Jimmy locked and chained the door to the seedy hotel room while Catherine headed straight for the bathroom. She didn't close the door, just started the shower, and as she stripped from her clothes, Jimmy headed further into the room.
Turning on the bedside lamp, he tossed the duffle bag on the bed and unzipped. It was far from ideal that everything Catherine had traveled with was being held hostage at the compromised safe house in Lodi. While Jimmy worked tirelessly, trying to smooth out the plans for every possibility he could summon in his head, Fiona had set out on a shopping excursion, preparing for the best.
He unpacked the no-frills department store underwear and bras, socks. Tossed aside a couple of pairs of jeans, some leggings, and sweatpants. Then there was the mountain of t-shirts and toiletries. Jimmy furrowed his brow, the creases in his forehead deepening as he surveyed all the merchandise Fiona got. There had to have been ten-days worth of clothes sprawled out on the bed, when Jimmy warned her that Catherine would only be in California for three more days.
Was there a single woman in his life who fucking listened?
In the bathroom, Catherine didn't bother to close the curtain as she stood under the sweltering spray. The pelting hot water felt almost like a luxury, and she vowed she'd never take something as basic as a shower for granted. She closed her eyes and stretched her arms in front of her, planting her palms on the slick wall. It still seemed so surreal—being outside of those four federal walls. For the first time in her life, Catherine had genuinely feared that she'd met her downfall. She was still trying to make sense of why they'd cut her loose in the first place, but in retrospect she knew without a sliver of a doubt.
The feds were mad and embarrassed Catherine played for them fools for as long as she did. Their first mistake: they underestimated her Irish stubbornness, a stubbornness that was in a league of its own. For close to thirty hours, she'd kept her mouth shut, didn't utter a single word. So, what better punishment than to let her go without a reasonable excuse, making it seem like she'd spilled every grotesque, rotten secret from the last fifteen years.
Their second mistake: Catherine had already proved herself thrice before. No one with half a brain would even suspect she ratted.
Her eyes sprang open, hearing commotion. Wiping the beads of water off of her face, Catherine sighed when she saw it was only Jimmy, who was setting small bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and a bar of soap on the ledge of the tub. It made her feel weakened, like half the person she had been, for jumping clean out of her skin every time she heard a noise. She was supposed to be the strong one; the one with nerves of steel—rattled by nothing.
She wasn't Liam.
But even Catherine knew there came a time for everyone where it was okay to not be okay. For her sanity, before she imploded and dove headfirst in a bottle of whiskey like her father, she needed to break so she could build herself back up again. This time, she'd be more agile, impenetrable.
Yet she didn't have the strength to do it herself. She never has. The very idea of being vulnerable with herself, feeling the heap of emotions she'd deprived herself of for so long… the burdensome weight crushed Catherine.
Watching Jimmy toss a pristine white towel onto the closed lid of the toilet before heading to the door, Catherine choked on her breath.
"Jimmy," she rasped. He stopped dead in his tracks, turning around on his heels. "Please, don't go."
Gazing back at her, his heart sank. Her bloodshot eyes, the visible tremble of her jaw; in good faith, Jimmy couldn't leave Catherine when it was so obvious she was unraveling at the seam. Tugging at the leather strap of his belt, Jimmy stripped from his clothes and stepped into the shower behind her. He closed the curtain; Catherine wrapped her arms around him and squeezed. She squeezed as tight as she could, terrified that if she didn't hold on to him for dear life, she'd somehow end up back in that in federal hellhole.
Catherine buried her face into his chest, smelling the last lingering notes of cologne still clinging to his skin, bringing her back to simpler, more innocent days. She went limp in Jimmy's arms and melted into him, her sharp fingernails digging into the flesh on his back, latching on desperately. Going to the safe house had been a mistake; she never should have left Jimmy's side, the only man in the world who's ever proved that he can protect her from the powers that be.
There were no tears for her to cry, no matter how badly she wanted there to be, because she needed a small reminder that she still somehow held on to a miniscule crumb of her humanity, and it hadn't been sucked right out of her. She thought about how much she missed her boys, and how close she'd come to almost losing them for good.
Nothing.
Not even the burning sting.
Rotating her head, Catherine rested the side of her face to Jimmy's chest. Even over the roaring shower, the steady beat of his heart flooded her mind, and it was the most comforting sound she's ever heard.
"I'm so tired," she sighed.
"I know you are, a chuisle." Jimmy kissed her temple. He was, too, and it wasn't the exhaustion rectified with a good night's sleep either. "I've arranged for you to head back to Norn Iron; the day after tomorrow."
Catherine lifted her head, loosening her grip around Jimmy as she peered into his eyes. He noticed how the dull blues lustered with something peculiar—like she wanted to be thrilled, but she was pushing down the exhilaration at the same time.
"You're not takin' the piss, are you? Because if you are, I swear to God, Jimmy I'll—"
He crashed his mouth down on hers for a kiss, then pulled away.
"Do I have your full attention now?" he quipped.
Nodding her head, Catherine licked her lower lip, desperate for a taste of him.
"Brilliant." He pushed the wet hair over her shoulders. "To answer your foolish question—no. I'm not taking the piss."
Sealing the deal on the decision to send her back home tore him to shreds. Now that Sheehan spilt the sour truth about what Jimmy had planned for not only Darragh, but Catherine as well, to Dessie and Patrick put him in a hell of a spot. He teetered on the tightrope between his ever battling impulsivity and desire for carefully crafted, calculated moves, trying to figure this shit out.
