Page 36 of The Beast’s Broken Angel

“You think killing solves nothing?” I asked softly, letting my voice drop to barely above a whisper. “Yet you stood there and watched me break a man piece by piece. Didn't look away once, did you, Noah? ”

His sharp intake of breath was audible in the confined space. “That was different. I was?—”

“Aroused?” I finished for him, watching the colour drain from his face before flooding back in a wave of crimson. “Did you think I couldn't tell? The way your breathing changed, the way you kept shifting your weight, the way you couldn't decide whether to watch Hayes or watch me work?”

“You're fucking mental,” Noah breathed, but he didn't step back. Didn't break eye contact. Didn't deny what we both knew was true.

“Am I?” I reached up slowly, giving him every opportunity to pull away, and brushed my thumb across his lower lip. The touch sent shockwaves through both of us, his sharp exhale warm against my skin. “Or are you finally understanding what you really want?”

The moment stretched between us like a taut wire, electric with possibility and danger. Noah's pupils were dilated, his breathing shallow, caught between revulsion and attraction in a way that made my blood sing.

“We can't,” Noah whispered, though his body language suggested otherwise. “Not here. Not like this.”

I stepped back reluctantly, recognizing the wisdom in his words even as my body protested the distance. Hayes hung unconscious in his chains, breathing steadily but deeply sedated. He'd remain that way for hours.

“You're right,” I acknowledged. “This isn't the place.”

I moved toward the door, Noah following without argument though I caught him glancing back at Hayes' suspended form with something that might have been concern. The healer's instincts warring with whatever darker impulses our confrontation had awakened.

We climbed the concrete stairs in charged silence, the weight of unfinished business hanging between us like smoke. The main floor felt almost surreal after the basement's oppressive atmosphere—marble and mahogany replacing concrete and steel, civilization masking the brutality that lurked beneath.

“The library,” I decided as we reached the east wing. “We need to review Harrison's communications, find patterns that might reveal his network.”

“Adrian,” Noah said as we walked, his voice carrying new understanding. “What you did down there?—”

“Was necessary,” I finished. “Hayes had information we needed. Information that could save lives.”

“I know,” Noah said quietly. “That's what disturbs me. I know, and part of me... part of me understands why you had to do it.”

The admission lingered in the air as we entered the library, heavy with implications neither of us was ready to fully explore. Whatever line we'd been approaching in the basement, we'd crossed something else entirely.

I settled behind the mahogany desk, pulling up Harrison's encrypted files on the secure terminal.

Financial transfers, communication logs, travel records—a digital paper trail that would hopefully reveal the extent of his network.

Noah positioned himself at the window, ostensibly watching the grounds but I could see his reflection in the glass, the way his eyes kept drifting back to me.

“The transfers started a couple of days ago,” I said, breaking the silence that had grown thick with unspoken tension. “Small amounts at first, probably testing the system. Then larger sums as confidence grew.”

Noah moved closer to review the data, close enough that I could smell his skin, feel the heat radiating from his body. “The timing coincides with your grandfather’s illness,” he observed. “When security protocols might have been more flexible.”

“Harrison's been planning this for years,” I confirmed. “Waiting for the right moment of vulnerability.”

We worked in relative quiet for several minutes, mapping connections and identifying patterns in Harrison's communications. The scope of his betrayal was staggering—not just financial theft, but systematic intelligence gathering that had compromised nearly every aspect of our operations.

“Look at this,” Noah said, leaning over my shoulder to point at a particular transaction.

His proximity sent heat racing through my veins, the scent of his skin mixing with the leather and wood polish of the library.

“Payment to a private medical facility in Switzerland. Dated three days before Hayes approached me about the job.”

The connection was damning. Harrison hadn't just recruited Hayes—he'd arranged for medical leverage, ensuring compliance through threats to the one thing Hayes valued most. His daughter's experimental treatment, held hostage to guarantee cooperation.

“Bastard,” I breathed, anger building at the calculated manipulation. “He knew exactly which pressure points to exploit.”

“Just like he tried to exploit yours,” Noah said quietly. “Using me as the weapon to turn you against yourself.”

I turned in the chair to face him, struck by the parallel. Harrison had orchestrated everything with surgical precision—recruiting Hayes through medical blackmail, positioning Noah as an unwitting pawn, then attempting to use my growing attachment against my judgment.

“Did it work?” Noah asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “Did he succeed in turning you against yourself?”

The question echoed in the silence between us, carrying implications that stretched well beyond Harrison’s manipulation.

The truth wasn’t as simple as betrayal or loyalty.

Harrison had managed to unearth something I’d been trying to ignore—the depth of my feelings for Noah, and the way those feelings unsettled my usual, calculated composure.

“Yes,” I admitted. “But not in the way he intended.”

Noah's expression shifted, understanding dawning in his hazel eyes. “Adrian?—”

“Five minutes,” Viktor's voice crackled through the intercom, urgent with the kind of stress that meant blood was about to spill. “Hayes broke containment during shift change. Two guards down—killed with improvised weapons. He's injured but functional and has taken their equipment.”

The interruption shattered whatever moment had been building between us, harsh reality intruding on charged atmosphere. I was on my feet immediately, muscle memory taking over as my mind shifted into tactical mode.

“How?” I demanded, speaking into the intercom.

“Improvised lockpick from medical equipment,” Viktor replied. “Caught the guards during shift change. Used broken glass as weapon. Professional technique despite his condition.”

