"What matters most is how well you walk through the fire."
- Charles Bukowski
Catherine held a stack of playing cards in her hand.
Under her breath, she sang along to the Wolfe Tones song humming low in the background of the rather empty pub while examining the neat piles of cards spread along the table. She was playing Solitaire to pass the time — hoping the distraction would keep her mind from wandering to the troubles waiting for her back home.
It did until she flipped over the King of Spades. His code name for the PSNI. Then all she could think about was Dessie and the boys, how Eamonn's voice had been so taut and shaky. Catherine forced back her tears. She didn't want to be in California for a second longer. Every tick the minute hand moved on her watch, Catherine beat herself down. Her mind screamed about how repellant she is. No mother would be away from her children for this long on her own free will.
From her white knuckles and sweaty fingertips, Catherine felt her loose grip on reality slipping. No matter how hard she tried to readjust her hold, it seemed she was only falling faster into the rabbit hole. This time when she looked down, there was no one to catch her. A verisimilitude so terrifying, it only made her slick hands glide faster.
She muttered over and over that she needed to rein in before doing something nonsensical. In her sullen bouts of hopelessness, it was easy to strike a match and set fire around her. If she reduced the matter stoking her anguish to a pile of fine ash, then its days of inflicting damage were over.
The one thing Catherine always forgot about was the collateral damage. Damage which always caused more heartache. Catherine was so desperate to hold her sons in her arms, she reminded herself if she pulled a stunt that ended up putting her on Jimmy's blacklist, then she never again would.
Getting home as fast as possible meant playing Jimmy's loathsome game. Knowing that took a painful bite out of Catherine's eroded soul. She was too old for the childish antics, and unlike when she was a teenager, the outcome would have lasting consequences that hurt everyone around her.
She wondered if giving him her compliance—the flavor of which was raw and sweet on his tongue—was worth it. Catherine wanted to stand up for herself. Tell him she was done play the role of his devoted, obedient partner, both professional and romantic. But there was no point. Jimmy never listened to her. All he cared about was getting what he wanted. It didn't matter who he had to step on, crush, destroy, or manipulate. He never looked back to examine the scorched, ashen aftermath because he didn't care.
The only thing standing between her and the cargo plane home were the ninety-six automatic rifles. What stopped Catherine cold in her tracks from dumping the hardware into the Pacific Ocean and calling it a day was knowing what would happen if she fucked with his source of income. To a man like Jimmy, dollars, pounds, euro, and ruble were everything.
If she sent the rifles to the ocean floor just to further her own agenda, Catherine was guaranteed an unfashionable fresh pair of cement shoes. In the past, Jimmy showed a restraint — a sliver of lingering humanity — in not killing her like how he handled inconvenience or insolence. Though, when he ambushed her and Dessie at her home in Belfast weeks after they stole the True army's shipment from Russia, Catherine saw the patience was gone.
It scared her. One misstep, one misinterpreted word, and it would all be over. It was best to submit, she decided. Her very existence depended on it.
Glancing across the table, Catherine looked at Jimmy. He was scrolling through his phone, catching up on the news back home. He nursed a scotch, trying to calm the same agitation twisting Catherine like a Bavarian pretzel.
"Anything newsworthy?" she asked.
Jimmy locked his phone, setting it on the table beside the bottle of Johnnie Walker. "Same old shite. ICE nabbed a bloke in Boston, though. I think you know him. They're sending him back to face trial for the bombing we did back in '02, so that's gonna be fun."
Cards in one hand, Catherine rolled her bottom lip between her fingers with the other.
"Collins?"
"McMahon."
"Fuck," she drawled. "I thought his case being squashed was a sure thing? Whalen promised he donated the money we sent him to the judge's re-election campaign."
"Times are in flux, a chuisle. Not even ten years ago, communities in South Boston were an endless tap of cash with all the fundraising. Now, we're lucky if we can get a nickel outta the Americans because the laws changed so much after 9/11." Jimmy polished off the last mouthful of scotch. "Do you know what the moral of the story is?"
"Go to a country that doesn't have an extradition treaty with the U.K. and the Republic?"
"Fucking smartass, you are. While yes, I would recommend going somewhere you know won't ship your arse right back, what you always have to remember is the only person you can count on to get shite done is yourself. Never rely on anyone else. Ever."
Catherine narrowed her eyes, a coy smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. What an interesting thing for him to say. Especially when she knew for her entire life, Jimmy has been pushing her into a position where she depended on him.
"What about you? Can I rely on you?"
"Nope. Especially me."
Catherine didn't like the way his eyes turned giddy and dark.
There was always something so fascinating to her about the juxtaposition of his soft and viciousness. How, at the snap of her fingers, he could go from being so warm to freezing cold. Bloodthirsty.
Making peace with the monster most people saw within him wasn't a choice she made ignorantly.
Because if he was a monster, that means she's one too.
And she isn't.
Or at least that's what she tried to convince herself.
Turning back to her game, Catherine felt his eyes burning holes into her.
"Would you relax?" she mumbled. "You're starting to stress me out. Have another drink."
Jimmy picked up the bottle, pouring another.
He drowned the shot, then re-filled the glass and slid it over to Catherine. She drank it fast, hating the way the liquor stung the back of her throat. Shifting her sight to the right, she saw Fiona standing with her hip resting against the bar. Her attention was focused on the front door, any small jostle or thud made her jump.
Catherine couldn't even imagine the guilt swallowing Fiona whole. Baiting Chibs into sitting down with them wasn't what Catherine wanted. To her, being deceitful was like admitting fault when they hadn't been accused of doing anything wrong. And making Chibs feel cornered and played would only add fuel to the fire once the two men were across from one another.
Nudging her chin in Fiona's direction, Catherine raised her eyebrows to Jimmy. "You should be a gentleman and offer the poor doll a wee nip. She looks like she'll snap any second now."
Jimmy snorted. A response Catherine hadn't expected.
"I'm not a gentleman," he rasped.
Catherine flicked her tongue along the corner of her mouth, staring at him. She tried to figure out where this sudden self-deprecation was coming from. A long time ago, she learned he was a textbook narcissist—a man who needed his ego stroked and would do anything so long as it made himself look like the white-knight.
Even despite those self-satisfying acts of kindness, Catherine knew sometimes he was being genuine. Like one summer afternoon when Catherine was ten and Liam—who'd been fourteen—knocked the strawberry milkshake out of her hands so he'd seem cool in front of his delinquent friends.
Jimmy watched Liam do it from inside the shop; he and his girlfriend sitting in a hidden corner sharing a salted caramel sundae. Once the thick, pink concoction hit the pavement, Jimmy hit the roof. Seeing Catherine's jaw tremble as the four boys laughed, still indulging in their own ice cream, Jimmy was outside before his girlfriend had the chance to ask where he was going.
"You think that's funny?" Jimmy snarled. "Making your wee sister cry… you're supposed to be the one protecting her, Liam."
With the sides of her closed fists, Catherine wiped the tears from her cheeks, and hid behind Jimmy. She smiled with righteous victory when Jimmy grabbed the waffle cone from Liam's hand, smashing the chocolate soft-serve into the street. While his friends scurried away, not wishing to experience the wrath of Jimmy O, Liam scowled at Catherine before heading home with no ice cream. And like a dog with its tail between its legs.
Not only did Jimmy buy Catherine a massive, tooth-rotting sundae — an upgrade from her measly milkshake — he also ditched his girlfriend, taking Catherine to the cinema.