As he saw it, there were two options.
He could wait it out—send Catherine back to Crossmaglen, to her loving husband, and see if the bastard had the balls to tell her. If Dessie kept his mouth shut, nothing would change. And even if he did, in retrospect it wasn't the wraths of Dessie and Patrick he worried about. All they would be to him were pesky little flies buzzing around, which he'd eventually squelch. What scared Jimmy out of his wits was knowing how fiercely protective Catherine was of Eamonn, and the lengths she'd go to keep him out of arm's reach of his son. Everything was put into perspective for Jimmy after she'd confessed to him two months after Darragh died, about how she'd planned to leave Darragh with Eamonn and Sean for America but was stonewalled. So long as Catherine believed her children were in harm's way, everyone—including Dessie—be damned. She wouldn't think twice about packing up those boys in the dead of night and taking off.
Then on the flip side, having Dessie taken out before she even stepped foot back on Irish soil didn't seem like such a bad idea. Getting rid of that vexing asshole would solve all of his current problems.
Of course, then Jimmy remembered the only reason he ended up in this cluster fuck in the first place was because he had lost his marbles after Sean's christening and decided the easiest solution was to have Darragh and Catherine slaughtered.
What a fucking mistake that was.
And what a fucking mistake it would be to keep Catherine in California any longer. It was killing her, being away from home, it was only a matter of time before she became erratic. By meeting with Liam, she'd already proved she was losing grip on reality. Since spending all those days locked up in the federal penitentiary without charges, Jimmy wondered just how long it would take for Catherine to confess her sins to him—clear that Catholic guilt-ridden conscience of hers.
Once he handled the Liam problem here, he'd be right on her heels and back to Belfast to solve his Dessie problem.
Swiping the small bottle of shampoo off the ledge, Jimmy popped the cap and squirted some of the syrupy liquid into his palm. Rubbing his hands together for a rich lather, the small humid space filled with a clean candy fragrance, and he worked his fingers through Catherine's hair.
The way he massaged her scalp with the perfect amount of pressure lulled Catherine. She closed her eyes, fading into the fleeting peace.
"Am I going back with the German fellas again?" she asked.
"Aye." Nudging Catherine under the water, Jimmy rinsed his hands so she could take over, ridding her hair of the soapy suds. "We have to be in SoCal by 24:00. Give or take a twelve hour flight, you should be back in Ireland around 19:00. We're working on getting a message to Dessie with the drop location so he'll be there to welcome you home."
They switched places and Catherine worked rich conditioner through her knotty locks.
"Is Fi coming with me?"
Not caring that he'd smell just a sweet as Catherine, Jimmy washed his hair with the same shampoo. It felt good to wash the last thirty hours down the drain.
"No. She'll be coming back with me at the end'o the week." Jimmy fell silent as he watched Catherine scrub down with the bar of soap, studying every naked dip and curve of her body. "Promise me one thing."
Smearing the soapy lather along her chest to the back of her neck, Catherine nodded. "Anything."
"You'll always remember how much I love you. No matter what."
Wrapping her arms around his neck, their bodies flush, she kissed him.
"Always."
Catherine was the first one out of the shower, a towel wrapped around her head as she stood in front of the sink, brushing her teeth. As she spat a glob of white foam into the sink and rinsed her mouth, Jimmy emerged from the bathroom.
"You should try to get some sleep," she said, handing him the toothbrush. "You look just as knackered as I do."
A habit he carried over from the military, Jimmy squirt a blob of toothpaste right into his mouth then started brushing. He paid her no mind until he finished, then tossed the brush onto the small vanity.
"If you want me to stay, just say so. You know I don't like it when you dance around what you want, a chuisle. Can't make you happy if I don't know."
Leaning against the lip of the vanity, Catherine drummed her nails on the peeling counter top. "Will you stay with me? Or at least until I fall asleep."
Jimmy furrowed his brow, pretending like he even had to think it over. He couldn't have her under the impression that whenever she said jump, he'd ask how high?
"I suppose I can spare a couple hours for you, but I can't stay too long. I have a meeting with Clay and some'o his lads this afternoon to smooth out the snags with Zobelle. The AKs that come into today for Zobelle's crew, Cammy's making it clear to them this one'll be the last for a while. That'll give us time while Dessie figures out if he wants to keep his toes in the trade. If he doesn't, you tell him I'm willing to buyout what ever deal it is that youse have with Misha."
Catherine unwove her hair from the towel, setting the dampened cotton by the sink. "With all this goddamn back-and-forth, that'll be something I have to make a trip to Moskva to handle. Last time I spoke with him… he's getting tired of our inner feuding bullshit, and so am I."
Reaching out, Jimmy grabbed Catherine's hip and pulled her into his arms. Her back was pressed into his front, and Catherine interwove her arms with his. He held her tight, pressing a kiss to her temple, then mumbled, "I'll go with you. If we show up together, it'll show a unified front even though our faction split."
"Aye," she sighed. "That's a good idea."
Flicking his gaze into the mirror, Jimmy's heart lodged in his throat at the sight. The way he was holding her in his arms, both of them facing the mirror—it was December 1997 again. Except this time, they weren't in his bathroom, there was no blood, and her nose wasn't broken. Maneuvering one of his hand free, Jimmy traced the tips of his fingers along the soft skin of her belly. It seemed like yesterday, giving Catherine her first orgasm, and the memory of how beautiful she looked riding the wave of ecstasy, despite being battered and bruised, long since seared into the forefront of his mind.
