Page 21 of The Beast’s Broken Angel

The shirt was beyond saving, soaked through, the blood already drying into stiff patterns. I tossed it into the bin meant for that purpose and caught sight of myself in the bathroom mirror—scarred, half-shadowed under harsh lights, water already steaming on the tiles behind me.

I stepped into the shower and turned the heat until the water threatened to blister. Pain helped me focus. Pain reminded me I was still in control.

The water hit my skin and I exhaled through my teeth, my hand braced against the tile as steam rose thick around me. I let it scald away the scent of blood, but it couldn’t burn out the memory of Noah’s eyes—wide with fury, dark with something he didn’t understand yet.

He had challenged me. Not with weapons, not with words. With will. And God help me, it made me hard.

My hand drifted down without thought, fingers curling around my cock, already half-hard just from remembering the curve of Noah’s mouth when he spat defiance instead of submission.

He was beautiful in his resistance. Strong jaw clenched, throat tight with suppressed rage. That mouth—full and trembling with all the things he wanted to say but knew better than to voice. I wanted it wrapped around me. I wanted to hear him choke on it, pride and breath both.

I stroked slowly at first, teasing the edge of sensation as I imagined him on his knees, hands bound behind his back, still glaring up at me like he hadn’t already lost.

But he had lost. He just didn’t know it yet.

I’d take my time breaking him down. Strip away every layer of armour, every sharp retort, until all that was left was the sound of his voice—cracked and breathless—as he begged to be touched. To be claimed.

The image hit me hard.

I pumped faster, groaning low as I imagined his lips parting, soft and wet around the head of my cock, eyes glassy with heat and hate and confusion.

He’d try not to give me the satisfaction.

He’d fail. Because I’d make him want it.

I'd turn that moral fire into moans and gasps, fuck the righteousness out of him until all he could do was feel .

I could almost taste him. Salt and heat and stubborn pride.

My hips jerked forward, thrusting into my own hand as the water poured down my back.

The fantasy tightened like a fist around my spine—Noah pinned to the bed, legs spread, bruises blooming down his throat, his body slick with sweat as he arched into me despite himself.

Crying out when I hit the spot he didn’t want to admit he craved. Writhing. Needy. Perfect.

I grunted, the sound ragged, echoing in the shower as I came, hot pulses spilling over my fist and onto the tile. My breath shuddered out of me, chest heaving.

I leaned back against the wall, letting the water run over me as I caught my breath. My skin prickled under the heat, nerves twitching, especially along the damaged side. Numb, but not completely.

My phone chimed from the bedroom as I stepped from the shower, wrapping a towel around my waist. Harrison's text glowed on the screen:

Harrison

Vega making moves in Camden territory. Three locations compromised. Requires immediate response.

Pulling on a fresh shirt, I acknowledged an uncomfortable truth: my interest in Noah had moved beyond his medical skills. Something about him disrupted my carefully maintained control, triggered responses I hadn't felt in years. Dangerous, potentially, but also...invigorating.

I left my quarters, heading toward the east wing where Noah had been installed.

The house was quiet at this hour, most staff retired for the night, security running silent patterns through darkened corridors.

My position granted me access to any room in Ravenswood, including those assigned to staff and guests.

Privacy was a privilege I extended or withdrew at will.

Noah's door opened silently to my key card.

The suite was dark except for a small lamp beside the bed, illuminating his sleeping form.

He hadn't even changed from his clothes, apparently having collapsed onto the bed fully dressed upon returning from The Raven's Nest. Exhaustion and emotional overload had claimed him despite his best intentions to remain vigilant.

I approached silently, studying him in the soft light.

Without the barriers of consciousness, his face appeared younger, the stress lines smoothed away by sleep.

His breathing was deep and even, one arm thrown above his head in unconscious vulnerability.

The position exposed the slender column of his throat where I'd touched him earlier, the pulse point that had jumped beneath my fingers.

