Co. Wicklow - Republic of Ireland

The Irish Sea rose to Dessie's chest as he jaunted out into the chilly water.

Guided only by the moonlight, he reached for the rubber inflatable boat floating ways from the shore, overzealous to hold the gifts he and the rest of Óglaigh na hÉireann have waited too long for. He brought the raft out of the water and onto the Clogga beach, where Dessie and Connor rolled up their sleeves, helping the young volunteers load the boxes into the van. The consignment would be driven over the border, broken down into lorry loads, and transported to farmhouses in south Armagh and the Republic.

On the wooden crate Dessie hoisted with Connor, he smiled at the black stenciling.

Вооружённые силы Российской Федерации.

Armed Forces of the Russian Federation.

The crazy bastard came through. It took five months, but Misha didn't fail on his promise to arm the fast rising republican faction with hardware which mysteriously fell off the back of the truck on its way to various armories across the Russian Federation.

Splitting from the True Irish Republican Army meant losing access to the vast cache they built throughout three decades. Having the crates wash up onto the shores of the Republic of Ireland took a crushing weight off Dessie's shoulders. No longer would they have to hoard ammunition and use the scarce pistols and rifles they had in their own personal stock. And Dessie could retire the aging sniper rifle he'd bought for a couple of hundred euro that kept jamming when he needed it most.

It was the first shipment of three, and when it was all said and done, they'd bury several million pounds worth of weaponry.

Thirty-six modernized AK-74 rifles.

Forty MP-443 pistols.

Six Vityaz-SN submachine guns.

Three Kord heavy machine guns.

Ten Soviet-made RPG-7 rocket launchers.

Two OSV-96 semiautomatic sniper rifles.

Too many hand grenades, mortars, and anti-tank missiles for Dessie to remember off the top of his head.

Six million rounds of ammunition.

Including the two tons of C-4 and Semtex explosives, and the nine-hundred detonators Connor and Aidan stashed a few weeks prior.

They were armed for war.

And Dessie had to take a second to realize none of this would have been possible without the hard work of his wife. Work he failed to recognize Catherine even worried about. In his mind, the hardware just showed up. His brawn brain never understood with the logistical operations until he became Óglaigh na hÉireann Chief of Staff. When he had been the brigade commander for the True army, it was Catherine who took care of the cigarette operation behind the scene. His only responsibility had been to rally his men, come up with a transport plan, and get the bribe money to their contact at the port. It was Catherine who made all the orders, handled the transactions, and collected the profits from the pubs who sold their product.

The title of finance officer seemed to fit in retrospect, but now Dessie wondered if taking away the sacred title of second-in-command had been a mistake. Kieran was decent at his job, sure, just not as good as Catherine.

They finished loading the back of the van and locked it. Dessie took the cigarette he had tucked behind his ear and stuck it in the corner of his mouth. Grabbing an overstuffed envelope from Connor, he divided up the money before handing out the banknotes. "Alright lads, appreciate the help, but we've got it from here. Head to the pub and have a wee pint on us; you lot've bloody earned it."

The young volunteers from all across Ulster thanked Dessie for the generous compensation for an hour of work. They climbed over the rocks on the beach, heading to their cars. As he smoked his cigarette, Dessie watched them leave one by one. He and Connor wouldn't hit the road back to Forkhill until they were alone, not wanting anyone to know where they were headed. Dealing with the organization's entire arsenal, they wanted to keep their destinations as close to the chest as possible.

"You sure you don't want me to drive it over the border?" asked Dessie.

"Nope. With a new wee baby at home, your arse is on scout detail." Connor opened the driver-side door of the van, getting in.

Dessie spun around and jogged toward the dark green Honda Civic which Jack had stolen off the Shankill Road the night before. He shook his head, pulling the key from his back pocket. "Aye, Ma."


Galt, California

Catherine ignored the edge of the desk biting into the back of her thighs.

Jimmy shoved the papers, pens, and calculator to the floor, making room to lay her down. They didn't break their lip lock, afraid the moment would be lost if they did. She helped him shrug out of his jacket, and once it was in a heap on the floor, Jimmy slid his hands up her soft, teal sundress.

The dingy back office of the Army and Navy Surplus store was the furthest place from romantic, but it would do. In some respects, it was nostalgic. Bringing back memories of the early days of their relationship when they were sneaking around. The thrill was just as exciting, except there was far more guilt for Catherine this time around.