With his other hand, Jimmy pushed damp hair off of Catherine's neck and pressed his lips to the warm flesh, leaving soft kisses.
"Jimmy." Her tone was stern, like she was saying his name as a warning. She tried twisting out of his hold, but all that did was make Jimmy hold on tighter. "Jimmy—c'mon, stop."
"Shh, shh, shh," he whispered. His hand traveled further south, cupping her mound. His erection pressed to the seam of her ass. "Do you remember how I good I made you feel that night?"
Dipping two fingers inside of her, coating them with her slick arousal, he brought them to her clit and rubbed. Catherine's head fell back onto his shoulder, just as it had then. His touch was feather light.
With the jolt of pleasure surging through her body, Catherine lifted her head and looked into the mirror. Her eyes were half-closed, vision blurry. The heat in her belly roared hotter and hotter with every pass of Jimmy's fingers She squeezed her eyes shut then opened them again, this time seeing Dessie's face, not Jimmy's behind her. Bubbling tears pooled.
"No," she whined, wriggling. "I—I told you…"
"He'll never love you the way I do, a chuisle." Adding pressure, Jimmy never relented. A raw anger, the likes of which he'd never experienced before, gripped him, ripping him to shreds at the very idea that she was trying to escape from him when for so long all she did was chase him, wrap him around her finger. "You and I both know youse shouldn't be together. We're meant to be. Stop fighting it. Let me take care of you… show you how much I love you. Worship you the way you deserve to be worshiped. He's a fucking halfwit for stepping out on you the way he did—I'd never do that to you. I've only ever been the one who's there for you."
They stared at one another in the mirror; her expression was blank, making it more and more obvious to Jimmy that her mind slipped out of her control. She was chasing release, soaking in every word he said.
"He's jealous of the love we share; they all are. No one understands what we have. All anyone has ever done is get in your ear, and make things worse before we had the chance to make things better. Don't listen to them, Catherine. All they do is lie. They'll do and say anything to keep you away from me. You have no idea how sorry I am for the times I've hurt you, it was never intentional."
Catherine's eyes fluttered, tears streaking down her blushed cheeks. She couldn't deny what he was saying—every time the hammer fell, she realized once the dust settled that she'd brought it on herself.
She was a soldier, above all, and meeting swift consequences for disobeying orders was expected. If she didn't want to feel the wrath of the army, she never should have stepped out of line.
Because if there was one lesson she ever learned in life, it was this: don't fuck with the Irish Republican Army.
And that included Dessie.
What Jimmy failed to understand, and never would, was that Catherine feared Dessie more than she feared God. She'd gotten away with this once. She wasn't willing to push her luck. He'd divorce her before she asked what happened?, leaving her cast out of ONH and defenseless against the Irish Kings.
Bouncing on the balls of her feet, Catherine grabbed Jimmy's wrist. "If Dessie finds out… I'll be left with nothing! Then what?"
"We can be the family we've always wanted."
"But the cause, I can't lose the cause."
Fuck the cause!, Jimmy wanted to scream. It was nothing more than a shell of itself, no longer standing for what it meant a decade ago.
"You've served the cause well, Catherine. Knock this shit off, and realize it is time for you to come home to Belfast. I'm too fucking old to be playing your childish games anymore. So what's it gonna be? A miserable life with Dessie, or a decent one with me?"
Breaking free from Jimmy's hold, Catherine spun around to face him. Her pupils were doubled, burning with a fire Jimmy only saw in her right before an operation.
"I'd rather have a miserable life with Dessie than put myself through your shite again," she spat. "I need for us to go back to the way things were before."
"We'll never be able to go back to the way things were."
Leaning against the wall, Catherine was afraid that's what he'd say. She ran a hand through her hair.
"Dessie promised me things would be different when I got home… said that big changes are coming and that I need to trust him. I do trust him, and he still trusts me. I'm sorry, Jimmy, but I can't break his trust." A painful lump grew in the base of her throat. "You have no bleedin' idea how much I hate myself for what I've done."
Trekking back into the bathroom, Jimmy picked his briefs up off the floor and put them on. He leaned his shoulder against the doorjamb, watching Catherine wipe the tears from her eyes.
"You really love him, don't you?"
"Aye," she croaked.
Message received.
Jimmy re-dressed, and Catherine watched in silence. The emotional wedge between was suffocating, almost making her recant everything she said. She hated seeing him so flustered, so upset. All she ever wanted to do was make him happy, but making Jimmy happy was a feat Catherine realized was impossible.
He was a broken man, and men like him would never feel the warm rays of contentment, no matter how good life was.
Turning off the light in the bathroom, Jimmy walked right by Catherine without acknowledging her. Seeing that he was going for the door without so much as saying goodbye, Catherine lunged and grabbed his hand.
"Jimmy, wait. Let's talk about thi—"
He ripped his hand from her. "There's nothing to talk about anymore. You want things to go back to the way they were before? Fine. I don't want to be married to a whore who fucked an Englishman, anyway."
When the door slammed closed and he was gone, Catherine ruffled through the clothes until she found something to wear. She did the best she could to push Jimmy's scathing remark from her mind, too worn down to even care what he thought of her at this point. All she needed to focus on was making it through the next three days, because once she had her boys in her arms, none of what he said would matter, regardless. There were a million-and-one insults she could have thrown back at him in character-assassination, but swooping down to his level would mean she's no better than him. It was time to move on, put the past behind her, and not spend the rest of her years sulking, becoming bitter and angry as he'd done.