"You are a gentleman," she said. Catherine stopped herself from reaching out and touching Jimmy's arm, feeling the blazing waves of embarrassment she made him feel. Shuddering from the pure ice of his gaze, Catherine refused to back-pedal. It was like he perceived anything other than numbness as weakness. "Well, when you wanna be, you are."
Jimmy cocked his head, an inscrutable expression relaxing his usually tense features. His hand jutted across the table, tugging the cards out of her hand. He was fast—faster than she ever was at playing.
Catherine clenched her jaw, watching him. She realized what he was doing. Deliberately taking away the one slice of joy she had amid this shit show. Trying to prove for some stupid reason that he isn't nice. As if showing the slightest morsel of human decency would be the worst fucking thing he could do.
She almost hated him for depriving her of the minuscule high she gets from winning.
Almost.
With the game now over, Jimmy rested against the cushioned backrest of the booth. A pompous smirk stretched across his face as he poured more scotch, and all Catherine wanted to do was slap it off of him. It was a smirk that read like he'd done her favor — putting an end to her suffering because she'd spent the last five minutes moving the same three cards back and forth.
Inching her hand across the table, Catherine picked up the stacks of Hearts and Spades. She didn't break her eye contact with him, even though the longer she looked at him, the more feverish she became.
"Fuck you," she growled, whipping the cards.
They hit Jimmy in the face.
That's when time came to a standstill.
Catherine wished she could take it back the moment they left her hand. It ripped the breath from her throat as she watched his eyes shift to liquid black. Two pools of ink widened with rage. Her heart skittered. Hammering against her ribs, threatening to break the bones into jagged pieces and pierce her lungs. Catherine could taste her fear; acidic and astringent. All she could hear was the beating of her heart, and she fought her vision from going fuzzy.
When Jimmy made the first move, reaching for her, Catherine jumped from the booth. She only had the chance to take one step toward the door. Jimmy stuck his leg out in front of her, tripping her. Catherine tried to break the fall with her hands. Once she hit the floor, her palms stung and pain exploded from her wrists to her shoulders.
"I'm sorry!"
Her shrill, broken cry rattled the pub.
The two regulars playing billiards stopped their game, turning their attention to the commotion. The bartender, he didn't look up from drying off pint glasses knowing he was better off minding his own business. Luke and the rest of Jimmy's enforcers turned their backs.
Fiona whipped around, frozen. She couldn't think, speak, move. It was her first time witnessing Jimmy be like this with Catherine.
"Jimmy—stop! Stop!" Catherine bellowed. He gripped her by the hair, forcing Catherine to her feet. "You're hurting me! I'm sorry!"
Jimmy didn't relent. His fingers digging into her scalp, he pushed Catherine towards the bathrooms. She dug her feet into the floor, the rubber soles of her boots catching. She couldn't let him get her alone. When Jimmy realized what Catherine was doing, he shoved her in to a table. The corner slamming right into her hipbone, and Catherine howled in pain. She sounded like an injured animal fighting for its life.
Humiliation like she's never known lit up Catherine. All of those eyes on her, just watching. She couldn't decide who she scorned the most. Jimmy, for doing this to her. Or Fiona, for not doing anything in the slightest to intervene. She knew what Catherine had coming if Jimmy got her behind a closed door.
Pushing through the pain, Catherine bit her tongue from telling Jimmy what a pussy he is. He wouldn't dare do anything more to her with so many pairs of eyes on them. She didn't want to fan the flames of the fire she started, nor did she want to give him the chance to call her bluff and wail on her just to prove her wrong.
Coming to terms with the fact no one was coming to her aid, Catherine let Jimmy herd her to the bathroom. Like he was a wolf dragging her to the dark forest to feast on her body; strip all the meat from her bones. He thrust her inside, and Catherine braced herself against the sink. She dug her fingers into the cold porcelain, squinting when he flipped on the light. The sound of the lock on the door clicking made Catherine go lightheaded.
Letting go of the sink, she spun around. "I'm so sorry, Jimmy—I dunno what came over me, I—"
Catherine flinched when he raised his hands. She took a sharp breath, holding it tight in her chest as she squeezed her eyes shut, waiting. But the biting sting of his fist colliding with her cheekbone never came. At the warmth of his meaty hands cradling her jaw, Catherine popped her eyes open. She blinked, thinking her mind was doing everything it's in power to block out reality, and that she'd come to on the floor. His hands wrapped around her neck.
After the sight in front of her didn't change, Catherine half relaxed. She grabbed Jimmy's wrists so she could feel somewhat in control, then steadied her breathing so she wouldn't hyperventilate.
"What the hell is going on with you?"
His sudden interest in her feelings had Catherine trying to pull words from her stomach, because she found none in her throat.
"Wh—what do you mean?" she croaked.
"You're just—"It was peculiar to her, the way he took a keen breath, furrowed his brow, and searched her eyes. She wondered if he was still thinking about how she'd snapped at him after they spoke with Eamonn. Even she had no idea where that attitude came from. "Something just seems off with you. Like you're on edge. Is it because of Filip? Are you homesick? If it's about meeting with Filip, I'll have Eddie come get you, and I'll pull some strings to get you on a cargo ship tomorrow—"
Catherine interrupted his rambling. "It has fuck all to do with Filip, trust me. And I don't wanna go back until the problem with the Sons is smoothed out. Like you said… the only person I can rely on to get shite done is myself."
Catherine mentally slapped herself upside the head. Not only did she need to pull herself together enough so she wouldn't do anything stupid — like throw a deck of cards at Jimmy — she also needed to rein in so it wouldn't be obvious how bad she was falling apart.
"You'd tell me if you weren't okay, right?" he asked.
Catherine nodded.
She wanted to scream at Jimmy that she wasn't. About how she never should have come to California. All it did was tear open old wounds that hadn't had the chance to heal. She was drowning, frantically splashing at the surface, but no one offered a hand to help pull her up.
"Are you, a chuisle? Because I don't think you are okay."
He grabbed her hand, laced their fingers, and dragged her from the murky waters.
Catherine couldn't remember the last time anyone asked if she was okay. No one ever did. They just assumed she was, though Catherine understood she held the blame. That's what happens when she swallows everything. The utter despair eating away at the fibers of her being isn't going to be noticed.
Yet somehow Jimmy noticed.
He always fucking did.
Even when he was the last person on Earth she wanted looking straight into her bare, raw, aching soul. But she wanted Jimmy to cut her soul out of her, hold it in his hand — heal it, protect it. She wanted him to protect her. She needed him to protect her, because she couldn't trust Dessie to do it anymore.
Catherine couldn't stop her jaw from trembling, not that she wanted to. With Jimmy, there was no mask to hide behind. He'd see right through the facade, no matter how hard she tried fronting.
Tears bubbled in her eyes as Catherine shook her head. Her throat burned, like she was swallowing fire and rusty nails, making it impossible to speak.
"No." Her voice above a whisper, the single word knotted with staggering heartache.
Jimmy dropped his hands from Catherine's cheeks when she blinked, and the tears slipped from her eyes. She didn't fight him as he wrapped her in his sturdy arms. The tenderness radiating from him made Catherine collapse against him, going limp as she buried her face into his chest. She tried not to cry, worried if she did then her running mascara would leave black stains on his cream-colored shirt. It was an Armani cotton/silk blend, which Catherine knew cost a fortune, so ruining it would only make her feel worse.