"Do you have a johnny?" she asked, breathless.

Hooking his fingers into the waistband of her panties, Catherine lifted her hips and Jimmy dragged them down her legs, tossing the useless piece of cotton over his shoulder. "Do I look like a desperate bloke who walks around with one in my wallet?"

Catherine turned her neck to the side, giving him a blank canvas to pepper with kisses.

"Carrying one with you has fuck all to do with being desperate." Her eyes fluttered when Jimmy nipped a spot below her ear. "It's called being prepared. Just… finish on my thigh. And please try not to get it on my dress. The last thing I need is for the lads to see me coming outta here with a spunk stain."

Jimmy pulled Catherine to her feet and spun her around. He bent her over the desk.

"Hands behind your back," he said.

Looking behind her, Catherine watched Jimmy unfasten his belt and pull it out of the loops in his trousers. "No! There is a time and place for that play. This isn't it."

Folding the belt, Jimmy then lifted Catherine's dress and gave her ass a stinging smack.

She yelped. "Ouch! Take it easy back there, would ya? Don't wanna send me home with bruises I can't explain."

Hearing her say that only aroused him more. He'd pay big money to see Dessie's face as the fella discovered love bites and bruises.

"Oh, relax. It's just a wee red mark." He swatted her with the belt again. "Hands behind your back. You know I hate repeating myself."

Catherine quivered at the sternness of his voice. Obeying, she rested her hands on her lower back. He was peculiarly gentle as he wrapped his leather belt around her wrists, making a pair of homemade handcuffs.

"Wiggle your fingers."

She did and then Jimmy pulled the strap tighter. Catherine took a soothing breath, hating how helpless this bound position made her feel.

Jimmy used his foot to spread hers further apart while he unfastened the button and pulled down the zipper of his trousers. Bunching the skirt of her dress around her hips, his grip on her grew tighter as he aligned their bodies. Catherine gritted her teeth, wincing when his chest rubbed against the healing sunburn on her back. The hot sting dissipated into something far more delicious as he eased himself inside of her.

"Goddamn, you feel good," she purred, savoring the slow thrusts even though she had something else in mind. "But I know you can do better than that."

Releasing one hand from her hip, Jimmy reached up and tangled his fingers into her mess of ginger curls, tugging her neck back. His pace turned ruthless and intense, the legs of the desk screeched on the concrete floor.

"How am I doin' now? Still not enough for you?"

Catherine shook her head, and Jimmy knew what she wanted but couldn't do herself. Unraveling his hand from her hair, he pressed her head onto the desk. He dipped his hand, going in search of her clit. When he found the swollen nub of nerves, he rubbed it with two fingers, sending jolts down her spine. Swallowing her wanton bellows of ecstasy was one of the hardest things she's done. She wriggled against his fingers, the electrical charge building in the pit of her stomach.

"Ohh… fuuck. That's it, right there," she whined.

Jimmy made the mistake of looking down. The newest tattoo on her right ass-cheek made him see stars. It wasn't bad enough Dessie's name was inked onto her body, but it was in his handwriting. And that stupid little heart Jimmy once saw as cute, now dotted the 'i' like she was some fucking schoolgirl sketching it in her notebook.

He brought his mouth to her ear. "Tell me who owns your sweet pussy."

A lazy smirk stretched across her face as she stared at the wall, her vision unfocused. Catherine knew his latest dabble in dirty talk only started because he found out it was something she enjoyed with Dessie.

He couldn't let Dessie have all the fun.

Catherine didn't think twice about Jimmy's demand. It was a generic expression pulled out of every man's tool belt when the brain was soaked with lustful hormones.

Do you like that, baby? Aye.

Am I the best you've ever had? Yes.

Is my cock the biggest? Of course.

It was all lies anyway.

Twisting her neck the best she could, Catherine looked back at him with a sultry pout. Her plump lips were reddened and puffy from all the kissing. She tugged her restrained wrists, desperate to touch him.

"You do. My pussy is all yours."

He took his hand off her hip, holding her throat, but he was quick to cover her mouth when a cry escaped after he hit her cervix.

"Gotta be quiet." Jimmy hooked his index finger into the corner of her mouth. "I don't think you want the lads to know I'm bollocks deep in you."

She didn't.