Cozied up in sweatpants and a loose-fitting shirt, Catherine curled up at the head of the bed. She reached for the phone on the nightstand, holding the receiver with her shoulder as she dialed an international number.
It rang.
"C'mon," she mumbled, looking at the red neon number on the cheap clock. "C'mon, pick up your bloody phone you—"
"Yeah?"
Catherine smiled, hearing the echo of air-tools, and the rattle of wrenches hitting concrete in the background. She imagined him standing under a car in the garage, his forehead slick with sweat, and his work-shirt stained with the heavy, black grease.
"Hello," Catherine said, suavely, "we've been trying to reach you about your car's extended warranty."
"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph…" bellowed Dessie. "We're suckin' diesel now, so we are… oh, shite, you've no idea how glad I am to hear your voice, baby."
They sat at a corner table in the cozy French bistro a stone's throw away from the water. By the time they finished their split appetizer of mussels steamed in white wine along with creamy lobster risotto—and started on the entrees—they were working their way through a second bottle of Bordeaux cabernet.
"It's almost as good as being in Paris," said Catherine, taking a bite of her lamb confit and buttery polenta.
"I meant what I told you the other day," he cut into his coq au vin, "I'll take you back—you just say when."
She smiled. "When."
"Smart aleck." Noticing the red wine induced flush spreading along Catherine's chest and neck, Jimmy refilled her empty water glass with Perrier. "How about we go after Christmas? Ring in the new year and celebrate your birthday."
Swallowing a bite of food, Catherine furrowed her brow as she drank some water.
"I'll think about it. But I don't think Fiona and Dessie will be too thrilled about us jet-setting off to the world's most romantic city together."
Jimmy sipped his wine as he looked at the Cartier watch around his wrist, like he had somewhere better to be. "We'll call it a business trip. But I can't make any promises there won't be any pleasure mixed in."
"You try anything funny, and I'll send Dessie after your bollocks."
Jimmy shrugged one shoulder. "You drive a hard bargain. I've grown quite fond of my bollocks, and I'd like to keep 'em."
"Well—" Catherine shoved a forkful of food into her mouth- "that makes one of us."
"You wanna bet on that, O'Toole? Because you certainly had me fooled with all those times you had 'em in your mouth."
"Go fuck yourself, Jimmy."
Going back to his food, Jimmy turned his focus on the plate. "Be honest with me. Whose are bigger? Mine or his? In case you 're wondering, I like your fanny far more than I like Siobhan's."
"Brilliant," sighed Catherine. She pushed her plate away, having lost her appetite at the images of Jimmy and Siobhan's naked, tangled limbs invading her mind. Catherine laced her fingers together and rested her chin on her knuckles. "I could fit both of your bollocks in my mouth. Dessie… I'm lucky if I can get one of 'em into my gob."
Now it was Jimmy's turn to drop the fork and push his plate away. Catherine clenched her jaw, and he went cold and ridged. She had no idea why he felt this obsessive need to constantly bring up their past and present sex-lives, wanting to draw comparisons. At least on her end it didn't make her jealous to know he started screwing her former classmate after Siobhan's husband unluckily landed himself in HMP Magilligan. Catherine knew Jimmy's interest in Siobhan was nothing short of superficial, a sad attempt to ruffle her feathers, considering the two had been fond friends until Siobhan started taking an interest in Brien. And Catherine wasn't dumb enough to think for even a second that Siobhan was interested in Jimmy for any other reason than the protection which came along with being part of Jimmy's inner posse.
It was all just so… unpleasant. Despite her latest slip-up, Catherine wanted to move on from it all. But she was an addict, and her drug of choice was Jimmy O'Phelan, and this relapse was going to kill her, eventually.
When the waitress cleared their plates, Jimmy ordered them a crème brûlée. Catherine thought the rich dessert was a gratuitous order, just Jimmy trying to bilk every second with her that he could. They both sensed the wind of change. They wouldn't be seeing much of either other once home, and that was a bitter certainty Catherine forced herself to swallow. She didn't want to admit she was going to miss him and their Saturdays together with Eamonn.
Polishing off the rest of her wine, Catherine refilled both their glasses. She had just enough liquid courage flooding her brain to get what she needed to off her chest. Doing it in a public place was her best bet; at least this way there was less of a chance he'd lose his temper. Catherine wanted to pinch herself, trying to figure out how she'd gotten here in the first place—there'd once been a time when she could go to Jimmy and tell him of her fuck-ups without him getting mad.
She guessed she'd just fucked-up one too many times.
"Did your life turn out exactly how you thought it would?" she asked, twisting her wedding band and engagement ring around her finger. "Or is this nothing like you imagined?"
Taken back by her question, Jimmy jutted into his chair. He pinched the stem of his glass, swirling the deep red wine, trying to come up with an answer to the question which came out of left field.
"Honestly—this is nothing like I thought. In my wildest dreams I never imagined this is where I'd be. With the cause, but especially with you, a chuisle."
"What do you mean—especially me?"
"What do I mean?!" Jimmy chugged almost half his wine, then took a sharp breath as he avoided her gaze. For several moments he was silent, just staring straight ahead. "I... don't even know where to begin. It's everything, Catherine. The sex; the heirlooms; the boy. Mainly the boy. If you'd've told me twenty-years ago, I'd have a wee son, let alone with you… no way I'd believe it."
The waitress brought their crème brûlée to the table, and Jimmy handed her a spoon. They dug in.
"Do you regret it? Me, I mean."
"Mother'o Christ, if that isn't a loaded question, I dunno what is."
