have with Dessie. You were there for me the times my Da was arrested; when Lorcan stood me up the night of the Christmas prom. You stepped up when Darragh died and I needed someone more than ever."
Jimmy polished off the rest of his whiskey and ginger ale, hoping that would dislodge the lump in his throat.
"Enough of this sappy shite, ya hear? C'mon, let's go have some fun."