She didn't want anyone to know she sunk so far down the totem pole of self-respect she was back to fucking Jimmy O'Phelan. It was fun and pleasurable now, but Catherine knew once she felt the hot spurt of his cum on her skin, all she'd want is a hot shower and a priest.

Closing her lips around his finger, Catherine sucked. She closed her eyes, focusing only on the roaring thunderstorm he summoned with every pass he made along her clit.

Jimmy inched his finger out of her mouth, cupping her jaw.

Beads of sweat rolled down the back of his neck as his skin tingled with the blistering heat of their passion. Having Catherine pinned underneath him whipped a whirlwind of sentiments Jimmy didn't want to deal with. The way she clenched around him seemed so wrong, yet so right, and still not enough.

"Look at me, a chuisle."

Catherine's eyes sprang open.

It was the first time she's heard him say that while they were connected in the most intimate way. There were some parts of their relationship which needed to be kept out of their sex life, and him using the endearment was one of them.

She hated it, she realized, because in one fell swoop Jimmy turned it from dirty, interdict sex into something meaningful.

When Catherine's winter blue eyes looked up at him and he saw the desire flecked in them, the pace at which he moved his hips became cruelly slow. The suffering and dire need for release was written all over her face. Watching her writhe at his mercy, it was the most power he's ever had over her.

"You're not gonna cum until I tell you to. Got it?"

Catherine wasn't sure how much longer she could hold on for. "Oh, God… I'm so fucking close."

"I know you are, baby. I also know how good you are at taking orders, and how you never wanna let me down." Jimmy crawled toward the point of no return. "Is that true, Catherine? You never wanna let me down."

Catherine went dizzy; her heart skittered. He slipped his thumb into her mouth, pulling it out and running it along her soft lips.

"I don't — I don't wanna let you down," she panted. "Oh, my God… fuck," she hissed through gritted teeth. "I'm gonna cum, Jimmy… I'm so… I'm so close."

Jimmy picked up the pace. "I am too." The pooling fire in his veins was too hot to ignore. Realizing how dangerously close he was to spilling inside of her, Jimmy decided to let her have what she wanted. "You can cum. Don't make me fucking wait."

Letting her mind and body go, a bolt of lightening hit Catherine. The climax was higher than she ever imagined. She was so high, it reminded her of the rainy Christmas afternoon in 1997, and it scared her half to death. Catherine was frightened of being so far gone again it would take her another six years to find her way back.

With her lost in the bliss of her orgasm, Jimmy pulled out. He kept rubbing her clit, prolonging her wave as he slid his fist snugly up and down his cock. He moved faster with every stroke, his balls growing tighter. Jimmy ignited, a fiery bomb exploding. His mouth hung open, not a single sound escaping, watching in consumed captivation as he came all over the tattoo on her ass.

Catherine eased her breathing and closed her eyes, hearing Jimmy rustling behind her as he zipped up.

"You didn't spunk on my dress, did you?"

"Nope." He looked around the room for something to clean her off. On a dusty and cluttered shelf, he found a box of tissue. Snagging two, Jimmy wiped away his mess. "I don't have to use the wee dimples on your back as a target anymore. Dessie's name makes a much better bullseye."

Catherine opened one eye to see him ball up the tissue and toss it into the wastebasket. "You're such a dog."

"And you aren't?" He sat on the desk.

She stammered, "I… it's just… just fucking untie me."

"So goddamn bossy all the time." Jimmy freed Catherine's wrists, setting the belt beside him. "Would it kill you to say please and thank you every once in a while? Eamonn has better manners than you."

She jumped to her feet so she could find her panties. Not finished with her, Jimmy grabbed her wrist and tugged her to him. Moving his hands to the sides of her neck, their lips collided for a torrid kiss. Catherine climbed up to straddle his lap, her wobbly knees hugging his thighs as she rested her hands on his shoulders. He held on to her ribcage, losing himself.

Catherine broke away to come up for air, and her head was spinning.

"Can we please go back to Vegas? Or at least sneak off to Dublin?"

Jimmy chuckled, brushing the tip of her nose with his. "I'll take you to Paris again."

"Don't tease me," she whimpered.

"We'll get a room with a gorgeous view of the Eiffel Tower from bed." He kissed her. Catherine wrapped her arms around his neck. "We'll have macarons and Moët until we're fat and slouched." Another kiss. "You can shop at Chanel, Louboutin, and Chloé to your little heart's desire. What do you say?"