Catherine licked the back of her spoon clean. "Answer it. Do you regret us… getting together?"
"Do you?" he pondered, turning it back on her.
Catherine fought the impulsive need to tell him she did. She smiled and shook her head.
"Not for a bleedin' second. You gave me my wee Eamonn. I can't imagine my life without my baby boy."
Reaching across the table, Jimmy took Catherine's hand. His thumb brushed along her knuckles. "Despite all the shite everyone said about our relationship, I don't regret it for a second either. What I do regret is letting you join the Ra. If I hadn't done that, then I wouldn't have had to treat you like I treat the rest'o the lads, which is what drove us apart. I needed you as my wife, Catherine. Not as a soldier."
"You were too hard on me compared to the rest of the fellas. You've always been hard on me, Jimmy."
"Aye," he breathed. "Aye; I have. Do you know why? It's because I've seen nothing but the potential for greatness in you since you were a wee girl." He squeezed her hand. "The first time we were in Moskva meeting with Misha… watching you… I knew you were going to be the one who takes over when my day to step down as senior commander for the Northern Command comes. You were bloody nineteen. I never threw anything at you which you couldn't handle. I pushed you down so you could learn how to pick yourself up, and every time you did, you were a stronger woman. For Christ's sake… look at you now. You're on an army council—an accomplishment I'll never make it to. You have no idea how proud of you I am."
Pulling her hand from Jimmy's stronghold, Catherine quickly wiped the tears bubbling along her lash-line. That was all she ever dreamt of hearing Jimmy say; that he was proud of her. The validation that she was doing something right—that rush was far more potent than any drug she's ever consumed. All the blood, sweat, and tears now seemed worth it. So did the nightmares, the panic attacks, the overbearing grief of having lost so much, and so many of those she loved.
He was right. She had accomplished something so utterly sweet, and he'd never have the chance to taste it. She was only on the ONH council because he'd pushed her to that point, and every time she scrapped her knees under his heavy weight, it only served as more motivation to get out from under his iron-first.
Never once did she falter in her fight.
"If you needed me as your wife, then why didn't you leave Fiona?"
"Because I'm an eejit, and by the time I realized it, I'd already lost you. I will spend the rest of my life making up for the pain I've caused you."
Catherine smiled cheekily. "I guess you can say you lost the greatest thing that ever happened to you. I would have been a perfect wife to you."
"I know you would have; I don't doubt that for a second. How did you imagine your life would turn out?"
Catherine sighed. "Obviously, I thought it would end with you and I together. We'd have three weans—two boys and a wee girl in that order—eventually find our way out of Belfast… somewhere in the countryside and none of this bullshit to worry about."
"Sounds to me like you gave it a lot of thought."
"I guess." Catherine fell silent and leaned back, dropping her head to stare at the napkin resting in her lap. She needed to get back on track with the conversation before it was too late. "I have something I need to tell you. It's about the night I was lifted at the safe house."
Jimmy's curiosity instantly piqued, and he pushed the half-eaten dessert off to the side. He made a promise with himself days ago that if she came clean on her own recognizance prior, then he'd go easy on her. Staying quiet, he let her take over the conversation.
"I lied to you… I hadn't been at the house watching movies all night like I made you believe." Lifting her head, Catherine met Jimmy's hardened gaze, sending a chill down her spine. "Liam reached out to me, and I met him for dinner in Modesto. I thought I could trust him; I told him where I was staying because he asked. I think—know it was Liam who told the feds I'd be there."
It didn't matter that Jimmy already knew that. Hearing those bitter words spill from her mouth so nonchalantly twisted him into knots.
"How do you know?"
"Fiona told me she'd heard from Filip that Liam got himself into trouble with the peelers here, and he was facing deportation back to Norn Iron, but out nowhere, the case was dropped and all the docs were sealed so no one knows the details. He's still working with the feds. I think by the direction of MI5, the Americans let me and Eddie go to make it look like we cooperated as well. They're trying to make us paranoid, make it seem like someone still in the circle is talking, so we turn on one another. They wanted me to make a deal; six months in the nick here in exchange for giving you up. I didn't say a word, Jimmy. I didn't—you have to believe me. I think it's because of what happened to Ian. Even if they get their hands on me, they know there's no way they can tie any of it back to us. They couldn't find me on the isle, so they got the info they needed from Liam, and now they're hell bent on making me out to be the rat because they know whatever you and Dessie do to me would be far worse than anything they could ever do. I know I fucked up… bad. I spoke with Dessie earlier today and told him everything. They'll dole out a punishment they see fit, you can be sure of that."
"You're sure it's Liam?"
"Aye." Picking up her glass, Catherine chugged. "The insufferable cunt agent knew details of me life no one else but him do. Shite I don't even think MI5 or the PSNI do. I understand he needs to be taken care of, but I'm begging you. Please go easy on him and make sure he's found so that his body can come back to Belfast. My ma will want an open casket wake, and it'll devastate her if she can't."
"I don't think's what your da'll want."
"I don't give a shite about what my da wants. This isn't about him—this is about my ma having to bury her eldest child."
Jimmy pursed his lips and bobbed his head once. "I'll see what I can arrange."
"Thank you."
Reaching across the table, Jimmy cupped her cheek and brushed his thumb along the apple. "Don't be thanking me yet, a chuisle. We should be headed back to the hotel, though. You never know what could lurking in the dark."
Catherine's mouth filled with a sour metallic taste, mixing with the salty brine of tears. She turned her head, spitting a glob of rich maroon blood onto the crumbling asphalt.
