Page 56 of The Beast’s Broken Angel
“Your role is strictly observational,” Adrian reminded me for the third time, letting me adjust the communication equipment against his scarred neck.
The casual intimacy of our movements reflected weeks of physical familiarity, bodies navigating shared space with unconscious coordination that spoke of how completely we'd adapted to each other .
“Medical support might be necessary,” I countered, indicating the field kit I'd already prepared alongside his tactical equipment. The transformation from reluctant medical contractor to willing participant in criminal operations should have frightened me more than it did.
The truth was, I'd stopped pretending I had any moral high ground left.
Somewhere between watching Adrian torture Hayes and actively participating in Harrison's downfall, I'd crossed into territory where normal ethical considerations didn't apply.
I was complicit now, fully invested in Adrian's world whether I liked it or not.
“You stay at observation distance,” Adrian said, capturing my chin with unexpected gentleness that contrasted sharply with the weapons strapped to his body. “Non-negotiable. I won't have you in the line of fire when this goes sideways.”
The concern for my safety emerged as command rather than request, yet revealed emotional investment that went deeper than simple possession. Adrian might own me according to our contract, but somewhere along the way, that ownership had become mutual.
“I'm not exactly helpless,” I pointed out, though the protest was half-hearted. “I've been in dangerous situations before.”
“Not like this,” Adrian replied grimly. “Harrison's hired professional killers, not street thugs looking for easy money. These are men who've made careers out of violence, and they'll shoot anything that moves when cornered.”
Viktor's arrival interrupted our discussion, satellite imagery and tactical plans spread across the dining room table like instruments for a very different kind of surgery.
His presence broke the intimate moment, refocusing attention on the operation that would determine whether we survived the night.
“Harrison's brought in external contractors,” Viktor reported, Russian accent thicker with stress. “Military training, expensive equipment. This won't be simple elimination—it's going to be proper warfare.”
The warning should have made me reconsider my involvement, should have triggered whatever survival instincts I had left. Instead, I found myself calculating medical responses to various trauma scenarios, planning field triage for injuries that hadn't happened yet.
When had I become someone who planned medical support for assassinations? When had helping Adrian commit murder become just another Tuesday evening?
“How many men?” Adrian asked, studying thermal imaging that showed armed figures moving through the Camden warehouse like deadly shadows.
“Eight confirmed, possibly more in support positions,” Viktor replied. “They've established overwatch positions, created multiple firing lanes. Professional setup designed to maximise casualties while maintaining escape routes.”
“Good,” Adrian said with savage satisfaction. “Let them think they're prepared.”
I watched Adrian transform from lover to predator, watched the careful masks fall away to reveal the lethal competence underneath.
This was the man who'd built an empire on blood and fear, who'd turned childhood trauma into weapon-grade determination.
The man I'd fallen in love with despite every rational thought in my head.
“Final equipment check,” Adrian said, voice dropping to battlefield calm that made my pulse quicken for entirely inappropriate reasons.
The anticipation in his voice, the predatory excitement barely contained beneath professional composure, should have terrified me. Instead, it sent heat racing through my veins, arousal mixing with adrenaline in ways that confirmed how completely fucked I was.
The drive to Camden felt like a funeral procession, all black cars and grim faces moving through London's streets with deadly purpose.
I rode with Viktor while Adrian took point in the lead vehicle, communication crackling between units as we approached the warehouse district where Harrison thought he'd spring his trap.
“You understand what happens tonight?” Viktor asked quietly, eyes never leaving the tactical display that showed heat signatures moving through the target building. “This is not arrest, not negotiation. This is elimination of threat to family.”
“I understand,” I replied, though understanding and accepting were different things entirely. “Harrison's betrayed Adrian. There's no coming back from that.”
“And you are comfortable with this? Watching man you know die violently?”
The question was blunt, typically Viktor, cutting straight to the moral complexities I'd been avoiding. Was I comfortable with it? Honestly, I didn't know. The old Noah would have been horrified, would have tried to find peaceful solutions or legal alternatives.
But the old Noah had died somewhere between that first night in Adrian's interrogation room and this moment, replaced by someone harder, more pragmatic, infinitely more dangerous.
“Harrison threatened Isabelle,” I said simply. “Threatened to use her against Adrian. That makes it personal.”
Viktor nodded with grim satisfaction. “Family first. Everything else is luxury we cannot afford.”
The convoy stopped three blocks from the target, close enough to respond quickly but far enough to avoid initial casualties if things went wrong immediately. Through my earpiece, I could hear Adrian's voice coordinating final positions, cold professionalism that somehow made my skin burn with want.
“Observation post is that building,” Viktor said, pointing to a converted warehouse with clear sightlines to the target. “Roof access, thermal imaging, medical station if needed. You stay there unless specifically ordered otherwise.”
“And if Adrian gets hurt?” I asked, because the possibility was keeping me from thinking clearly.
“Then you do what you do best,” Viktor replied with dark humor. “But preferably after we've killed everyone trying to hurt him.”
The casual acknowledgment of my role in this bloody tableau should have disturbed me more than it did. Instead, it felt like acceptance, recognition that I belonged here despite everything that said I shouldn't.
As we moved into position, Adrian's voice crackled through my earpiece one final time.
“Remember what I said about staying safe,” he murmured, and I could hear the smile in his voice despite the circumstances.
“Same goes for you,” I replied softly. “Don't do anything stupid just to prove a point.”
“Wouldn't dream of it,” Adrian lied, and we both knew it.
The warehouse district spread below us like a map of violence waiting to unfold, and somewhere in that maze of concrete and steel, Harrison was about to learn exactly what happened when you betrayed the Calloway family.
I settled into position with medical supplies and tactical communications, watching through thermal imaging as Adrian moved through shadows with lethal grace.
The old Noah would have prayed for peaceful resolution.
The new Noah found himself hoping Adrian made it hurt.