Catherine's mouth was a hair's breadth away from his. "I say, let them eat cake."

Slipping her tongue passed his lips, it was as if she was eighteen again without a care in the world. All that mattered to her in that moment was Jimmy.

He wasn't perfect — far from it — but he made her feel a sense of love she had been craving for some time.

Primed and ready to go for a second round, Catherine hoped he was up to go again too. Sliding her hands from his shoulders, down his chest, and to the button of his trousers, an explosive bang made her jump.

"What the fuck?!" she bellowed.

Jimmy wrapped a protective arm around her and covered her mouth with his hand. They had each been around the block a few times, so there was no confusion about what they heard.

A gunshot.


Forkhill - Northern Ireland

Connor whistled long and low as he withdrew a pistol from the box. The firearm was standard issue as the sidearm for all branches of the Russian Armed Forces. It was so beautiful, matte black and un-scuffed, Connor thought he would cry. Pulling the slide back to double check the chamber was empty, he switched off the safety and lifted it into firing position. Tilting his head to the right, he closed his left eye to check the sights. Then he pulled the trigger.

"I'm not sure who I'm more excited to use this gorgeous doll on," he said. "A Brit, an Orangeman, or Jimmy."

Spraying a rifle with lubricant to keep it from rusting, Dessie glanced up. "Put that down before you hurt yourself. Messing around like that is how Robbie Creed ended up shootin' himself in the neck." Setting down the can of WD-40, Dessie slipped the rifle into a plastic bag and tied it off. "And for the record, there's only two people who'll be putting a bullet in Jimmy… me or Catherine."

From where he sat in the barn, prepping the explosives, Kieran rolled his eyes. For his safety, he was lucky Dessie hadn't seen the sarcastic gesture. Not for a second did Kieran believe Catherine would pull the trigger on Jimmy when the perfect opportunity presented itself. He always envisioned something of the opposite happening, like her trying to wrestle a pistol out of Dessie's hand to stop him once and for all from killing the lousy prick, even if Dessie or Patrick had the balls to tell her about Jimmy's failed attempt to kill her first.

Before Kieran shot off a smart-mouthed remark, Mickey Ryan came waltzing into the barn with Jack. The pair were tasked with watching the kids while Dessie and Connor were gone. Dessie had been weary about leaving his infant under the skittish care of those two halfwits, but he was desperate with his youngest sister in Spain with her boyfriend.

"How'd the weans do? They give you any trouble?" Connor asked.

Jack shook his head, lighting a cigarette. Before he took another drag, Dessie snatched it out of his mouth, dropping it into his freshly cracked can of beer. "There are enough explosives in here to blow us all to kingdom come. I'm surrounded by buck eejits, I am!"

Mickey held up a label-less bottle with a clear liquid inside. "You look like you could use a drink."

Dessie snatched the bottle from Mickey, tossing the cap onto the workbench. Not knowing what to expect, he drank straight from the bottle. What a mistake that was. Swallowing, the liquor went down roughly.

Seeing his friend shudder, Connor tossed him a fresh beer then took a swig, too.

"Christ." Dessie caught the can and opened it, needing a chaser. "Where the hell did ya get that, Mick? I've had awful potcheen, but that shite is petrol."

"Darragh gave it to me."

"Darragh gave it… so you're giving us a drink that's been sitting around for over five years?" huffed Connor, figuring out Dessie's reaction hadn't been overdramatic.

"It's alcohol," defended Mickey. "It's not like it goes bad."

Jack guzzled it next, unfazed by the putrid booze. Dessie's face contorted watching him do it, his stomach twisting inside out.

"Jesus. The only other lad I've seen drink potcheen like that is Paddy. And I don't mean that as a bleedin' compliment," said Dessie.

"Five-year-old potcheen; it could be worse. Youse are just lightweights." Jack wiped his mouth.

Dessie snatched the bottle back. "We'll see who the real lightweight is when they wake up in the garden with their jeans and pants around their ankles."

He took another drink.

Mickey chuckled. "Speaking from experience there, Dess?"

"Aye." He passed the bottle to Kieran, who reluctantly drank.