Walking in circles around her as she laid helplessly on the ground, Jimmy re-rolled the sleeves of his shirt. He was breathing heavily and shallow; his shirt and bare knuckles sanguine. Staring down at her, his brows furrowed and his lips pulled into a tight line at the sight of her. Blood seeped from the corner of her mouth. It poured from her nostrils, trickling down her lips, chin, and neck, soaking the front of her shirt. Her bottom lip was busted. Under her eyes, the severe red-purplish hue of broken vessels was already showing.
She was a disgusting crying mess, too—tears, bloody snot cascading down her face.
It was almost pathetic, but Jimmy had to hand it to her. The girl could take a beating. It wouldn't surprise him if by the time he finished she'd look up at him with big, watery sympathetic eyes and mutter a breathless thank you.
Sticky strands of bright red fluid stretched from one lip to the other when Catherine opened her mouth. She took a gulping breath, which echoed in the darkness, reaching out a scraped, shaking hand.
"Jimmy—"
Her shattered voice had no effect on him. The reason he'd been forced to do this in the first place was because she played him for the fool too many times.
Never again.
Never fucking again.
Closing his eyes, Jimmy lifted his foot and drove it into her ribcage again and again, and again. A chill shot down his spine when Catherine didn't scream. She curled her arms around herself, choking on air, tears, and blood. He could hear the gurgling in the back of her throat, and for a split second he worried he'd taken it one step too far.
Trying to catch her breath, Catherine hoisted up onto her hands and knees. His eyes never leaving her, Jimmy took the white handkerchief from his pocket and shook it open. Spitting into the woven cotton, he scrubbed the blood from his knuckles. Only when the biting sting engulfed his hand did he realize just how badly he let loose on her. His hands would be just as swollen, black and blue as her in the morning.
It's not like she didn't deserve it. Knowing Dessie's thin tolerance for touts, Jimmy figured she had a similar punishment waiting for her at home for associating with one.
"I'm sorry!" she screeched, rising to her knees.
Through bloated eyes, her vision was blurry. It was impossible to see the blank expression on Jimmy's face, but the fire of his gaze threatened to burn her alive. She never knew it was possible to be filled with so much shame about something, even after everything she's done in her life.
Catherine made peace with the fact this was where it all ends for her. In the seedy alleyway tucked away in the grim shadows of Oakland. She prayed for her sons—that they'd be okay without her. She prayed for Dessie, her brother, and especially her parents, who were about to lose two of their three children. The only thought bringing her any warm comfort amid her agonizing terror was that she was so close to seeing Darragh again.
Catherine kept her eyes straight ahead as Jimmy moseyed behind her.
"No, you're not—" he dug foot between her shoulder blades, shoving Catherine down— "because if you were, you never would have seen Liam at all. You would have told me right away that he tried to contact you and I would have handled it."
Catherine squirmed under Jimmy's weight. She cried harder. "I really am sorry, Jimmy! Please—please believe me. I just wanted to see my brother; that's the truth, I swear!" She hiccuped. "If you were in my position, I know you would have gone to see Eamonn! You loved your brother just as much as I love mine."
Jimmy's vision went dark and fuzzy.
He crushed Catherine with more weight, spitting on her cheek. She wriggled, crying, realizing she'd only made things worse by bringing him into this.
"Don't you fucking dare bring my brother into this. Eamonn was nothing like Liam. My brother died for the cause—he didn't betray it, you stupid cunt." Taking his foot off of her back, Jimmy knelt down and grabbed Catherine by the hair. He tugged at the roots, pulling her up to her knees. "What else did you say to Liam?"
He jerked her head back, and she clawed at his hand with broken, jagged fingernails. Jimmy snarled, "Don't fucking lie to me either, bitch, because I will find out, and I will see to it that your body is never fucking found."
Catherine winced; the chunk of hair he had in his vice grip was too close to the split in her scalp. She didn't doubt his threat for a second—she'd really done it this time. She dug herself into a hole so deep there was no way she was making it out of this alive. There was only one thing she could do: comply. Clear her conscience, tell Jimmy everything. Closing her eyes, Catherine focused on breathing. If her breathing was under control, she could ignore the pain and remember every detail from her night with Liam.
"I… he asked about Ian because he'd read about it online, and I told him it was us who had him clipped. I told him about the plan to push SAMBEL out of Belfast, and how we're pushing the Kings out so you and Dessie can take control of Norn Iron."
Jimmy was at a loss for words.
To say he felt betrayed didn't even begin to sum it up. But the single sentiment clawing at him was utter stupidity—how she'd played him for a fool for once before when she'd been a telltale and blabbed her mouth to the Kings about what he'd been up to with Putlova and the Bratva. If she'd been so willing to open her mouth to the Kings, then spilling secrets to Liam shouldn't have come as much of a surprise to Jimmy. Yet, here he was… gobsmacked, and unsure about what to with her once they got home.
Taking a step back, Jimmy nudged his chin in Catherine's direction.
Luke and Kevin each hooked an arm under her armpits, hoisting her to her feet. Exhausted and dazed from the pain, her muscles were jellied, and if it hadn't been for the oxen men holding her up, Catherine would have fallen flat on her face.
