James Sinclair could barely focus on the road in front of him. His mind was racing as fast as his heart as memories played over and over again. Ireland was fresh on his soul as he stared at the curvy road ahead.
It had been a long time since walked Belfast's streets. Even as a small kid, the siren call of the Emerald Isle played on his spirit. A second generation American, the grandson of Irish immigrants, he always wanted to return to the place that his grandma spoke of. There was love in her Gaelic lilt every single time she spoke of Belfast, so when the opportunity arose for him to complete his residency in Ireland, the brand new doctor jumped at the chance.
Staying at a tiny flat just outside of Belfast City Hospital, James used every opportunity he had to travel and tour the city. It was on one of those trips that he spied a dark and amazing pub in the center of town. Painted completely black, he almost missed it. The small black and white sign caught his eye. Skull and Crossbones. James smiled and wondered how good the whisky was. As walked in through its heavy red door, he was ready to find out.
As the memory of that first night consumed him, he was surprised that the ache was still as fresh as it had been all those years ago, but-he realized with a sad smile—the ache never went away. It was fresh on his soul because, like it or not, Fiona was always in his heart. It felt like she always had been, but he knew it hadn't always been so. There was a time where he thought Sarah had been his one true love. Youth, it seemed, always had a way of fucking one up.
The interior of the pub was an endless scene of dim lights and dark mahogany, and if there was a window to be found, James didn't see it. Grabbing one of the many barstools, he sat and waited for the bartender to serve him.
"Whaddya want ta order?" To his surprise, the bartender was a tiny sprite of a thing, with dark eyes and dark hair. Her caramel skin was luminous, even in the dark light. He was immediately smitten.
"You," he answered with a disarming grin. He was unable to help himself. All five feet of her was dressed in black, but her tight curves were more than obvious, and her skin tight black t-shirt revealed generous breasts for such a tiny frame. He thought she'd tell him to bugger off, but to his amazement, she blushed prettily and smiled.
"I meant the liquor," she explained, as if he didn't know what she meant. He laughed low and smiled again.
"Redbreast 12 to start, milady," he replied. With another sweet smile, she did his bidding. Coming back with two heaping glasses of the expensive whisky, she slid one in his direction, and she took one for herself. With a wink and a smile, she knocked the back with no effort at all.
"You Irish don't play around," he said appreciatively. "I prefer to savor it."
"Save the savorin' for Jameson 18 or Glenlivit, " she said with an amazing grin and a gorgeous Irish lilt. "I'm Sarah Brogan." She held out a hand. With a rakish stare, James took it and kissed it soundly.
"James," he replied. "James Sinclair. Like Bond, but better in bed." Immediately, he could feel the blush stain his cheeks. He sighed apologetically and looked down at his feet. The words felt fake and forced. "I don't know what made me say that. I mean, you're fucking beautiful—don't get me wrong—but I'm not that guy."
"What guy?" Sarah questioned. "Ye look pretty damned adorable to me, Mr. Bond." And with that, she walked away, focusing on her other customers. She'd come back and check in with him, get him another drink. By the end of the night, he'd graduated to the Glenlivit, but when his bar tab racked in over a hundred and fifty Euros, he tried to play off the shock. Noticing the slight panic, Sarah grabbed the tab and took it to the register. Pulling a stack of money from her pocket, plucked the necessary Euros off, and paid the tab.
"Ye looked gobsmacked," she drawled as she came back to the counter.
"Gobsmacked?"
"Shocked, taken off-guard," Sarah explained.
"Yeah, I kinda am," he said slowly. "I mean, I can pay for my own—"
"I know," she interrupted. "But I didna mind." She leaned close to him, so close she could smell the whisky on his breath, almost close enough to touch his lips with hers. "When I see something I want, I take it. It's one of the perks of being the boss' daughter."