Once she felt the warmth of his lips press to her temple, though, Catherine lost the battle. The tears came hard and fast, and by how loud her gut wrenching sobs were, she figured everyone by the bar figured he was beating her black and blue. She didn't care. This was the first time since before Danny was born she was being honest with herself about how she felt.
She cried tears of melancholy for how much she missed her boys. Of tribulation and grief for Ian. Fury, treachery over the vows she and Dessie had broken to one another.
Breaking from Jimmy's embrace, Catherine wiped the tears from her bloated eyes. She closed the lid over the toilet and sat down, ripping off a few squares of toilet paper from the roll to blow her nose.
"All I wanna do is go home."
"Then I'll get you home," Jimmy crouched down, gathering her hands in his. He kissed her knuckles. "You've been here way too long."
Catherine hiccuped, fresh tears rolling down her cheeks. When Jimmy untangled their hands, wiping them away for her, she only cried harder. "But I can't go. How fucking pathetic is it I'm afraid to?"
"Because of what happened with Ian?"
She nodded.
He curled his arm around her, pulling Catherine into him again. He stroked the back of her head, and she settled her head into the crook of his neck. She was waiting for the lecture about how she had it coming for putting herself into such a compromising position with Ian, but like the punch, it never came.
Jimmy nuzzled his nose into her hair, rocking her. Catherine hadn't seen this affection from him since she was a child. It was soothing, listening to him whisper over and over about how everything was going to be okay. Catherine closed her eyes, taking a breath, finding comfort in the fragrance of his cologne lingering on his jacket.
"You promise?" she muttered. "That everything will be okay?"
She felt Jimmy tighten his arms around her, and she curled hers around his neck.
"Aye. There's no way I would have agreed to it if it was going to blow back on you. Dessie and the fellas did everything by the book, and I've got eyes very close to the investigation. If I didn't think it was safe to send you back home, I'd keep you here with me."
Catherine lifted her head off of his shoulders. After the debacle with Ian, she figured getting tangled up with the PSNI again would not be at the top of Jimmy's to-do.
"Wh—who is it?"
He tucked a tress behind her ear, a half-cocked smirk on his face. "Given your track record with the peelers, I think it would be a good idea if I kept this one close to the chest."
Instead of letting the shame eat her — there was no use given she couldn't change the past — Catherine chuckled.
"Can't say I blame you." Resting her hand on his shoulder, Catherine rubbed her thumb along the damp spot on his jacket. She prayed the spot would vanish when it dried and wasn't a permanent stain.
Jimmy stroked her hair, twisting the ends around his fingers. "Why don't you let me take you to San Francisco tonight? I know of a brilliant place to get sushi, and then we can go for a wee dander on the beach."
It was one hell of a tempting offer. But Catherine saw the night ending only one way — their sweaty, writhing bodies in the bed of some cheap hotel room.
Nope. Not this time. Wasn't going to happen.
It had only been a handful of days since Catherine slept with Jimmy and found out about Dessie's affairs. Though, it felt like a lifetime ago. She was afraid if she didn't have time to herself to think things through without having the added stress of Jimmy or any of the guys breathing down her neck, she would snap.
And besides, she already made plans with Liam. Apart from the end of the world, nothing was going to stop her from seeing her brother.
"Another night? I think I should spend tonight by myself. Wine, a Chinese takeaway, and some movies would do me good. Clear me head, ya know?"
She sniffled, wiping stray tears from her eyes to drive the point home she wanted to be alone. At least then she had a chance of sneaking away to Modesto without being noticed.
Catherine knew she shouldn't feel an ounce of shame for lying to him, given all the times he's lied to her. Still, she couldn't help it. Watching his hopeful expression fall into something more disappointed stung more than Catherine wanted it to. What made it more disheartening was that Jimmy's look of dejection mirrored Eamonn's. Saying no to him was like saying no to Eamonn, and Catherine struggled enough with that.
She took his hand from her hair, playing with his fingers. "How about I come over in the morn' tomorrow? We'll make an Ulster fry and then get fried at the beach. Depending on how we're feeling after, make fifteens and watch 10 Things I Hate About You?"
"Still not over your wee crush on Heath Ledger, huh?"
"Never."
"I guess I can't bust your bollocks too much," he chuckled, "because I feel the same way about Farrah Fawcett. That sounds like a magnificent day to me. And I promise I'll start making calls tonight to get you home."
Before Catherine had the chance to digest what was happening, Jimmy cupped her cheeks. Their lips collided for a kiss she hadn't seen coming. She went rigid, debating whether to push him away. The softness of his lips was hypnotic, making her forget about the world around them. His tongue brushed against hers, the smoky scotch lingering, and Catherine went boneless.
It was slow, un-rushed. Behind her eyelids, all Catherine saw was white. She loved the way he always took his time with her. He may not be as kinky and adventurous as Dessie, but Jimmy was all about making the heat last as long as possible. The man was a foreplay master; he knew Catherine's body like the back of his hand, and she ached for him to play every inch of her like a chessboard.
She lit up like a strand of Christmas lights. The quiver between her legs he's been kindling since the very first moment of her sexual awakening became a rolling fire. Catherine gripped the lapels of his jacket and gave Jimmy a gentle push.
He lost his balance, tumbling backward onto his ass and his back hitting the wall.
"What the fuck ar—"
Catherine pounced, straddling his lap.
Jimmy was more addictive than any drug she's ever ingested—sexual crack. He was the poison that had long since seeped into her blood. Spoiling her. Distorting her sense of self, blurring the lines of right and wrong. He had a wicked way of making everything wrong feel so fucking right.
Catherine needed to remind him he didn't need Siobhan. No one would ever have his mind and body the way she did. No other woman could give him the explosive, mind numbing release of euphoria she could.
Catherine knew she was playing with fire—she had to stop before she ended up with blistering burns and her life charred to nothing.
The bruises. The manipulation. None of that stopped her from flicking the lighter and holding the flame under the spoon. She was hooked, a fiend chasing the high he gave her.
"Say it," she demanded.
Grabbing her wrist, Jimmy tore her hand from his mouth. He gazed into her eyes, his pupils blown with the same desperate craving she felt. "I love you."
Catherine couldn't take it anymore. It was one more hit—a minor fix she needed to hold her over until she made it through this shit. She could handle this. Quit Jimmy anytime she wanted.
Just this last time.
Then she was done.
Catherine couldn't see straight and her hands were shaking as she went for his belt. He knocked her hands out of the way. It made no sense why he would do that. She saw he wanted it just as bad as she did — he was frothing for the needle to rip into his vein. Why wouldn't he let her give it to them?
"Wha—What are you doing?!"
This time Jimmy slapped his hand over her mouth. Catherine's breathing quickened, and she reached back to place her hand on his outstretched leg.
"Shhh—" her mouth still covered, Jimmy ran his index finger down her neck, chest, belly. Goosebumps prickled all over her body. Her nipples became so hard, Catherine was sure he could see them through the padding of her bra. His hand found its way up her dress, and she can feel him stroking the damp spot on her panties. It's so little, but it's enough to make her invigorated. A moan spills from her throat, but it's muffled by his hand. "You're an insatiable little slut."
Jimmy dropped his hand from her mouth, and Catherine furrowed her eyebrows. She was panting, replaying his words over in her head. He's never called her a slut before.
She wanted to be insulted. For it to feel like she'd been slapped across the face, like the one time Dessie called her a slut in bed.
Catherine slipped her hands under his jacket, running them up his chest until she laced her fingers at the nape of his neck. She brushes the tip of her nose along his, bringing her mouth to his, staying a hair's breadth away.