Taking a wobbly step, like a toddler just learning to walk for the first time, Catherine looked to the sky. It was crystal clear, not a cloud for miles. No light pollution or haze. The moon's silvery light illuminated the alley, and the stars twinkled brighter than she'd ever seen. A fresh round of tears filled her eyes. The cool, crisp breeze, the singing of crickets, and the midnight sky made her think of home. She wondered if those were the same stars Eamonn and Sean caught fireflies under on the farm in Forkhill, and if the moon shone just as brightly for Dessie as he sat in the garden with a beer to unwind after the boys were asleep.
Pushing that all from her mind, Catherine refocused. She blinked away the tears and realized Luke and Kevin were leading her towards one of the derelict apartment buildings. Dizziness swallowed her whole, but Catherine fought the overwhelming urge to pass out. Her stomach lurched; scorching acid and bile bubbled in the back of her throat.
Catherine wasn't much for betting, but she didn't have to be to know her odds of staying alive were slim if she allowed them to get her into one of those apartments. Somewhere deep inside, she found the strength to lock her knees and dug her heels into the asphalt.
"No," she growled through clenched teeth. "No, no!" Catherine thrashed, forcing Luke and Kevin to stop walking, to readjust their hold on her. "Please, please, please—I have children, just like you, Luke," she pleaded. "If you kill me, all you'll do is stir up a hornet's nest; my lads won't take kindly to youse sad sacks'o shite clippin' a member of their army council."
"Catherine."
Hearing Jimmy's flat tone behind her sent a frozen jolt down her spine. He didn't sound angry; he was apathetic, and that was more than enough to get Catherine's attention. She could tell he was walking towards her, the loose rocks being kicked up with every step he took. He came around and stopped in front of her, and she flinched when he took her jaw in his large hand. Tilting her head upward, Jimmy gently scrubbed the blood off her face with the sullied handkerchief.
"I know you're a good girl, a chuisle, and you didn't mean to say the things you did to Liam. Am I right?"
His expression was a peculiar mix; tense, yet somehow relaxed at the same time. He wouldn't look her in the eye, making Catherine's buffeting heart drop straight in to her stomach, and there was a razor, electrified wire wrapped around her. She swallowed the blood clot lodged in her throat.
She croaked, "Aye."
"Your heart is so big, and that's one thing I've always loved about you. You give everyone the benefit of the doubt, but sweetheart, you've been doing this too long to think that's acceptable. You need to learn how to put your guard up and not be so trusting around people who aren't deserving of it. I really didn't want to do this to you; you put me in the position where I had no other choice. I love you so much, Catherine, but I cannot allow you to continue on with this sort'o behavior. Since this isn't the first time we have caught you saying more than just your prayers, I'm gonna need you to come with me, and we're gonna go have a wee cuppa and a chat with some of the ISU lads. Okay?"
The worst was over.
Catherine could breathe again.
A sit down with the internal security unit was nothing Catherine couldn't handle. Talking with them always turned out to be the least stressful part of any cluster-fucked situation. She never understood why so many people all too often feared them. So long as she told the truth, then there was no reason for any dramatics. And, on the bright side, Jimmy wasn't upset with her anymore—if he was, he wouldn't be wasting his time with the ISU.
"Okay."
With most of the blood was gone from her face, Jimmy stuffed the handkerchief back into the pocket of his trousers. He tucked blood-caked hair behind her ear, then pressed a tender kiss to her lips, the copper-y twinge still lingered and seeped into Jimmy's mouth. What he found tasted sweeter that anything his tongue had ever touched was her raw, unadulterated obedience mixed with a healthy dash of trepidation. He was running out of options with Catherine; she needed to be reminded of who really ran things before it was too late, and she pissed off the wrong person. She had no idea how lucky she was that he'd been the one to find out she saw Liam.
Breaking the kiss, Jimmy knocked Luke and Kevin's arms out of the way and curled his arm around her flank, to which Catherine sank into him. She wrapped her arm around him for balance and together they walked. When they reached the old wooden stairs, he helped her hobble down the flight leading to the garden apartment. With the bothers right behind them, Jimmy knocked on the door. It opened right away, and a man Catherine vaguely remembered moved out of the way so the four could enter.
No pleasantries were exchanged. Still holding on to her, Jimmy led Catherine to the couch and eased her down, handing her a pillow to hug against her side. He could tell one of her ribs was broken by the way she was favoring her left side and didn't take full breaths, because the pain was no doubt excruciating. For a split second, Jimmy contemplated crushing up the two Percocet chilling out in his pocket, and slipping them into her tea, but he decided against it. She'd have to earn that honeyed relief. And he wanted her to have a sober mind and body. If he doped her up too soon, then all of this would be for nothing.
After making sure Catherine was as comfortable as she was going to get, Jimmy kissed the crown of her head and told he'd be right back. Luke, Kevin, and two IRA minders all followed him into the kitchen.
Once Catherine was confident they were out of ear-shot, she leaned forward and buried her face into the pillow, bitting down so hard, her jaw ached. Every inch of her throbbed. Each punch and kick had seared her overwhelmed nerves, and now that the shock was starting to wear off, the agony was settling in. She wanted to let out a blood-curdling scream, but she didn't dare give Jimmy and his True IRA gorillas the gratification of knowing just how gruesomely they'd hurt her.
The only thing keeping her from crawling out of her skin and having a total meltdown, was the fact that it was against the Republican constitution to sanction deaths in the United States—though some orders were exculpatory, of course. With support for the Ra practically non-existent in Northern Ireland, they relied heavily on the fundraising efforts of the Irish-American communities who felt they were doing their patriotic duty by passing around the coffers in dark pubs, "for the lads." As finance officer, Catherine well enough understood Jimmy wouldn't risk those funds ceasing to find their way across the Atlantic, because they all knew the cash flow would come to a grinding halt if the Ra's gratuitous violence landed on the American's unsuspecting doorstep.