James breathed a sigh of relief once he reached his driveway. Getting out of the car, he locked it behind him. The minute he walked in the door, he headed to the bar and found the Glenlivit. He poured a glass and sipped it, reveling in its smokiness. As he sat down in the massive recliner, he let the bitterness cover his tongue. Tonight, God willing, would be night where he'd drink the bottle.
"You're so beautiful," he breathed. They'd been dating seven months now. After the first three, he was introduced to her mother. Eileen Brogan was pretty with a rough mouth, but James absolutely adored her and she him. Eileen was impressed with the MD behind James' last name. She was pleased her daughter had landed such a catch. Eileen knew things were serious, and she was happy about it.
"And yer quite handsome," she replied. Dressed in a pretty pink lace dress, her dark hair pulled back, she looked more innocent than she actually was. The bed they shared knew better. So did the kitchen table. And the living room floor.
"Thank you, milady," he said with a smile. "You ready?"
"Aye," she replied. "Let's go meet my Da." Within seconds, they were in a car on their way to the flat where Declan stayed. It was a separate hideaway, apart from the family home he shared with Eileen and Sarah. This flat was mainly used for business.
Eileen had arranged it. In the months that had passed, Sarah had told her beau all he needed to know about Declan Brogan. To be fair, she knew precious little about her father's dangerous lifestyle. She knew enough to keep the secrets secret, nothing more. Eileen had done a wonderful job at keeping their daughter in dark as much as possible. James, however, had quickly learned about the head of the Irish Kings.
Declan Brogan's name was all over Belfast City Hospital. Between his ties with the IRA and SAMBEL, the old man was a force to be reckoned with. He hand dirty fingers in every pot, from the pubs to the politicians, and if he wanted someone gone, they were at the bottom of the River Lagan before there was a chance to breathe a complaint. To say James was fearful was an understatement, but he couldn't let it show.
Sarah and James stopped at the flat, and she stepped out first. She was completely at ease as she climbed the steps to the apartment. A huge ginger haired bouncer type stood outside the door. Sarah barely registered his presence as she opened the door.
Declan sat in the middle of the room. Seated behind a massive cherry desk, he looked every single bit as scary as James thought. His heart leapt to his chest, but he appeared calm.
"God, I can't—" James said aloud. He finished the whisky and stood. He'd been so scared of Declan, and for all intents and purposes, he should have been. "If I'd known then what I know now…"
His eyes drifted to the photo on the fireplace. It was black and white and absolutely beautiful. Walking slowly over to the mantel, he picked up the picture and traced it with his fingers. Theirs was a whirlwind love, a whirlwind marriage. A whirlwind everything. It was fast. Too fast. He knew that now.
"Our wedding day…"
Declan liked what he saw. James and Sarah were married just a little over a year after they met. The wedding cemented a win / win situation: James got Sarah, and Declan got a doctor for his extracurricular activities. Blinded by adoration, James ignored his conscience. And it went well for a while.
James' eyes danced over to the next photograph. It was another black and white of Sarah and Victor. Victor wasn't even a year old yet. He knew the picture well. It was spring in the Irish countryside, and she was absolutely beautiful. Back then, he couldn't imagine a love like that—ever again.
"God, how naïve I was."
Victor was born less than a year after they got married. Sarah was an incredible mother, but James never once doubted that she would be. After only having Sarah, a grandson was something to be praised, to be doted upon. Declan was never the doting type, but James could see the old man was proud to have the boy in his life. Things seemed to be falling into place, despite the constant shadow of the Irish Kings being there. James was content with his role in the business: he was the ready and able doctor. He stitched open wounds and removed open bullets, nothing more.
Another glass gone, James moved away from the fireplace. He began to slowly pace the room.
"When did it all change?" he asked. The question drifted into the silence, unanswered, but James knew. He knew exactly the moment and the man that changed everything.
Kellan Ashby. Declan's consigliere, his advisor, his right hand man. Dedicated Catholic priest. As long as he still drew breath, James would always remember his name and the night his entire world began falling apart.