After Aidan had his taste, the men fell silent. They digested the liquor as they went back to work prepping the arsenal. After a long Saturday of entertaining seven high-energy boys by hiking Slieve Gullion for almost five hours, no one wanted to break the glorious evanescent quiet.

Apart from the childless Jack and Mickey.

"Do youse still use a wank bank? Or is it only porn nowadays?" Jack pondered.

"Finally," Aidan raised his beer, "some proper bants for a lad's night. Thank you."

Jack reached over and patted Aidan on the shoulder. "You're welcome."

Dessie kept on spraying down and bagging the rifles, wanting to stay as invisible as possible.

"I'll bite." Connor drowned another shot. "I hate me wife, so the auld bank has been open for quite some time. Just lasses I went to school with. Mick?"

"Megan Fox. How about you, Dessie?"

Without missing a beat, Dessie replied, "Maggie Thatcher." The group fell silent again. He tucked a bagged rifle into the crate, glancing up to see all eyes were on him. "What? The hag's got a wee charm."

He didn't know which was funnier — their expressions, or the fact they thought he was serious. It was a hell of a lot more entertaining to watch their confused brains try to make sense of his answer than admit Catherine long ago took ownership of his depraved thoughts. No way in hell was he going to give them ammunition to tease him with; love wasn't allowed in the wank bank.

Connor kept on loading the magazines for the pistols. "It's official. You've gone mad."

Dessie waved Connor off.

"You know who I've got in mine?" blurted Jack. He was helping Kieran with the Semtex, C-4, and ammonium nitrate.

Kieran shot, "Your sister?"

"Oi! Have some respect for my sister! It's the new lass the second battalion recruited from Ballymurphy. Michelle Devlin. What I wouldn't give to shove my face into those big ol' titties."

Dessie tried to stretch the knot out of his back. "I hope you never have a daughter."

It rose his blood pressure to think his daughters had to grow up fighting off boys like Jack without him there to defend them.

"You know Michelle's crúiscíni are fake, right?" mentioned Connor. Jack stared at him vacantly. "Her jugs. They're fake."

"Fake… real… I don't discriminate. I love all titties."

Twenty-one, Jack was the youngest of the group. Sometimes dumber than a box of rocks, he was still rank-and-file, having a long way to go until Dessie could even think about promoting him. But Dessie kept him close, often letting him have a say in the direction they took ONH because despite his dimwitted way, Jack possessed a lot of potential. Including the heart, grit, and loyalty Dessie liked to see in the new generation of volunteers.

"Would you look at that, lads," Aidan chimed in. "We've got ourselves a real civil rights leader, and we didn't know it. You're doing God's work there; fighting for the rights of all titties everywhere."

Jack ignored the taunts. "So hear me out — I'm sitting in sociology class the other day, and I realized women would rule the world if they walked around with their tits out, and gave us perpetual blow jobs."

Mickey looked up from loading the rifle magazines. "Did he just use the word perpetual correctly?"

Jack gave him the middle finger.

"You know, this pains me to say because he's a fuckwit, but I'm inclined to agree with the fella," said Dessie. "I'm a big fan of tits, and I'd do anything for a blowie."

Connor snorted. "Bullshit you're a big fan of tits. We all know you're the arse man."

"Aye. I love me a grand arse. And Catherine," he took a deep breath, wiping the sheen of sweat off his forehead with the collar of his shirt, "I hate to see her go, but I love to watch her leave."

"I love watching her leave, too."

Dessie's head snapped in Jack's direction. "Watch yourself there, boyo."

"Too bad Paddy's not around to hear either of youse talk like that," Kieran pointed out. "Your turn, Aidan. Who are you choking the chicken to?"

"Jack's sister, and his mum."

"Oh, c'mon," whined Jack.

Mickey raised his hand. "Can I change my answer? Because I'd defo have a wank over his mum."

"Don't be having a wank over me Ma." Jack looked like he was about to burst into tears and that only added to the full-belly laughs.

"Can't make any promises, mate."

Dessie turned the spotlight on someone else before things turned heated. He eyed his long-time friend. "I answered, Kieran. It's only fair you do too."

"It's an eclectic mix, I suppose. Scarlett Johannsen, Felicity Jones, Elizabeth Hurley. Then there's the local dolls… Crazy Cassidy, Niamh McGuire, Catherine, the bird who works at the petrol station, and—"

All eyes darted to Dessie, hoping he hadn't heard, but he did. Lifting the lid on to the stocked crate of automatic rifles, Mickey put himself between Dessie and the loaded magazines.