The electricity between them supercharged. Catherine—too caught up, too dumb—didn't back away. She's always been drawn to danger, like a moth to a flame, her entire life. She found something bizarrely emancipating about the lack of control she had over those situations. The more her consciousness screamed at her to run from him, all Catherine wanted to do was lick her finger and touch Jimmy's exposed wire.
"What's your point?" she asked.
Catherine coquettishly flicked her tongue along his lips. The hair on her arms stood on end when the tune of his guttural moan rang in her ears. Jimmy moved his fingers, now stroking her soft, hairless inner-thigh crease. A jolting shiver ripped down her spine, feeling them slip under her panties. The breath hitched in her throat when his middle finger prodded, kneading her warm, velvet folds.
"My point—" he purred, grabbing the back of her neck and kissing her with delicacy, easing his finger inside— "is that you're my insatiable slut." Catherine's vision blurred and her eyelashes fluttered like the wings of a butterfly when he crooked his finger to hit the small spot that never ceased being the root of her unraveling.
When he added his thumb to mix, it almost became too much for Catherine. She curled her fingers, her long nails digging into his neck. Her mouth hung open, though not a single sound escaped her strangled throat. The muscles in her abdomen ached, and there was no stopping the tremble of her entire body.
"That's it, baby," encouraged Jimmy. "That's right—just let it happen… show me how much you like it when I touch you like this."
Catherine was blissed out, shamelessly grinding her hips as she chased her release. The fire building white hot in her belly. Euphoria was so close, she could taste it.
But it vanished just as quick as it had surfaced, a booming knock on the locked door thrusting Catherine so rudely back into reality. She was more frustrated than ever, begging Jimmy to put his fingers back when he pulled them from her panties. She was left unfulfilled, empty. Unusually greedy and clingy. Collapsing against him, Catherine wrapped her arms around his neck, though Jimmy has to cover her mouth again to keep their visitor somewhat unsuspecting about what was happening behind the door.
"What!?" Jimmy snapped.
It pleased Catherine to hear he was just as irritated as she was for their playtime being interrupted.
"Fi got a message from Filip." Luke's voice echoed in the small bathroom. "He's gonna be here in ten minutes so… might wanna wrap this up."
Jimmy released his hand from Catherine's mouth, instead pinching her cheeks and jerking her head so she was facing him. She tried not to let the intimidating twinkle in his eye rattle her too much.
"I bet you're regretting your wee decision to call him, aren't you?" he snarled, lowly. "He ruins everything."
Catherine narrowed her eyes, holding back what she wanted to tell him. It wasn't worth the argument. Not when she knew he was trying to rile her up, just as he'd done when he finished her game of Solitaire. Curling her fingers around his wrist, Catherine jerked out of Jimmy's hold.
She called out to Luke, "We'll be right out."
Hoisting off of his lap, Catherine turned to the sink and twisted the tap to turn on the cold water. She tied her hair up into a bun and washed her face with the hand soap. It wasn't ideal, but there was no way she could face her uncle with black streaks running down her cheeks. There was going to be enough tension as it is. Trying to explain why she'd been crying wouldn't do much to lessen the pressure.
Rinsing off the suds, Catherine turned off the water, and pulled a few pieces of paper towel from the dispenser. As she dabbed her face dry, she turned back around to Jimmy, who was now standing, just watching her.
"How do you wanna do this? Should I lead or…?" Catherine balled up the paper towel, tossing it into the trashcan. She crossed her arms over her chest.
By how he hesitated to answer, nudging her out of the way so he could wash his hands, Catherine knew she would not like his answer.
Jimmy dug into the pocket of his trousers for his money clip. Catherine rolled her eyes. He was sending her off to go catch a movie or get her nails done, a common practice when he didn't want her hanging around when he talked business. She should be offended, and worried about why Jimmy wanted to kick her out of the meeting, but with her own meeting with Liam at the forefront of her mind, Catherine realized she was being handed a golden opportunity she wasn't about to fuck up.
Nor did she want to sit across the table from Chibs after just having had Jimmy's finger knuckle deep in her cunt, mere days after assuring him her relationship with Jimmy was void. The guilt was eating away at Catherine. She didn't need it exasperated by seeing him face-to-face.
While he counted out bills, Catherine examined the chipping dark purple polish on her nails, debating which color to go with next. She pictured something bright, cheery, to suck away the heavy gloom that seemed to leach itself onto her.
Clamped between his index and middle fingers, Jimmy held out the money. Catherine snatched it up, slipping it under her bra strap without counting it out first, not wanting to appear rude.
"Ross'll give ya a lift back to Lodi. You can take Cammy's car for the rest of the day, but I want you to stay in the area and be back no later than eleven. Text me when you get in for the night."
"Aye," Catherine snorted. "You're sounding a wee bit like me Da, there. I promise I won't be sneaking off and meeting," she mockingly gasped, "boys."
Jimmy startled her by grabbing the back of her neck, pulling her closer.
"No, you won't be seeing other boys." With a crooked finger, Jimmy brushed his knuckle along her flushed cheek. "Because that would just break my heart, and I know you'd never do that to me."
The golden sun was tucked low in the horizon of a vibrant pink and orange sky.
Chibs lit his fourth cigarette in fifteen minutes, taking long drags to placate his overwrought nerves. He looked at the time on his phone.
7:45 p.m.
She was fifteen minutes late.
Flicking the half-smoked butt to the pile collecting by his feet, Chibs talked himself out of climbing into the van and driving back to Charming. This was a mistake — he felt it in his bones. Remembering the disparaging things Jimmy spewed about Fiona, Kerrianne, and Catherine, Chibs was so disgusted that he'd worry about the backlash when it slapped him in the face.
What mattered was freeing Catherine and Fiona from Jimmy's shackles. Make sure Kerrianne didn't find herself in the same heinous position.
Chibs could never forgive himself if he stayed immobile and just watched as Jimmy torched the three women he loved. This was his only option. A shameful, unholy choice. He didn't know what else to do, though. Going to Clay, Jax, the rest of the club was out of the question. They'd never understand, nor would they do anything to jeopardize their relationship with the IRA. And taking out the most senior officer below the Kings would only bring the Irish wrath in full force Stateside.
He lit another cigarette. A wave of relief Chibs wasn't comfortable with crashed into when a blacked out SUV came into view. The drunken butterflies in his belly fluttered their wings, making him almost sick. There was still time; he could get back into the van and pretend he never made the call.
Kerrianne, Chibs reminded himself. This is for Kerrianne, Fiona, and Catherine. They needed someone to stand up for them.
Chibs ashed his cigarette as the SUV pulled up. Agent Stahl got out of the passenger side, and an agent Chibs recognized from the morning got out, too. He shifted his weight, pushing down the nerves once and for all. This wasn't the time to let her think she could walk all over him. If she wanted Jimmy, it was going to happen under his conditions. There was too much as stake. One wrong move and they'd all spend the rest of their lives checking under their vehicles for pipe bombs.
"Listen carefully," said Chibs. He took a quick drag. "I'm only gonna say this once: Samcro… you leave them out of this."
Stahl shook her head. "The government isn't interested in the club. They're only concerned about getting the IRA."
"Good. Then I guess you'll have no problem with dropping the bullshit assault charges against them?"
"What happens with those charges isn't my decision. They're on the state-level so that's up to the DA."
