Page 183 of Making Choices

I peer past Slash to his brother. “With Crystal?”

“Yep. Mumma’s about to start a video link with her brother,” Hunter tells me. His gaze flicks to his older brother. “She wants you with her.” He slants a deceptively pleasant glance my way. “Both of you.”

“No. I’m—”

When I protest, Slash hits me with a quelling look that makes me shut my mouth. As I grapple with his innate ability to head off my temper, Slash’s fingers thread with mine, his grip comfortably unyielding, and I let him lead me down the stairs and into the kitchen without complaint.

As we pass through, Uncle Cass offers me a mug of coffee. “Thank you.”

“Me and the machine had a misunderstandin’, so it’s more sludge than liquid,” he warns as I’m pulled into the dining room where Cub is setting up a laptop in front of Crystal. “Could probably stand up if it wanted to.”

I raise the cup in his direction. “Then, it’s just what the doctor ordered.”

My relationship with coffee was never really restored to its former glory after the miscarriage, however, I’m yet to find a better substitute to a piping hot cup of java in the middle of a crisis. Wrapping both hands around the mug, I settle into the seat I’m directed to and sip at the bitter liquid while Hunter and Cub finalise the secure link between us and the UK Trinity. Around me, the other early morning visitors take up seats and ready themselves for the first step in our convoluted plan to extricate Zeke from my dad’s schemes and save me from an unwanted marriage with Hugh St. James.

A terse voice fills the room. “Code?”

Cub taps at his ever-present tablet. “One-nine-seven. G for Gertrude. Three. Hash. Z for Zebra. A for Alpha. Dollar sign. Six.”

“You’re clear.”

The laptop screen lights up and a man who looks like an older version of Slash fills the screen. He peers at us over the top of his spectacles. I inhale deep. His mouth drops open and his eyes widen. I clutch my cup to my chest. Tension ratchets up, the man grows out-of-sorts, and he looks like he’s on the verge of ending the video link.

I hold my breath as my heart aches for Crystal.

Seems she’s about to be rejected.

As the quiet draws out and the man shows no sign of initiating the exchange beyond his silent dismay, Slash moves restlessly next to me. I reach for his hand. He holds tight, pulling me closer so our shoulders and the outside of our thighs are pressed together. Hunter scowls at the screen. Cub peers up at the ceiling. Angelis gently pats his wife’s knee under the table, then Crystal’s shoulders straighten, and she takes control of the conversation in her typically inimitable way.

“Do ye plan on greetin’ yer long-lost sister properly after all this time or gawpin’ at her like a stunned mullet?”

“Well, fuck me,” the man exclaims in a heavy Scottish accent. Two bright spots of red colour his cheeks and the look I’d mistaken for rejection turns misty. “’Tis ye. I’d recognise that scoldin’ tongue anywhere.”

“You act as if just anyone’d be reachin’ out ta yer via the back channels... of course it’s me.”

“It’s been thirty-odd years—the back channels aren’t as secure as they once were.”

“Aye,” Crystal replies. “Hence my request for the Adjudicator to vouch for me.”

Sitting on the other side of Crystal, Gabriel has remained quiet. At the mention of the Adjudicator, he leans forward. “I don’t have to explain the repercussions that’ll befall you should my alias become knowledge outside of this context, Alasdair?”

It feels like my boss’ warning is as much for Crystal’s brother as it is for the rest of us. Unbidden, I nod like my life depends on it. To my left, Slash matches my movement and Hunter shoots us a weird look. The myth of the Adjudicator has hung over the underworld for as long as I can remember.

Judge, jury, and executioner of the ruling class.

If he comes for you, it’s because the Trinity has had you investigated, and you’ve been found guilty. Answering only to the guild in the old country, the Adjudicator is a myth and a legend. Until I heard Crystal acknowledge his presence out loud, I was in two minds as to his actual existence. Supposedly based in Catalonia, it seemed fantastical that one man would be capable of creating the level of control the Adjudicator is said to command over the underworld.

Yet, it appears that Gabriel Abaddon is the Adjudicator.

Which makes even less sense.

He rarely leaves Australia.

He’s too mild mannered to enact the cruelty that’s linked to his name.

Yet, here he sits, acknowledging the title while ensuring we all understand the repercussions for crossing him. His threat is delivered in a steady, almost icy, tone of voice. It’s one I’ve never heard from him. A level of danger that I would never have guessed he possessed.

“Aye,” Alasdair answers. “Ye true identity will go to me grave.”

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