Connor cleared his throat. "Catherine who?"

As soon as the name left his mouth, Kieran wished he could shove it back in. The only thing he could do now was try to play cool. "What?"

"Catherine who?" repeated Connor.

"Catherine… Keane. A barmaid at the Cross Square."

Aidan stopped oiling the sniper rifle, mumbling, "Shit."

They all drank at the Cross Square Hotel several times a month with the wives. There was no barmaid called Catherine Keane.

Dessie crossed his arms over his chest, looking to Kieran. "I think you're talking about me wife."

Kieran swallowed hard. With his buzz cut, Dessie's neck tattoo was on full display, making him far more intimidating than usual.

"Please, Dess, don't flatter yourself. You're the only one who gets a chub for that cunt."

Kieran couldn't stop digging his grave.

"Are you fucking kidding me right now?" Dessie yelled. He was going lightheaded and stars of pure rage danced in his eyes. "Not only are you fucking wanking over my wife, you're gonna call her a cunt right to my face?"

"I didn't say I'm wanking off to her."

Dessie and Kieran started hurling a volley of yes's and no's to one another. The tension was growing suffocatingly thick. Jack and Mickey moseyed out of the way, pretending they didn't hear or see anything. Aidan moved the firearms and ammunition out of Dessie's reach, and Connor debated how long he should wait to jump in after Dessie threw the first punch.

After careful consideration, Kieran came to terms with the fact he wasn't getting out of this. They all heard him; there was no backtracking now.

"Okay, fine. I was talking about her and I'm sorry I called your wife a cunt. But let me explain. Remember last year — when you were just friends — and me, you, Con, Hannah, Deirdre, and Cate took all the kids to the water park in Drogheda?" Dessie bit the inside of his lip, choosing to ignore the fact Kieran had called her by the nickname only he did. "She was wearing this wee pink bikini, and you know how she's always wearing swim tops that show off what she's got." Dessie didn't like the direction this was going. "Well, when she went down the slide with Eamonn, she sorta… popped out when she hit the water."

"She popped out," hissed Dessie, taking a step closer to Kieran.

"Back me up here, Con. You saw it too! She and Deirdre had a bleedin' laugh about it afterward!" Connor kept his eye on Dessie, afraid the moment they left would be the moment all hell broke loose. "Connor, help me out… you fucking prick. Dessie, look I—"

After everything, this was the cherry on top of Dessie's week.

"I cannot believe you're tossing off to Catherine! You fucking told me you don't like her, nor do you trust her! Oh… Jesus." Dessie placed his hands on top of his head, staring down the cowering Kieran as all the puzzle pieces fit into place. "I'm a fucking muppet, so I am. You're fuckin' in love with her, too, aren't ya? That's why ya hate her to the bloody core and you're so mean to her. Like a goddamn wee boy on the playground." He shouted, "What the fuck! Is every fucking lad on this godforsaken island in love with my girl?"

"No, Dess, that's not true… I'm not in love with her," he half lied. "Nor am I having a wank over Catherine."

"Don't you fucking ever use Catherine's name and wank in the same goddamn sentence!"

"I'm not doing that to her. It's just this innocent wee fantasy."

"Tell me then! What's this wee fantasy you've been having about her if it's so bloody innocent."

Kieran was so dizzy, he thought he was going to pass out. "In my fantasy, she gets out of the pool, takes her top off, and kisses me. But I don't kiss her, I run! Hand to God, I run away! C'mon… I don't understand why you're raging at me when it's O'Phelan banging her like a Lambeg."

"Goddamn it," muttered Connor.

Dessie smirked at Kieran, taking off the blue latex gloves he'd been wearing. "O'Phelan's banging her like a Lambeg, huh?"

He balled up the gloves and tossed them to the side. Rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, Dessie lunged towards Kieran, both men tumbling to the ground.


Galt, California

After shimmying back into her panties, Catherine tied her mess of curls up into the messy bun. She pulled a cigarette from the pack she found on the floor, tossing it back onto the desk when she couldn't find a lighter.

Although Jimmy told her to stay put, she was never good at following orders despite what he said to her in the heat of their passion. Curiosity got the better of her, so Catherine grabbed her burner phone and crept out of the office, making her way down the short hallway.