Though, most importantly, they needed to stay in the good graces of the plastic paddies who held political power; especially judges. That way, their chance of being extradited back to Northern Ireland was slim when they found refuge stateside.
God-forbid her murder ended up splashed across the front page of every newspaper from San Francisco, to Chicago, to Boston.
Then again, none of it fucking mattered in the end. All that meant was that they'd just have to make sure she disappeared. For good. Her name would be added to the vain list; nothing more than another statistic. A suspected terrorist and international gunrunner, she wasn't the upstanding citizen who would have her existence questioned if she suddenly didn't anymore.
Luke was the first once back into the living room, and Catherine realized it after he cleared his throat loudly to garner her attention. She sat up straight and readjusted the pillow, taking the steaming mug of tea he offered.
"Thanks." She took a sip. The warmth soothed her sore throat, the milk coating.
Grunting, Luke took a seat on the loveseat across from Catherine and tossed his arm over the top of it. Him not having much to say didn't come as too much of a surprise. She figured it was because by now he was inoculated to seeing her face busted, but truth be told, Luke's indifference steamed from the fact he was gulping down every once of emotion. One hand resting on his thigh, he flexed and unclenched his fist, telling himself over and over that knocking Jimmy on his ass—busting his lip, giving him a black eye, or two—wasn't the best career move. Besides, sooner or later Jimmy would have it coming; pay dearly for the atrocious sins committed. At least, that's what Luke had to believe.
Seeing a bloody imprint of her mug, Catherine prodded the gash on her lip with her middle finger. The stinging jolt prickled throughout her entire face, and as she watched the maroon droplet slip down the length of her finger, all Catherine heard was Liam's voice echoing in her ears.
"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."
Despite the beating she took, Catherine almost asked Luke for his phone so she could call Liam.
"Who's having the last laugh now?" she wanted to tell him.
Sure as shit it wasn't her, given that her face now looked like one of NHS posters.
Hearing Jimmy's Oxford's squeak along the laminate floor in the hallway, Catherine set her mug down on the side table.
Striding over to Catherine, he held out his hands to her. "C'mon, lets get you some ice for your face and those ribs."
Her tongue glided along her bottom lip, sopping up a bead of blood as she stared at Jimmy's hands. His palms were clean, no longer stained with splotches of crimson and scarlet. It was poetic to Catherine—how easily he'd washed his hands of her. She only hoped she'd one day do the same with him.
Grabbing hold of his hands, she held her breath and braced as he helped pull her up. Steady on her feet, Catherine picked up her mug and walked ahead of Jimmy down the hall to the kitchen. The closer they got, Catherine's knees went weak and the edges of her world became fuzzy, like television static.
She smelt it—the heavy, piquant stench of blood, sweat, tears, and fear, and it wasn't radiating from her.
Catherine forced herself to put one foot in front of the other, ignoring the voice whispering in her ear—which sounded too much like Darragh—telling her to turn around and run. She was convinced it was nothing more than fight-or-flight kicking in, her mind still on guard, untrustworthy. There was no danger; Jimmy assured her.
Stepping into the kitchen, the mug slipped from Catherine's hands. It fell to the floor, milky tea splattering the linoleum along with shards of white ceramic. She should have listened—she should have run when she had the chance. She spun around as fast as she could, but all she did was slam into Jimmy.
He grabbed her upper-arms with bruising force, tilting his head to the side as he met her gaze. His eyes were empty; devoid of any basic humanity, and Catherine swore she saw a glimpse of the Devil.
But seeing the pure unholiness within the man she had kneeled before, it hardly made her flinch. What scared Catherine completely out of her wits was realizing in that very moment that Patrick had been right the night they sat together in the car while scoping out a pub for Brennan O'Farrell.
Patrick closed his fist around the crucifix. It felt impossibly heavy in his palm. "When I was a wee lad, Sister Mary Gallagher once told us those who have the greatest capacity for good, are also the ones who have the greatest capacity to do evil."
"Smart nun," Catherine chuckled.
"Aye. She was." Patrick handed her back the rosary, afraid if he held onto it any longer it would burn his skin. "You, my baby girl, do have the greatest capacity for good."
Looking over her shoulder, Catherine stared down at Liam, who was lying in a paralyzed heap on the plastic sheet. He'd been beaten so badly, his face was unrecognizable. There was a pair of pliers sitting on the table with one of his molars still clutched in the metal teeth, along with half of his tongue. He was naked—his body a canvas of black, blue, and purple. The only sign Catherine had that he was holding onto the last frayed threads of life was the faint rise and fall of his battered chest.
Getting her here had been the plan all along. Dinner had been nothing more a ploy to lower her guard.
Her heart beat so fast it felt like she was being shredded. The tearing sensation spread through the rest of her body, like there was some sort of force much stronger than her prying its way into her broken, defeated soul. Consuming her, swallowing her whole with no regard. It wasn't demonic, per se, but it was without a doubt something sinister. Inhuman. The blood in her veins reached its boiling point, bubbling over and burning her from the inside out.
Taking a pistol and magazine from Kevin, Jimmy popped the magazine into the Glock, then chambered a round. His hand around the barrel, Jimmy held it out for Catherine to take.
"He touted. He set you up to be caught at the safe house with the guns."
She curled her fingers around the grip.
It wasn't the Devil she saw in Jimmy's eyes—it was her reflection.
