Page 212 of Making Choices

“Funny how it feels like a loss in mine.”

When he looks like he’s going to argue the point, I climb into the SUV and pull the door shut on him. Adjudicator or not, I’m not in the mood for his rationalisations. He set us up. Used us as pawns in our time of need to secure his legacy. I’d bet good money that he’s done the same thing to Venom too.

There’s no way my ex-best friend would have agreed to tonight’s activities.

Hell, he probably doesn’t even know about the baby we need to have.

I certainly never told him, and I doubt Cherub did either.

Lifting my wife onto my lap as Meeyal climbs into the back with us, I settle her against me. She’s still sleeping, an obvious trauma response. The blood from her shoulder wound is smeared on her neck. The bruises from mine and Venom’s rough handling mar her porcelain skin. Hair dishevelled, eyelids twitching, plump lips pressed into a thin line, she’s the epitome of ruin.

She’s also the most beautiful woman in my world.

I’ll go to war for her.

Forsake the Shamrocks before I let her get caught up in our dealings again.

“Take us the Slash’s,” Meeyal commands the driver. He leans closer, pausing when I stiffen. His hand hovers over my duchess’ cheek as he locks eyes with me. “May I?”

I nod.

“She’s gonna be sore in the mornin’.” He softly skims his knuckles over Cherub’s jaw. “I hate that she got hurt, however, it was the price we had to pay. At least, the Shamrocks can rest easy now knowing she’s under the Trinity’s protection and the threat of marriage to Hugh St. James is negated.”

“That’s a load’a shit, and you know it.” When I knock his arm away, he accepts my rejection without comment. Keeping my voice low, I snarl, “She might be under their protection, but we’re only gonna hurt her more come sunrise. The price she’s payin’ is too much—”

“It’s a temporary pain. He’ll be back.”

“I needa see him, tell him what happened tonight... he’s goin’ into this blind.”

The man with the brand-new watchman patch on his chest speaks over me in a voice that brooks no arguments. “It’s done. The price has been paid. Backin’ out now gives the Trinity and the Maddisons a trump card. The US guild is waverin’, any move we make now needs to secure our link with them, not sever it. We’ll be annihilated otherwise.” He drops my gaze to look at my wife. “She’ll wind up Hugh’s wife and Venom’ll end up in a grave. Is that what you want?”

“I don’t know you.” My retort is heated. Fuelled by rage and impotence. The man I brought into the hierarchy with me is a stranger. Isaiah Abaddon is the son of the Adjudicator—a secret he kept from the Shamrocks for years. He has sat on knowledge of the underworld while we’ve floundered. The twenty-four-year-old club brother sitting next to me is no normal first year patch. Meeyal’s either a Trinity plant or our greatest asset. “I don’t trust you.”

“I get that.”

Bereft of the energy needed to fight with him, I ask the only other question I have right now, “Will you tell me when it’s done?”

I stare out the side window as I wait for his response.

“Yes.”

Solid in that knowledge, my indefatigable brain calculates the odds of success now that I’m in possession of these new fragments of information, and pieces that I couldn’t fit together before start to fall into place. With Meeyal in the club, the Adjudicator on our side, and my duchess safe in my bed, undoing Brutus’ double-dealings becomes easier.

The transition period from Trinity connected to bonded ally will take time.

As will eradicating the Maddisons from Australasia.

Overall, as a club, we’re in a better position now than we were this morning.

Yet, on a personal level, my life has never been more fucked.

Bebe is potentially pregnant with my child.

My wife has been failed by every man she’s ever trusted.

I broke my promise to keep her safe before the sun had set on our first day of marriage, and tomorrow will only reap more torment on her head. Despite my promise six months ago, I doubt my ability to keep her from drowning. Swimming against the tide is tiring. Battling an ocean of deceit is close to impossible.

As my adrenaline deserts me, I rest my head against the back of the seat. The woman in my arms is the most precious thing in the world to me, yet the universe continues to conspire to take her away. Fear clings to me. Impotence handicaps me. The president’s patch I demanded as part of my own game is tainted by the man who wore it last and smeared by the insurmountable legacy of the club brother who should be wearing it instead of me.

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