Chibs turned his head to the side and blew out a stream of smoke into her tightened face. Lucky for her, she couldn't see the death glare he was giving her from behind his sunglasses. "If you won't help me, then give me one reason why I should help you."
He knew she was desperate to work with him. If she had any semblance of a case, she wouldn't have come to him at all. But when Stahl slapped her hands onto her hips, widened her stance, and contorted her aging features into imitation annoyance, Chibs let her play the role of the arduous agent. She had to make him think she was doing him a favor when they both knew it was the other way around.
"I'll see what strings I can pull on the assault case. What else do you want?"
Chibs swallowed hard. "Fiona and Catherine… they don't get lifted—"
"Neither of them are innocent in any of this. MI5 pinned Catherine as second in charge of the gunrunning operation, and they have a dossier on Fiona—"
"They get immunity on all charges and wit pro. If you lift Jimmy while the dolls are still here, he'll suspect it was them, and he'll kill 'em. You don't know the man you're dealing with here."
"Fiona I can make a deal with, but Catherine is out of the question."
Chibs snapped, "The deal is for Fiona and Catherine."
"Interpol issued a red notice for her so my hands are tied, Chibs. Once she's in custody, the U.S. government will have no choice but to start her extradition back to the U.K.. I don't have sway with them — you'd be asking me to cross over into CIA jurisdiction. And even if I could pull that off, the CIA and MI6 would expect her to sing like a canary to get immunity, and I think we both know that will not happen." Chibs went rigid when Stahl stepped in closer to him, pushing her sunglasses into her hair. "Don't be stupid. Don't sacrifice your wife and daughter for your niece. She hasn't been your niece in a very long time; she belongs to Jimmy. I mean, I get it — family is family. But I wouldn't risk the safety of the women I love most for one who went off and had a kid with the man who tried to kill me."
Chibs' heart floundered into his belly. It gutted him like a fish being forced to face the truth about Catherine's relationship with Jimmy, but he wasn't sure if he believed Stahl about Catherine being wanted by Interpol. Only people wanted on serious charges were issued red notices. He tried to figure out what Stahl's angle was, why she had such a hard-on getting her hands on Catherine, too.
But Stahl was right. He couldn't forfeit Fiona and Kerrianne for Catherine.
It killed every ounce of his soul to do this.
The scorned part of him said they were even now. Though amid his heartache, he prayed Catherine would forgive him.
"Just make sure Fiona and Kerrianne are safe."
"Okay. Once we've arrested Jimmy and Catherine, I'll have the Marshals pick up Fiona to get her enrolled into witness protection. For Kerrianne, officers in Belfast will make sure she makes it into the custody of UKPPS. But in order for that to happen, I'm going to need something from you."
If Catherine was going to get caught in the crosshairs, Chibs knew the least of which he could do is tip her off. Give her a little indirect warning that the feds were closing in on her.
"Their safe house. It's in Lodi on Parkwest. West of Black Oak… third house on the right. Edmond Hayes and the guns'll be there. Maybe his da, too. He'll be able to get you to 'em."
There was no going back now.
"That'll be good enough," said Stahl, putting her sunglasses back on and walking back to the SUV. "For now."
Once Stahl and the other agent are gone, Chibs drove back to Charming. His mind was a thousand miles from reality, twisted into such knots it was a miracle he remembered the route to the clubhouse.
The parking lot was full, with a line of Harley's out front. He checked the time again to see he had a few minutes to spare before heading into church to vote on Jax's rash and asinine decision to go nomad.
As he crossed the lot to the Teller-Morrow office, Chibs ignored the wave of well wishes from the mechanics who were clocking overtime. He fought the sweltering urge to slam the door closed, not wanting to bring any attention to what he was doing. Rolling Gemma's chair out from the desk, he took a seat and shook the mouse until the computer screen came to life. Chibs wasn't as tech-savvy as Juice, but he was confident he could manage a simple Google search.
Opening up the internet browser, he typed into the URL bar and pressed enter. The same butterflies he'd felt earlier were wide awake again when the webpage loaded.
So far so good, he thought. It wasn't as difficult as Juice made it look.
He searched Interpol and clicked on the first link at the top of the page. It took some clicking around, but he found the page to view the red notices by nationality. He scrolled all the way to the bottom where the names and photos for those from the United Kingdom were listed.
And that's when Chibs thought he was going to be sick.
There she was.
The first fucking photo.
He clicked on her name, which brought up her information. For a moment, Chibs just stared at her photo. She was smiling wide, so he figured that was the picture from her driving license. Underneath it was her passport photo, and then what he assumed were two of her mugshots.
He scrolled through the page, reading every word carefully:
IDENTITY PARTICULARS
FAMILY NAME: O'TOOLE
FORENAME: CATHERINE MARY
DATE OF BIRTH: 31/12/1978 (30 YEARS OLD)
PLACE OF BIRTH: BELFAST, NORTHERN IRELAND, UNITED KINGDOM
NATIONALITY: UNITED KINGDOM, IRELAND
PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION
HEIGHT: 1.67 METERS
COLOUR OF HAIR: RED
COLOUR OF EYES: BLUE
SCARS/MARKS/TATTOOS: SCAR THROUGH RIGHT EYEBROW; SCAR ON FOREHEAD; EAR PIERCING (LOBES 3X) GREEN SHAMROCK (INSIDE LEFT FOREARM); "DARRAGH" (RIGHT WRIST)
DETAILS
LANGUAGE(S) SPOKEN: ENGLISH; RUSSIAN; GERMAN; IRISH
ALIAS(ES): CAITRÍN Ó DUINEACHDHA; CATHERINE DENNEHY; CATHERINE DENNEHY-O'TOOLE; CATHERINE O'PHELAN; NICOLA MCKENNA
CHARGES - AS DETAILED BY REQUESTING ENTITY
1. MURDER (4 COUNTS)
2. BELONG, OR PROFESS TO BELONG, TO A PROSCRIBED ORGANISATION IN THE UK OR OVERSEAS
3. MONEY LAUNDERING AND TERRORIST FINANCING
4. CONSPIRACY TO COMMIT ACTS OF TERRORISM
5. CONSPIRACY TO DIRECT ACTS OF TERRORISM
6. CONSPIRACY TO TRAFFIC ILLEGAL FIREARMS
7. ILLEGAL MANUFACTURING, INCLUDING ASSEMBLING AN ILLEGAL FIREARM FROM IMPORTED PARTS
8. FRAUD DONE TO GAIN POSSESSION OF A FIREARM
9. TRANSFER OF FIREARM TO ANOTHER PERSON(S) WITH THE KNOWLEDGE THAT IT WILL BE USED TO COMMIT A VIOLENT CRIME
10. (1) TO INCITE A RIOT (2) TO ORGANISE, PROMOTE, ENCOURAGE, PARTICIPATE IN, OR CARRY ON A RIOT (3) TO COMMIT AN ACT OF VIOLENCE IN FURTHERANCE OF A RIOT
Chibs jutted back into the chair, reaching for the pack of cigarettes tucked in the front pocket of his kutte. Lighting one, he read through her list of charges again. He blew smoke from his nostrils, unsure of whether he should be disappointed or dejected. Proud.
Was it reputable to be all three?
Catherine made him and the rest of Samcro look like petty criminals.
"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," he muttered, taking a drag of his cigarette. Chibs scrolled up to gaze at her mugshot. "You've gotten yourself into a wee bit'o trouble, haven't ya, Catherine Mary?"
Catherine rolled her bottom lip between her teeth, scanning the menu and trying to figure out what she wanted to eat.
