Page 19 of The Beast's Broken Angel

“I need to check nerve response patterns,” I explained, picking up a sensory testing tool. “Some parts will feel strange, maybe uncomfortable.”

“I'm familiar with discomfort,” Adrian said dryly.

I started with his left side, the undamaged skin, to establish a baseline. When my gloved fingers brushed across his chest, I noticed his breath catch slightly. Not pain – something else. I kept my face carefully neutral, even as my own pulse picked up.

“Now the scarred areas,” I said, moving to his right side. As I worked, I noticed something odd in the pattern of the worst scarring. The burn damage wasn't random like most fire injuries I'd seen. There were distinct patterns that looked almost... deliberate.

“These weren't all from the same incident,” I said before I could stop myself. “Some of these are different ages.”

Adrian went completely still under my hands. The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees.

“You have an observant eye,” he finally said, his voice dangerously soft. “Most doctors never notice.”

My fingers hovered over a particular section near his collarbone. “This was done later. And it's a different type of burn pattern.”

“Very good, Noah. Yes, some were... additions. Not all received in the original fire.”

The implication hit me like a punch to the gut. Someone had deliberately burned him after the initial injury. Torture, most likely.

“I'm sorry,” I said, the words inadequate but sincere.

“Don't be. They taught me valuable lessons about pain. About control.” His mismatched eyes held mine, searching for something. “Does that change how you see me? Knowing someone did this deliberately?”

My hands were still on his skin, and I suddenly realised how close we were standing. The professional distance I'd been maintaining was slipping, replaced by something far more dangerous.

“It helps me understand you better,” I admitted. “No one survives something like that unchanged.”

“And yet you don't look at me with pity,” Adrian observed, his voice lower now. “That's... unusual.”

“Pity is useless,” I said, forcing myself to continue the examination despite the crackling tension between us. “And insulting to what you've survived.”

Something shifted in Adrian's expression – surprise, maybe even approval.

My fingers traced a particularly severe scar along his ribs, ostensibly testing nerve response, but the touch lingered longer than strictly necessary.

His skin was warm beneath my gloves, and I found myself wondering how it would feel without the latex barrier between us.

The thought shocked me enough that I stepped back, nearly dropping my testing tool.

“Everything all right?” Adrian asked, a knowing glint in his eyes suggesting he'd read my thoughts with disturbing accuracy.

“Fine,” I lied. “Just... connecting some dots about your medical history.”

“And what conclusions are you drawing?”

I met his gaze directly, deciding honesty was safer than pretense.

“That your scars tell a story you don't share with many people. That your previous doctor was missing crucial information because he never asked the right questions. And that proper treatment needs to address both the physical and psychological aspects of what happened to you.”

Adrian's eyes narrowed slightly. “You believe there's a psychological component to my condition?”

“There always is with trauma this severe,” I said. “The body doesn't exist separately from the mind.”

“And you think you can address both?” There was challenge in his voice, but curiosity too.

“I can try,” I said simply. “If you'll let me.”

The moment stretched between us, charged with something that wasn't entirely professional, wasn't entirely adversarial, but existed in some dangerous territory between the two.

“You're different from what I expected,” Adrian finally said, sitting up. “Most people are exactly who they appear to be. You're... not.”

I wasn't sure if that was a compliment or a warning.

“Remember, seven PM for The Raven's Nest,” he said, heading for the door. “Dominic will sort you out with clothes. Don't wear anything that stands out.”

“What exactly am I supposed to be doing there?” I asked, anxiety spiking at the reminder of tonight's mysterious outing.

Adrian paused at the doorway, looking back at me. “Learning. Seeing the full scope of what you've signed up for. ”

“I'm just a Nurse, Adrian.” I said, the words coming out before I could stop them.

His smile was cold as winter. “Labels change, Noah. I was once just a kid. Now I'm something very different. Tonight your education begins in exactly what you've gotten yourself into.”

After he left, I slumped against the examination table, the lingering scent of his cologne mixing with antiseptic.

The morning's examination had left me confused as hell.

Professionally, I was fascinated by his unique case.

Personally, I was repulsed by my captivity.

But there was something else, a disturbing pull toward him that I couldn't quite suppress despite knowing exactly who and what Adrian Calloway was.

I checked my phone, finding a text from Dr. Whitman confirming Isabelle had received her scheduled treatment. That was my lifeline, the reason for all this. My sister was getting the care she needed.

As for tonight's trip to The Raven's Nest, dread pooled in my gut. What nasty aspect of Adrian's empire was I about to witness? And how would it change me to be part of it?

I spent the rest of the day developing Adrian's treatment plan, losing myself in the medicine because it was safer than thinking about everything else.

Lunch arrived at some point, delivered by a silent staff member who seemed afraid to look me in the eye.

I ate without tasting, my mind already at tonight's mysterious appointment.

At six, Dominic appeared to escort me back to my suite, where clothing had been laid out on my bed. Black jeans, a navy button-down shirt, and leather shoes that probably cost more than my monthly rent.

“Mr. Calloway prefers you blend in tonight,” Dominic explained. “The Raven's Nest has a certain clientele. Standing out isn't wise. ”

“What exactly happens at this club?” I asked, picking up the shirt. It was my exact size, of course.

“It's a nightclub,” Dominic said, face carefully blank. “Music. Drinks. Dancing. And other activities.”

“Other activities,” I repeated flatly. “That's why I'm going? For these 'other activities'?”

“Mr. Calloway will explain everything,” Dominic replied, backing toward the door. “Be ready at seven. I'll come get you.”

After a quick shower, I dressed in the provided clothes, which fit perfectly. The mirror showed someone who looked like me but wasn't quite right. Like I was wearing a costume for a role I hadn't auditioned for.