Staying out of sight, she strained her hearing, hoping to catch the drama unfolding. Her first instinct had been of an inner feud in the Ra; some bloke storming in to put a bullet in either Cameron or Eddie for not being able to keep his dick in his pants. She'd seen it happen too many times to count, so it didn't seem all that far-fetched in her mind. Her heart dropped straight into her stomach, slapping a hand over her mouth when she heard the all too familiar Scottish brogue echoing in the shop.

"It doesn't matter, Jimmy. We've secured a new pipeline."

Catherine's gut tightened, making her sick. The Sons didn't have a new pipeline; she hated leaving Chibs with far less money to cover his bills, without the added pressure of paying off his most recent hospital stay.

This wasn't the first time she had pulled a major source of income out from under a buyer's feet, being able to recognize a better deal when she saw one. It was difficult, but the best thing she could do is disassociate the familial connection.

When the guns stopped coming, Catherine only hoped Chibs understood its business and nothing personal.

To ONH, peddling guns to SOA wouldn't be cost effective in the long run. The profits from selling guns were minuscule when compared to what they raked in smuggling cigarettes, booze, and petrol.

If she did the math right — and Catherine knew she did — she and Dessie would make over 100 million dollars in five years by trafficking Malaysian counterfeit cigarettes alone.

And how could Catherine forget the risk? This was one instance where Jimmy was wrong in his mantra of, "the bigger the risk, the bigger the payout." Getting caught with a truckload of cartons at the border would get Catherine a hefty fine with the right lawyer defending her in court. A slap on the wrist if she was being honest. Shelling out restitution was far more attractive than spending the next decade of her life going from a cell to a courtroom to answer on charges of international gunrunning before she started her prison sentence.

If that's the gamble Jimmy was willing to make, Catherine couldn't care less. The only person who would suffer from him going down because of his own greed was Eamonn. Even then, Catherine didn't see a downside.

Just when she was ready to relent and convince Dessie to let Jimmy buy out their AK-47 deal with Misha so they could wash their hands clean of it for good, something always came around to remind Catherine why letting go wasn't an option yet. She saw it fit that it was another bombastic man by the name of Jimmy whom reeled her in this time. Being quizzed on her knowledge of hardware and then firing the automatic rifle had been the most fun she had in a long time.

Catherine knew her merchandise like the back of her hand. She knew nothing about cigarettes — except for the fact they had given her a serious addiction. Their new operation of making moonshine and then selling it off to pubs in the north and the south as Smirnoff vodka was foreign, and when Dessie tried explaining the process of laundering the smuggled fuel, it went right over her head.

That was Dessie's realm, not hers, and she despised feeling like a fish out of water.

Despite the fickle quality of such a fast and loose lifestyle, Catherine was a fiend for familiarity. Guns she was familiar with. Everything else, not so much.

When she heard the bell over the front door chime, Catherine's heart skipped a beat at the sound of Jax's voice. She worried they were there to confront them about Cameron's imbecilic decision to stop giving the Sons their guns before consulting it with her first. If things turned ugly and the entire Samcro charter dropped in, they'd be outnumbered and out-gunned.

Slinking back towards the office intending to grab the pistol she knew was kept in a safe (just to be on the safe side), the phone distracted Catherine as it started vibrating in her hand. She looked at the number, unsure of who it was, but recognized it as being local.

She flipped it open and said hello.

"Catherine." It was Jimmy Cacuzza. "Listen, kid, I hate to do this last minute, but we're gonna have to pass on the AK's. Got a better deal somewhere else."


Forkhill, Northern Ireland

Dessie sat on the front porch of the farmhouse, holding a wad of paper towel to his bloody nose as he smoked a cigarette.

Staring out in the darkness, he made peace with the action he knew he needed to take. Faced with hating Catherine for what she'd done to him with Jimmy, none of that changed the fact he fucked up, too. And not just with the nameless, faceless broads who sucked him off in a moment of weakness, but for being manipulated by a man who he thought was a friend.

The moment Catherine stepped back onto Irish soil, Dessie would make it right and reappoint her to adjutant general. Dessie needed Catherine by his side now more than ever. As his wife, his confident, his best friend, his second-in-command. Being without her, it was a living hell. He hated the man he was becoming whether sober, high, or drunk. She kept him grounded. Too bad it had to take all of this bullshit for him to realize that.