Her mouth watered at the thought of thick, fluffy pancakes piled high, slathered with melted globs of butter and swimming in a warm sticky pool of blueberry syrup. Then again, she heard the bacon cheeseburger calling her name.
Setting the menu down, Catherine reached for her glass of water. She took a long sip, looking at her watch. It was only a quarter to eight, but Liam always showed up a half-hour early.
Maybe this was the new Liam, she wondered. She tried to imagine him more laid-back, not taking things so seriously. The mere thought made her laugh. No way would he ever take the stick out of his ass.
"Is this seat taken?"
Hearing that familiar Belfast brogue, Catherine had never smiled so wide. She couldn't set down her water glass fast enough, jumping right out of the booth and straight into her brother's arms. Hugging him tight, Catherine nuzzled her head into the crook of his neck, relishing in the fact his hugs still felt the same. Though, Liam smelled different. Like motor oil, pine, and… happiness.
"I've missed you so much," she said. His shirt muffled her words.
"I've missed you, too. Like, you have no bleedin' idea."
Liam ran a comforting hand down her back, kissing her head and then pulling away. He took her face in his hands, smiling down at her with a smile so genuine it almost broke her heart. Never once during his lifetime in Northern Ireland did Liam ever seem this relaxed. There weren't any deep creases in his forehead anymore, and he wasn't wearing his customary expression of incessant worry. His eyes seemed lighter. His hair sun-bleached, now a delicate shade of strawberry blond. He even had a tan, something Catherine thought the O'Toole skin could never achieve. While it seemed like he's lost some weight, he made up for it with the extra muscle mass in his biceps, which hadn't been there when he left home.
"You look smashing, Liam. California seems to be treating you well."
"Eh." He gestured for Catherine to sit down before sliding into the seat across from her. He picked up her glass of water, polishing it off. "I've got a brilliant new job with good pay and decent benefits, and my girls are adjusted so I can't complain."
Catherine chuckled, "But you're going to anyway."
"Aye. I am me Ma's son, aren't I? I miss Norn Iron, I'll admit. The rain and countryside. The food."
The waitress stopped by, dropping off a water and refilling Catherine's glass. She set the pitcher at the edge of the table, and Catherine watched the beads of condensation roll down the worn, yellowed plastic as if in a trance. She was annoyed with the interruption. Feeling overly greedy, wanting every second of Liam's attention all to herself.
"Are you ready to order? Or do you still need a few minutes to look over the menu?" she asked, chomping on a wad of bright pink bubblegum.
Catherine pushed the menu in front of Liam. "I think we'll need a cou—"
Liam cut her off, "No, we're ready. I'll have the French toast with strawberries, and she'll have blueberry pancakes with extra whipped cream."
While the waitress scribbled down the order on her notepad with a stub of a pencil, Catherine bit her lip to keep from grinning like an idiot. Always the gentleman. Some things never changed.
Once the waitress was out of earshot, Catherine asked, "How did you know that's what I wanted?"
"Because I know you better than you think I do." Liam grabbed his straw, ripping the paper back only slightly before blowing it at Catherine. She laughed when it hit her cheek, a much different tune from when he would do it while growing up.
"Ugh. Now you've got me missing the food back home. I'd kill right about now for an Ulster fry." She licked her lips. "A bacon bap, too. It's a shame there're no shops around here to get a proper sausage roll."
"Yeah, keep running it in, dick. You'll be home soon enough and you can walk your arse over to Gregg's for your precious sausage roll."
Catherine picked up her glass of water, but set it down again after Liam said that. She looked down into her lap, hoping that would stop him from noticing the fierce blush she felt illuminating her cheeks. It hit her like a train, realizing just how much of her life Liam was in the dark about. All the exciting milestones he hadn't been able to celebrate with her because she excommunicated him.
Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, Catherine met his gaze. She was almost ashamed to tell him, not wanting to make Liam feel worse than he already does about not being home.
"I, uh—I don't live in Belfast anymore. So, I can't walk my arse to Gregg's."
Liam choked on his mouthful of water.
"What?!" he croaked, coughing. "Where the hell did you run off to?"
Catherine propped her elbows on the table, resting her chin on her knuckles. "Guess."
"Can you give me a general direction at least?"
Where's the fun in that?
She rolled her eyes.
"South."
"South—" he clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth, picturing a map of Northern Ireland in his head— "Lisburn?" Catherine shook her head. "Armagh?… Newry?" Again, Catherine shook her head. "Further south of Newry?! Jaysus. Did you hop the border?"
"I may as well have. Crossmaglen."
"Crossmaglen! So, who's the unlucky fein? Because I know you'd never be down there if it weren't for a bloke. Oh, Lord. Please tell me it isn't Connor Broderick, or that bellend Rory Quinn."
… I know you'd never be down there if it weren't for a bloke.
Catherine wasn't sure why, but that stung more than it should have.
"Well—Rory is indisposed at the moment, and I can assure you it isn't Brods."
"Ooh! You called him Brods, so that means you infiltrated the tight wee circle of the South Armagh lads. The anticipation is killing me. Spit it out already!"
"It's Dessie."
"Dennehy?! You domesticated his sorry ass…"
"I take it you know him."
Liam shifted in the booth, tapping his fingers to his mouth as if debating if he should spill the words so fervently dancing on his tongue.
"This was my first introduction to Dessie—it was like a week after they'd moved some lads from the Maze to Maghaberry, and I went to the nick to see Darragh. The fella sits down across from me, and he's got this wee shiner. I asked him what happened, thinking a loyalist para knocked him around because they didn't have 'em separated then. Darragh, straightens up, points down the row, and with a fucking straight face said loud enough for everyone to hear, 'ya see that fat bastard right there? He stole my biscuits when we queued for chow!' Darragh may've had a black eye, but Dessie— " Liam put his elbow on the table, too, balling his hand into a tight fist— "Dessie had a nice pair'o Irish sunglasses."
"Really? Neither of 'em ever told me that story. They were such good mates."
"Oh, before you and Darragh got together, they fucking hated each other. Since you and Dessie were mates, they did the manly thing and put their issues to rest. They didn't want you to feel uncomfortable, or that you had to choose. And thus ushered in the era of one of the grandest bromances."
Catherine gave Liam a mocking frown. "Did it make you jealous to see your best mate find his bro-mate?"
"Fuck. No. Darragh bringing that crazy bastard around more was the greatest thing ever. We had brilliant craic. But after Darragh died, Dessie and I… we sort'o avoided each other. It never felt right, ya know? It was easier to just leave that shite in the past. Because we're mature men—we repress our feelings."
Without thinking twice about it, Catherine jutted her left hand from her lap and softly placed it on Liam's forearm. "Don't we all?"
"Aye," he breathed. Catherine's heart skipped a beat when the glittering diamond on her finger caught his attention. "Holy shit." He took her hand in his much larger one, rocking it side-to-side to get a better look at her engagement ring. "When did this bloody happen?"
Catherine figured now would be better than ever to lay everything out on the table.
"We got married in June. It was nothing big. Just Dessie and me, Brien, Dessie's sister, and the registrar. We wanted it to be us with Eamonn and Sean, but we had to have witnesses over sixteen. Ma, being Ma, she threw a wee reception for us." Catherine held Liam's gaze, finding it difficult to tell him the rest. She took a breath to calm her nerves. "We had a baby. In July. Another boy. He's named after Dessie, but we call him Danny."
Liam dropped Catherine's hand.