The intimacy of watching someone sleep uninvited should have felt invasive, perhaps even distasteful. Instead, I found myself cataloguing details with almost hungry attention.

A small sound escaped him, not quite a word but a soft exhalation that might have been distress. Dreams, perhaps, processing the day's trauma. I found myself wanting to touch him, to smooth away that furrow between his brows, to claim some part of his unconscious vulnerability for myself.

The desire was unexpected and unwelcome, a complication I hadn't anticipated when arranging his acquisition. Medical skill and leverage over his sister's treatment had been my only considerations. This... this was something else entirely.

Noah needed to come to me willingly, to choose submission rather than have it forced upon him. Only then would the victory be complete and satisfying.

The realization that I wanted him—not just his compliance, but him specifically—caught me off guard.

I'd had relationships before, mostly transactional arrangements with women and men who wanted my power more than my touch.

This hunger for Noah felt different, deeper, more dangerous than simple physical attraction.

I left his room as silently as I'd entered.

Camden territory and Vega's incursion awaited my attention, business that would require bloodier tools than those used on Parker tonight.

Yet as I walked through Ravenswood's silent corridors toward the garage where Dominic would be waiting, my thoughts remained oddly fixed on the sleeping man I'd left behind.

Noah had survived his first test, maintaining his core self despite witnessing brutality designed to break such resistance.

Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new boundaries to test. The treatment protocol for my scars would begin, placing us in close physical proximity for extended periods.

His hands on my damaged flesh, my power over his future—a dance of control and surrender with steps neither of us fully understood yet.

The Camden situation required personal attention rather than delegation. I found Dominic waiting in the garage, the engine of an unmarked Range Rover already running.

“Three locations compromised,” he reported as I slid into the back seat. “The betting shop on Parkway, the distribution center near the market, and the storage facility by the canal. Coordinated attacks, professional execution.”

“Vega's getting bold,” I observed, checking the Glock in my shoulder holster. “Or stupid.”

“Bit of both, I reckon,” Dominic replied, navigating out of Ravenswood's grounds. “Roberto's losing control of the younger faction. Word is his nephew's behind this push.”

“The nephew missing a finger,” I recalled. Our last encounter with the Vega family had ended with a severed digit delivered as a message. Clearly, the lesson hadn't taken.

“Michael Vega,” Dominic confirmed. “Twenty-six, military background, dishonorable discharge for excessive force during an operation in Syria. Thinks his uncle's methods are outdated.”

“He may be right about that much,” I said, watching London's nightscape blur past. “Roberto's always been cautious to a fault.”

“Want me to call in additional security for Ravenswood?” Dominic asked, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror with professional paranoia. “If they're getting aggressive, might target your personal assets.”

My thoughts immediately went to Noah, sleeping unaware of this escalating conflict. “Double the night patrol. Add Viktor to residential security when he finishes at The Raven's Nest. No chances.”

“What about your new doctor?” Dominic asked, a carefully neutral tone that didn't quite hide his curiosity. “He held up better than expected tonight.”

“He did,” I agreed, recalling the defiance in Noah's eyes even after witnessing Parker's execution. “He's...interesting.”

Dominic raised an eyebrow but didn't comment further. He'd been with me long enough to read between lines I didn't speak aloud .

The Camden situation would require swift, decisive action—a clear message that territory violations carried immediate consequences. Blood would flow tonight, bodies would disappear, and by morning, the Vegas would be retreating to lick their wounds and bury their dead.

Yet beneath the tactical planning and cold calculations of necessary violence, my mind kept circling back to Noah's sleeping form, to the unexpected desire to touch him in that unguarded moment, to the strange tension that had flared between us in my office.

Complications I hadn't anticipated when bringing him into my world. Complications that might prove dangerous to us both if not carefully managed.

As we approached Camden, I pushed those thoughts aside, focusing on the immediate requirements of violence and territory defense. There would be time to unravel the Noah Hastings puzzle later. For now, blood demanded blood, and I had never been one to disappoint when such debts came due.