It took a lot out of Dessie to admit this was his fault. If only he hadn't pushed her away when Danny was born because he was too much of a coward to face his fears head on.

Hearing the screen door slam shut behind him, Dessie didn't look back to see who it was trekking across the porch. When Connor took a seat beside him and handed over a beer, he relaxed.

"How's Kieran?" he asked.

"Looks worse than you," chuckled Connor, taking a sip. "If I were you, I would'o fucking killed him for saying that shite."

Dessie dropped the paper towel, hawking, then spat a blood clot into the grass. "I would've if you hadn't pulled me off him. What do you think about me making some moves? Moving Kieran back to operations and having Paddy take over finances so Catherine can move back up to adjutant."

Connor took the cigarette Dessie had clenched between his fingers. "I never understood why you changed things."

"Kieran told me you lot don't trust her. Said it was because of her relationship with Jimmy and Ian, and how she almost got us killed by the Real army last year. Kieran was fine with her coming in until Rory got into his head around the time of the bank job."

"And when the peelers found out about the pipe bomb we stashed under the car of that Prot copper in Belfast. Even you were questioning if Catherine told Ian about it."

Dessie took the cigarette back, not wanting to think back on what happened.

"I still can't figure out how they caught word of it if she said nothing to the fella."

"There's something about that morning you and the other lads don't know," admitted Connor. "The afternoon we made the bomb, Catherine called me in a panic because Seany had stayed home from school with a wee fever and she couldn't get down to fetch the materials from the cache. She asked me to deliver the goods to Cullyhanna, but I couldn't leave work, so I fucking passed it off to Rory. The touting bastard used her relationship with Ian to make us think it was her, when it was bloody him all along. We fucking took the bait."

"Why… why didn't either of youse call me? The garage is ten minutes from the cache, I would've gotten the shite on my lunch."

"She begged me not to tell you because she didn't want any of the lads to know she couldn't do it with her boy being sick. Can't blame her considering the hell we put her through for wanting to put Eamonn and Seany first instead of leading the coup against the Kings."

Dessie dropped his head and rubbed the back of his neck. Until Danny came home, he never understood the impossible position they'd put her in by asking her to do it. Shame swallowed Dessie whole. He too partook in the passing comments to her, questioning Catherine on whether motherhood would come between her duties. She proved to them on more than one occasion that wasn't the case; tonight's arm shipment being the perfect example of it.

"I'm such a shite," breathed Dessie. "I fucking said it right to her face, I thought she was too distracted with the boys to be my second. Even with her shagging Jimmy, I've so much to make right with her."

"And you can start by getting her back in as your goddamn second. Get a real fucking leader into that position, then we can start making some bloody moves."

"Aye. I wanna hit the peelers in Belfast… a bit'o chaos seems like a proper welcome home gift for Jimmy."

Connor clinked his beer with Dessie's, and they drank.

"Dessie?" At the sound of Eamonn's shaky voice calling out for him, Dessie twisted around. Standing in the house, Eamonn was clutching the raggedy stuffed elephant to his chest. With the back of his small hand, he wiped tears from his eyes. "I went into your room, but I couldn't find you! I thought you were gone like my mummy!"

Dessie thrusted his beer into Connor's hand. "I'll be right back."

"Take your time," said Connor.

Jumping to his feet, Dessie took the steps two at a time and hurried to the door. Once he was in the house, he wasted no time gathering Eamonn into his arms. Wiping the tears off Eamonn's cheek with his thumb, Dessie's heart broke. Catherine being away for this long was wearing on them all.

"There's no need to worry because I'm not going anywhere." Reaching into his pocket, Dessie pulled out his phone. "What do ya say we give your ma a bell?"

Eamonn nodded, sniffling.

Climbing up the stairs, Dessie first poked his head into the bedroom Eamonn and Sean were sharing with Connor's sons. All the boys were still sound asleep, thank God. Bringing Eamonn into the master bedroom, Dessie dropped the boy on the bed to send Catherine a text.

Can you take Jimmy's cock outta your mouth for a few mins to talk to your kid?

Her response came fast. Wow! I'm shocked you kept your dick out of a whore long enough to even be home.

Despite both of them wanting to move passed what happened, it didn't change the fact their wounds were still fresh.