She saw it written all over his face. The disappointment. How she always got caught up in the exhilarating whirlwind of a new relationship, not taking a split second to think about the consequences of her actions. Attaching to men who had sketchy pasts, lived on the wrong side of the law, catapulting herself into a future of almost certain single-motherhood.
Liam watched her fall so hard and fast into a vicious storm with Jimmy. Then he watched her fall apart again when they buried Darragh. And now Dessie, with another baby, added to the mix to complicate things even further when she was still holding on to the tattered remains of a past that had been anything but kind to her.
Maybe, Catherine wondered, that pushing Liam out of Ireland had been a good thing in retrospect. Now he didn't have to bear witness to her fucking her life up for the third time around.
"Are you happy?" he asked.
Catherine twirled her engagement ring around her finger, trying to figure out if this was a trick question. She swallowed the heavy 'no' flooding her mouth. If she blurted it out over the discontent of her current situation, Catherine knew that would diminish her entire relationship with Dessie. As if her fucking Jimmy, and him finding broads from God-knows where to quench his thirst, hadn't done that already.
Glancing down at the ring, a small smile tugged on Catherine's lips and she bit it back. "I am happy."
The waitress dropped off their plates of food, refilled their glasses.
Liam kept his head down, digging into his French toast, and Catherine did the same with her pancakes. They ate in silence, making Catherine crawl out of her skin. She could tell the wheels in his head were turning. His next words already loaded and chambered on his tongue. He was waiting for the perfect opportunity to pull the trigger.
"Are you here with him?"
Catherine stopped chewing, roughly swallowing. "Aye. Fi's here, too."
"And I'm assuming since you're with Dessie, that means you still aren't seeing him," he said.
Dropping her fork on her plate with a clatter, Catherine picked up her glass, taking a sip. She didn't want to lie, but then again she wasn't sure how to respond. She and Jimmy were just fucking—having fun. Something so insignificant, it did no one any good if it were out in the open.
When Catherine refused to meet his gaze, she knew Liam would figure out the truth.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" Liam leaned back, dropping his fork on the plate, too. He buried his face into his hands for a moment, then looked at Catherine. "My therapist warned me this would happen—said it's because you haven't acknowledged yet how deep-seated Jimmy's abuse is. She called it Stockholm Syndrome."
Catherine thought her head was going to explode. So much came out of Liam's mouth in a matter of seconds. She had no idea what to acknowledge first.
"Hold up… your therapist? You're seeing a therapist." Liam nodded. Catherine dropped her hand into her lap, balling up the napkin resting on her thigh into a ball in her fist. It was such a foreign concept to her, psychiatry. Issues in the O'Toole house were handled with booze, fists, and yelling. Nor did they air their dirty laundry—too much risk involved. "And you're talking about my goddamn life with a fucking stranger? Are you outta your mind?"
"It's not always about you. Your relationship with Jimmy fucked up a lot of parts of my life, and I'm done letting it effect me. If I wanna let go of the anger I have towards you, first I needed to understand why you even hooked up with him in the first place, and how you weren't seeing the gaslighting and—and the abuse. I can't even think what it's doing to Dessie. To see his wife, at the mercy of another man. You need help, Catherine." Liam picked at a nonexistent hangnail on his thumb. "Like, serious psychological intervention."
Catherine pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to collect herself. A part of her wanted to get up and leave. This wasn't a conversation she felt comfortable having with Liam. She felt like she had every right to keep him at arm's length. He betrayed her trust like none other. Keeping him out of the inner circle of her personal life didn't seem too harsh. But Catherine knew if she did, then she'd only give him reasons to solidify his outlandish assumption.
She wasn't in an abusive relationship. Codependent, sure. Not only because they share a son. For as long as Catherine can remember, she's relied on Jimmy for… everything. When she needed money growing up, he always gave it to her, no matter how much she asked for. When she graduated from St. Dominic's, he paid her rent, bought her a car. Even after Darragh died, it was Jimmy who paid for her rent, utilities, and food. He bought the boys' new clothes for winter. Then once the lease was up in Andersontown, he gave her the fattest stack of cash she's ever seen to buy a house in the Lower Falls.
He said it was because he needed to get rid of assets, and if anyone asked where she got it from, she'd been instructed to say it was an inheritance payout. The PSNI had been sniffing around his finances hard that year, so she never thought much of it. But she always wondered if the deed had been a little more selfish on his end — to get her and Eamonn closer to him in the Short Strand.
She'd been independent from Jimmy only once. When she was with Darragh.
Relying on him for money and the occasional emotional coddle—when he wasn't being mean — wasn't abuse... right?
Besides, she never looked like the battered women she saw on the NHS posters that brought awareness to domestic violence.
Not never, she corrected herself.
There was the bathtub incident that left her neck singing with his cruelty. And the night he attacked her and Dessie over the guns they'd stolen.
There were also times, even back when she was a teenager, when Jimmy would drag her down verbally. Tell her she was nothing without him; no other man would love her the way he did because she was such a high-maintenance brat who couldn't do anything right. He destroyed her self-esteem to where Catherine blamed herself for Dessie's cheating. She let her body go during pregnancy and didn't bounce back fast enough, and wasn't paying enough attention to him — at least, that's what Jimmy told her on the plane back to Sacramento from Vegas.
And the nightmares he's given her. The nightmares about…
Well, those Catherine didn't like to think about.
Picking up her glass of water, she sucked an ice cube into her mouth, swishing it around to get rid of the sudden cottonmouth.
Liam cleared his throat. "My therapist also said I have to understand you've been so desensitized. I mean… look at how we grew up. How we live. There's so much hate and negativity. The violence is second-nature. Like when Da would be on a bender after gettin' outta the nick and then he'd just beat the piss outta the three'o us, but especially you and Brien because you lot always stuck up for each other and that made him so cross."
Catherine rolled her eyes. "So, what you're sayin' is I ended up with Jimmy because of some un-resolved daddy issues?"
"Why are you being a fucking condescending bitch about this?" The venom Liam spat in Catherine's face caught her off guard. "I'm trying to have an honest, open dialogue with you. To figure out why everything turned out the way it did. And all you can do is sit there and make patronizing remarks? See, this is the fucking problem with you paramilitaries. If something doesn't fall in line with your way of thinking, you write it off as rubbish." Liam jutted back into the booth, and Catherine opened her mouth to say something, but he interrupted her. "—And you're too goddamn stubborn for your own bloody good. That's why it took thirty years to get outta the Troubles, and why you still can't fucking admit that you lost. Your side lost the war… accept it and move the fuck on. Don't drag your kids down the way Da did to us. And get Jimmy outta Eamonn's life before he thinks it's okay to treat women like the dog shite on the bottom of his trainers."
Catherine dropped her head. She stared at her hands resting in her lap because looking at Liam was out of the question. Her jaw was sore from clenching so hard, but there was no way she could relax after everything he threw at her.
Out of it all, what irritated her beyond all conceivable belief was what he said about them being the losers of the thirty-year armed conflict. They didn't lose. The Provisionals sold them out, and she couldn't fathom how Liam — a former IRA man himself — didn't understand that. And then he had the fucking audacity to drag her kids into the argument when he had no qualms about feeding his daughter the same rhetoric Patrick gave them.
"I may be condescending," said Catherine. She rested her elbow on the table and then pointed to herself. "But at least I'm not a hypocritical coward."