Hayes might have been broken during interrogation, but he was still a trained operative with survival instincts. The fact that he'd managed to escape while injured spoke to either desperation or external assistance.

“Security protocol seven,” I ordered. “Full lockdown. No one enters or leaves without my direct authorization.”

“Already implemented,” Viktor confirmed. “Perimeter teams are in position. Hayes won't reach the estate boundaries.”

I turned to find Noah watching me with something that might have been admiration—or concern.

“You need to stay here,” I told him, my tone leaving no room for argument. “Hayes knows you were involved in his interrogation. That makes you a target.”

Noah straightened, jaw tense. “I can handle myself. ”

“Not against a desperate operative with nothing left to lose.” I moved to the gun safe concealed behind the bookshelf, unlocking it with practiced efficiency. “Hayes has killed before tonight. He’ll do it again if it means escape or revenge.”

The weight of the Glock was familiar—comforting in its deadly simplicity. I’d hoped never to need firearms within Ravenswood’s walls, but hope was a luxury I couldn’t afford with enemies inside the perimeter.

Ravenswood's manicured grounds had transformed into a killing field within minutes of my orders.

Security teams moved through carefully maintained gardens with tactical coordination, sweeping sectors with methodical thoroughness while thermal imaging tracked heat signatures through ancient trees and ornamental hedges.

The estate's beauty became predatory in darkness, every shadow concealing potential death.

I moved alone through the east conservatory, following the blood trail Hayes had left like breadcrumbs through a fairy tale. The bastard was wounded but functional, desperation driving him toward the estate's perimeter with single-minded determination.

The night air carried the scent of jasmine and impending violence, a combination that reminded me why I'd chosen this life over the sterile safety of legitimate business.

The hunt was primal satisfaction, predator tracking wounded prey through familiar territory where every shadow offered potential ambush.

Hayes' blood showed steady drops along white gravel paths, suggesting Viktor's men had wounded him during his escape.

The wound would slow him, compromise his thinking, force increasingly desperate decisions as blood loss accumulated.

Each drop told a story of panic and pain, of a professional operative reduced to animal desperation.

My phone buzzed with updates from the security teams. “Perimeter secure.”

“No movement detected at north fence.”

“Blood trail leads toward groundskeeper's cottage.”

The reports painted a picture of systematic pursuit, the net tightening around wounded prey with methodical inevitability.

Of course he'd chosen the cottage. It offered shelter, medical supplies, potential weapons.

Hayes was thinking tactically despite his wounds, falling back on training that had kept him alive through previous operations.

Unfortunately for him, this wasn't foreign soil where backup might materialise.

This was my domain, where every stone and tree branch served my purposes.

I signalled Viktor to maintain overwatch while I approached the cottage alone, drawing my gun with movements made smooth through countless repetitions.

The grip felt familiar in my scarred palm, weight balanced perfectly for combat shooting in close quarters.

The weapon was an extension of my will, death waiting to be unleashed at my discretion.

Blood smeared the cottage door handle, confirming Hayes' location with casual arrogance. The man was trapped, wounded, and running out of options. Time to end this particular comedy of errors.

The cottage interior smelled of copper and fear when I entered, weapon trained on the figure huddled behind an overturned table.

Hayes had fashioned crude field dressing from torn curtains, stemming the worst of his bleeding while maintaining enough mobility to be dangerous.

His face was grey with blood loss, intelligence operative training warring with basic human survival instinct.

“Your intelligence gathering targeted Harrison specifically,” I stated without preamble, keeping my pistol steady while cataloguing potential threats. “How long have you suspected him?”

Hayes looked up with resignation replacing the desperate calculation that had carried him this far. His breathing was laboured, each word costing him precious energy he couldn't afford to waste.

“Three years investigating financial anomalies,” he admitted, abandoning any pretence of cover story.

“Blackwood's network extends beyond criminal enterprise. Political influence, judicial manipulation, money laundering through legitimate businesses. We needed evidence of his connection to the Calloway organisation.”

I absorbed this confirmation of suspicions I'd harboured for months, puzzle pieces clicking into place with satisfying finality.

Harrison's reaction to Noah's arrival, his eagerness to provide intelligence that incriminated my healer, his subtle attempts to control information flow during crisis situations.

All of it made sense now, viewed through the lens of long-term betrayal.

“We thought Noah's position would provide perfect opportunity for intelligence gathering,” Hayes continued, voice growing weaker as shock set in. “But Blackwood...” He coughed, blood speckling his lips. “Blackwood's been playing a longer game than any of us realised.”

The cottage fell silent except for Hayes' laboured breathing and the distant sounds of security teams maintaining perimeter. Through grimy windows, I could see Viktor's silhouette against moonlight, assault rifle ready for whatever orders I might give.

“Harrison orchestrated the entire operation,” I said, understanding flooding through me like revelation. “The Turner attack, the fabricated evidence against Noah, even your capture tonight. All designed to eliminate threats to his position while maintaining plausible deniability. ”

Hayes managed a weak laugh that turned into another coughing fit. “Blackwood's been an asset for twenty years. Patient, methodical, absolutely ruthless when threatened. Your family never stood a chance once he decided to move against you.”

The enormity of Harrison's betrayal settled over me like lead blanket, twenty years of trust and collaboration revealed as elaborate deception.

The man who'd saved my life as a child, who'd guided our family through crisis and prosperity, who'd been present for every major decision since my parents' death.

All of it performance. All of it manipulation designed to position himself for eventual takeover of everything we'd built.