Page 34 of The Beast's Broken Angel
“He’ll hate me for a while,” I agreed. “But hate is clean. It burns out. Loyalty is what stays.”
Viktor studied me, his expression unreadable. “You want loyalty, you must give something back. Even a dog knows this.”
“I gave him a choice,” I said quietly, almost to myself. “He could have said no.”
Viktor’s mouth quirked, just barely. “Nyet. Not really. We never have choice, not with men like us.”
For a moment, neither of us spoke. I let my hand rest on Viktor’s shoulder, feeling the old familiar weight of a comrade’s presence.
“Watch him for me,” I said. “If he tries to run, stop him. If he tries to hurt himself?—”
“I know what to do.” Viktor’s reply was gentle for a man like him, but his eyes were as hard as ice.
As I turned to leave, Viktor spoke again, voice softer, almost paternal. “You did not go easy on him.”
“I couldn’t,” I answered. “Not with Harrison watching. Not with the stakes.”
Viktor nodded, understanding all the words I didn’t say. “Still. You care. That is problem for men like us.”
I paused, but didn’t answer. Instead, I climbed the concrete steps to the upper levels, mind already turning toward Harrison’s treachery, and the deeper betrayals still hidden in the dark.
Three hours later, I stood behind bulletproof glass watching the Turner distribution centre burn, tactical teams systematically eliminating security personnel with military precision.
The warehouse complex had been the heart of their heroin operation, the financial engine that funded their delusions of empire.
Now it was a towering inferno visible from half of South London, sending a message that would resonate throughout the criminal underworld.
“Seventeen confirmed kills,” Viktor reported, bloody handprint staining the tablet he presented for my review. “We found their financial records before initiating burn protocol. The Turner brothers were indeed puppets, receiving funding through multiple shell corporations.”
I studied the intricate money trail documentation, recognising sophisticated financial architecture that few criminals could construct independently.
The routing techniques were deliberately misleading, designed to obscure the true source of funding while maintaining plausible deniability for the real puppet masters.
“Professional level work,” I observed, noting the complexity of the offshore banking structures. “Whoever's backing them has serious resources and long-term strategic thinking.”
Harrison's arrival drew my attention, his impeccable suit incongruous against the backdrop of tactical violence playing out in the warehouse below. Smoke and flames painted the night sky in shades of orange and red, the apocalyptic glow reflecting off the glass walls of my observation post.
“The Turner situation is contained,” he announced with satisfied authority, apparently unaware that his world was about to collapse around him. “Isaiah Turner is being held at the secondary location as requested. Michael Turner unfortunately expired during acquisition. ”
The casual dismissal of human life was typical Harrison, reducing violence to clinical terminology that sanitised the brutality of our methods.
I'd once found his detachment admirable, a necessary buffer between conscience and the requirements of our business.
Now it struck me as obscenely calculated.
“Prepare Isaiah for questioning,” I instructed Marcus, who had returned from the Turner operation with blood on his tactical gear. “And bring Dr. Jonathan Hayes to Ravenswood immediately. I want Noah present for his interview.”
The mention of Hayes was a test, a probe to gauge Harrison's reaction to the introduction of another variable into our equation. His response was subtle but telling.
Very fucking interesting indeed.
“Hayes?” Harrison inquired with carefully modulated curiosity. “The trauma surgeon from Noah's former hospital? May I ask why his presence is required?”
“Background verification,” I replied vaguely, watching his face for additional tells. “Noah's colleague might provide useful intelligence about potential recruitment attempts, foreign contacts, unusual behaviour patterns.”
Harrison nodded as if the explanation made perfect sense, but I caught the slight relaxation in his posture that suggested relief at the mundane explanation. He'd been worried about a different reason for Hayes's involvement, something more directly threatening to his position.
“Of course,” he agreed. “Thorough investigation of all potential leads is essential. Should I coordinate the extraction through our usual channels?”
“Viktor will handle it personally,” I decided, noting the brief flash of disappointment before Harrison masked it. He wanted involvement in Hayes's capture, wanted control over the information flow from that interrogation. Another red flag to add to the growing collection.
“Excellent,” Harrison replied smoothly. “I'll prepare a comprehensive briefing on Hayes's background while Viktor coordinates the tactical aspects. Leave no stone unturned, as they say.”
His eagerness to provide background intelligence on Hayes was particularly suspicious given his earlier reluctance to dig too deeply into Noah's history.
The man who'd assembled a comprehensive case against my healer in less than twenty-four hours was suddenly offering thorough investigation of a peripheral figure.
The pattern was becoming clear. Harrison wanted to control the narrative, to shape my understanding of events through carefully curated information that supported his preferred conclusions. The master manipulator was still trying to direct the dance, unaware that the music had already stopped.
“That won't be necessary,” I said, turning away from the warehouse flames to face him directly. “I have other sources for Hayes's background. Your time would be better spent reviewing our security protocols, identifying vulnerabilities that allowed the Turner infiltration.”
The dismissal was subtle but unmistakable, and Harrison's reaction confirmed my growing suspicions. Frustration flickered across his features before disappearing behind his professional mask, the brief lapse revealing depths of anger and resentment I'd never seen before.
Twenty years of careful manipulation, and his control was finally slipping. The puppet master was discovering that his strings had been cut, leaving him exposed and vulnerable for the first time in decades.
Soon, very fucking soon, Harrison would learn exactly what happened to those who betrayed the Calloway family. And Noah would be there to witness every moment of his reckoning.