The nerves got worse as seven approached. I'd worked night shifts in London's trauma centres, seen horrific injuries, dealt with violent patients. But nothing had prepared me for the crawling dread of knowing I was about to witness something that would probably change how I saw myself forever.

At seven sharp, Dominic knocked. He led me through Ravenswood's labyrinth to the main hall, where Adrian waited by the front door. He wore a perfectly tailored black suit that made my designer clothes look cheap in comparison, his scarred profile dramatic in the hall's soft lighting.

“Right on time,” Adrian noted, checking his watch.

“Not like I had a choice,” I muttered.

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “There are always choices, Noah. Simply consequences attached to each.”

A sleek black car waited outside, Viktor at the wheel. Adrian gestured for me to get in first, then slid in beside me, his larger frame making the spacious backseat feel suddenly smaller. His cologne, something dark and expensive, filled the enclosed space.

“The Raven's Nest is one of my legitimate businesses,” Adrian explained as we pulled away from Ravenswood. “A nightclub catering to exclusive clientele. But it serves multiple purposes.”

“Money laundering?” I guessed, figuring there was no point pretending I didn't know what kind of man he was.

Adrian didn't seem offended. “Among other things. It's also neutral ground for certain meetings, an information hub, and occasionally a place where problems are solved.”

The way he said “problems are solved” made my stomach clench. We rode in silence for a while, London's lights streaming past the tinted windows. I had a thousand questions but was afraid to ask any of them.

“Your sister's treatment went well today,” Adrian said unexpectedly. “Dr. Whitman reports continued improvement in her markers.”

The mention of Isabelle jerked me from my anxious thoughts. “You spoke to her doctor?”

“I receive daily reports on her condition,” Adrian replied like it was perfectly normal to monitor my sister's medical care. “The foundation funding her treatment requires regular updates.”

“Is that why we're going to this club tonight? Some kind of reminder that you control her treatment so I'd better behave?”

Adrian turned those mismatched eyes on me, one blue, one amber, both unsettlingly intense. “I don't need reminders or threats to ensure your cooperation, Noah. We have a contract. I'm simply integrating you into the full scope of your responsibilities.”

“Which include what, exactly?”

“You'll see,” he said, turning back to the window. “We're almost there.”

The Raven's Nest was in Soho, occupying what looked like a converted theatre. A line of beautiful people waited behind velvet ropes, watched over by security who looked more like special forces than bouncers. Viktor pulled up to a private entrance, where more security waited.

“Stay close to me,” Adrian instructed as we got out. “Don't speak to anyone unless I indicate it's acceptable. Observe. Learn.”

The club interior hit me with a wall of sound and light, bass so deep I felt it in my chest. The main floor was packed with people dancing under shifting coloured lights, while VIP areas on elevated platforms held the beautiful and wealthy drinking champagne and watching the crowd below.

Adrian moved through it all like he owned the place, which I supposed he did.

What struck me most was how people reacted to him.

They didn't recoil from his scars; they practically bowed before them.

Men nodded respectfully, women watched him with hungry eyes.

His disfigurement wasn't a flaw here; it was a badge of power, proof he'd survived something that would have killed most people.

And seeing how people looked at him, I understood something about Adrian I hadn't before. The scars weren't just physical damage. They were armour, a barrier between him and the world, a warning to others and a constant reminder to himself of whatever had happened to him.

“This way,” Adrian said close to my ear, the proximity sending an unwelcome shiver down my spine. He guided me toward the back of the club, past VIP areas to a private elevator guarded by two men who stepped aside without a word when they saw him approaching.

The elevator required a retinal scan and fingerprint from Adrian before its doors opened. Inside, there were no buttons, just a panel that lit up at his touch. As we descended, my heart hammered against my ribs.

“Whatever you're about to show me,” I said quietly, “it won't change anything. I signed your contract for Isabelle. That's my only reason for being here.”

Adrian met my eyes in the elevator's mirrored wall. “Reasons fade, Noah. Actions are what remain. You're here. The why becomes less important with each passing day.”

The elevator opened onto a stark contrast to the hedonistic club above. Clinical white tiles, harsh lighting, and an antiseptic smell that triggered my nurse's instincts even as my stomach clenched with dread.

In the centre of the room, a bloodied man hung from ceiling restraints, his face so swollen I could barely make out his features. Viktor stood nearby at a metal table, arranging items I recognised from my medical training, though they weren't being used for healing here.

“This is Jamie Parker,” Adrian said calmly as we entered. “He's been selling drugs in my club. Drugs that killed two patrons last week.”

My mouth went dry as Adrian removed his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves with methodical movements. His scarred forearms flexed as he selected something from Viktor's tray.

“Tonight you watch,” Adrian told me, his voice chillingly matter-of-fact. “Tomorrow you may need to treat his wounds. Consider this part of your orientation.”

I wanted to run, to scream, to protest. But the elevator doors had closed behind us, and I knew with sickening certainty that there was nowhere to go. The gap between the nurse I'd been and whatever Adrian needed me to become yawned before me like an abyss.

“I don't...” I started, then stopped, not sure what I even wanted to say.

“You don't what, Noah?” Adrian asked, turning those intense eyes on me. “You don't approve? You don't want to watch? You don't think he deserves punishment for killing innocent people with tainted drugs?”

I had no answer. The moral complexity was dizzying. The man had apparently caused deaths. But this wasn't justice; it was revenge, private and brutal.

“I'm a healer,” I finally said. “This goes against everything I believe.”

“And yet you're here,” Adrian replied. “For your sister. We all compromise for those we love.”

He turned back to Parker, who moaned through swollen lips as Adrian approached. “Watch or don't watch. But understand this is part of my world. The world you've entered willingly, eyes open, for Isabelle's sake.”