"Oh, yeah. And who told you I'm a coward?" Liam folded his arms on the table, cocking his head to the side. When his eyes narrowed, Catherine realized he was getting upset. He had the same tells as Patrick. "Was it Jimmy, or Da? Did Da have to tell you how to feel about me because you're a weak little girl who's always seeking Daddy's love, and you'll do anything if it means he pats you on the head."
The burning sting of tears bubbling in her eyes went unnoticed until Catherine blinked and they went skating down her cheeks. She was quick to wipe them away. Afraid that she'd reach across the table and slap Liam, Catherine put her hand right back into her lap, squeezing them between her cold thighs.
Despite the heat outside and lack of A/c inside, she was freezing. Catherine recognized what was happening to her body, and she hated Liam for pushing her into the corner of fight-or-flight.
"I concluded on me own that you're a coward. When you told me you paid the bloody UDA to shoot out my bedroom window because you don't have the bollocks to stand up to Jimmy yourself. You think I'm a weak little girl? Liam, you wouldn't last five goddamn minutes in my shoes."
"You're right — I wouldn't last ten-seconds in your shoes." Liam dug into the back pocket of his motor-oil stained jeans for his wallet. He tossed a twenty down and stood up. "Because I would let no one beat me into submission. I can't believe I let Filip talk me into meeting with you; what'o bleedin' mistake. When Jimmy beats you again, don't come crying to me. Have a nice life, Catherine."
It all happened so fast.
It took Catherine a moment to realize what was happening. She just watched Liam walk toward the front door, his words clinging to her like a second skin.
Have a nice life.
This wasn't how dinner was supposed to go. They were supposed to make amends. Put the past behind them and move on the best they could. Seeing him walking out of her life like this, Catherine wasn't ready for it to be over. She couldn't let her eldest brother get away when there was so much animosity between them. It would eat her alive every second of every day she had left on this miserable planet if she didn't at least try. She wasn't naïve to believe they could go back to how things were before she exiled him, but Catherine needed their break to be clean. If they left things jagged, giving neither of them the chance to heal, then it would be painful.
Forever.
Snatching up the keys and her wristlet, Catherine sprang out of the booth. She bolted out of the diner and into the parking lot, going straight for Liam's Ford beater. As he opened the door, Catherine called out,
"So that's it, huh? You're just gonna throw our entire relationship down the drain. Forget about everything we went through together — how close we were."
When she reached his car, Catherine stopped and crossed her arms over her chest. Her heart was racing so fast, she was sure he heard it. Liam curled his fingers on the top lip of the door, leaning into it. He licked his lips, took a breath, then met her gaze.
"You and me… we were never close. It was always you and Brien. Still, you've gotta face the truth and realize you've thrown that relationship away for Jimmy and the cause, too. You have no idea how badly you've hurt him, Catherine. You turned your back on your brother when he needed you the most, and you were too lost with Jimmy to see it. I've been able to separate myself from everything that happened in Norn Iron, and I'm not gonna entertain your adolescent bullshit anymore, when you have zero intention on healing yourself and taking responsibility for the hurt you've caused. So yeah—that's it. You're toxic just like him, and I don't need that in my life. Especially not around my daughter."
Catherine sniffled hard. She didn't want to cry again. Crying solved nothing. All it did was leave her congested, with a throbbing headache and swollen eyes. Her problems were still the same.
She wasn't upset because Liam was being mean. She was upset because he was the first person to tell her the truth. This was the first time Catherine was hearing about how Brien felt. She always felt like he'd turned his back on her first, jealous she was sending most of her time with Jimmy and IRA instead of with him.
She hadn't realized just how all-consuming the IRA had become. The night Brendan Callaghan told her to raise her right hand and make her pledge, it was all over.
The Irish Kings. Jimmy. The British soldier who attacked her in East Belfast. They cut open her chest, their hands dripping with her blood, and ripped out her heart. Then sewed her back up so they left the cavity black and hollowed out. They each took something so precious from Catherine. Things she would never get back. Her altruism. Her innocence. Her life.
And she just let it happen.
Too blind. Caught up in having a sense of belonging. They were the only family she's ever known. Famished. Making herself sick, lapping up every drop of mawkish affection Jimmy fed to her. Like gooey, rich, buttery cake batter. The memory of which still lingered on her tongue, long after Catherine stopped being able to taste its sweetness.
Maybe that's why she went back to him, she wondered. Driven by her vicious hunger, which Dessie wasn't fulfilling. All she wanted to do was sink her teeth into Jimmy, feed off of him, and then go back to Dessie bloated and full.
But the hankering would come back.
Then what?
"What do I do?"
This time she didn't bother stopping the tears. They gushed from her eyes in hard waves. Catherine didn't care if she was making a scene. She hadn't cried this hard since the night of Darragh's wake.
Liam leapt towards her, gathering her tight in his arms. In the cocoon of his warm embrace, Catherine was safe. She let her walls crumble down into a pile of dust and rubble.
He nuzzled his nose into her hair, his mouth close to her ear. "You go home and fight. Be the warrior I know you are — protect yourself, and your boys."
Catherine nodded, the tears streaming harder when she felt the heat of his tears drip onto her shoulder. She gripped the back of his shirt, latching on, wishing she never had to let go.
Jimmy sat outside on the patio, his feet propped up on the wrought-iron chair across from him, ankles crossed. He was enjoying a drink, a smoke, and the breezy Sacramento night.
One hand wrapped around the glass of Polish vodka on the rocks, Jimmy took a long drag from his cigarette. He leaned his head back, blowing smooth smoke rings into the air. His attention was transfixed, watching them dance and then fade away.
The two Ativan he popped before coming home for the night were kicking in. Jimmy feels warm and light, his jagged and taut edges now melting into something less lethal. After his sit-down with Chibs, he needed something to mellow out.
He'd smoked his last joint with Catherine in Vegas. The two of them tangled in bed—she in only her panties and he only in briefs—with bloodshot, glassy eyes watching Fight Club. Jimmy still felt her bare breasts pressed to him, with her head on his chest as she lazily traced the harp tattoo on the inside of his forearm. He rubbed her back, occasionally pushing her chin up to capture her mouth for a heart-stopping kiss.
It was impossible for Jimmy to remember the last time they'd been that relaxed together. So affectionate. So in love.
Jimmy wasn't ready to let go, and he would not let her get away so easily this time.
In the years after Darragh died, he thought he'd been doing something nice for her. He worked hard to pay her bills, even gave her an allowance to buy whatever she and the boys needed. He gave her the freedom to dedicate her life full-time to the IRA, to Eamonn and Sean.
What a mistake that was.
Dessie and Danny resulted from him giving her too much freedom.
No longer was Catherine the puppy waiting for him at the door when he got home. She was a dog, feral and frothing at the mouth, desperate to break free of her leash. A leash Jimmy so obviously needed to tighten again. And unlike before, Jimmy wouldn't think twice about wrapping it around her fucking neck and pulling it taut to remind her of who was in charge.
His burner buzzed on the table. Taking another drag from the cigarette, Jimmy flipped open the phone and read the message.
22:10
she's still in modesto.
Liam is with her.
Jimmy looked at his watch. Even if she left now, she'd never make it back to Lodi before her imposed curfew. The cigarette clamped between his teeth, he picked up his personal phone and texted Catherine.
22:12
Just checking in, love. What are you up to?
He didn't have to wait long before he got a response.
22:15
In bed with my two favorite men… Ben & Jerry. Downloaded He's Just Not That Into You. Come join me?
Crushing his cigarette out in the ashtray, Jimmy shook his head. "You stupid, stupid girl."
