Page 60 of The Beast's Broken Angel

SHATTERED TRUST

ADRIAN

I woke to the taste of betrayal, metallic and bitter on my tongue.

The sedative Noah had pumped into my system left me groggy, weak, fucking useless.

Everything felt wrong. The ceiling above me wasn't Ravenswood's familiar architecture.

The sheets beneath me weren't Egyptian cotton.

Even the air tasted different, recycled and sterile like a hospital.

No. Not a hospital. One of my safehouses. The recognition crept in slowly, followed by the full weight of what had happened.

Noah had drugged me. The bastard had actually drugged me.

“You're awake.” His voice came from somewhere to my left, carefully neutral like he was dealing with any other patient. “Shoulder's clean. No major tissue damage. You'll have full mobility once the inflammation goes down.”

I tried to sit up, but my body moved like I was swimming through treacle. The rage that followed burned hot enough to clear some of the pharmaceutical fog from my brain. “You had no fucking right. ”

“You're alive,” he countered, still keeping his distance. Smart man. “That's what matters.”

“What matters?” I forced myself upright despite the spinning room, despite the fire in my shoulder where shrapnel had torn through during the explosion. “I finally had him. Finally had the chance to watch him die. And you took that from me.”

Noah didn't flinch. Didn't apologise. Just stood there in blood-stained scrubs with that maddening clinical detachment he wore like armour. “Harrison's extraction team had you pinned. Another minute, maybe two, and you'd have been Swiss cheese. Dead men don't get revenge, Adrian.”

“Better dead with Harrison than alive without him!” The words ripped from my throat, raw and honest in a way I'd never allowed myself to be. Not with anyone. Certainly not with him.

But Noah just tilted his head, studying me like I was a particularly interesting case study. “Is that really what you believe? That your life is worth less than his death?”

“You don't understand.” I swung my legs over the bed's edge, ignoring the way the room tilted.

“You didn't hear them. My mother's screams. My father begging.

You didn't smell your own flesh burning while the man who orchestrated it all got to play the hero, pulling you from the flames he fucking set.”

Noah's expression finally cracked, something flickering behind those hazel eyes. Pity? Understanding? It didn't matter. I didn't want either from him.

“Get Viktor,” I ordered, voice dropping to the dangerous quiet that made hardened killers step back. “And Dominic if he's mobile. We have a war to plan.”

“Adrian—”

“That's Mr. Calloway to you.” The words came out colder than London frost. “You're still under contract, Mr. Hastings. Your medical services are required. Anything beyond that is no longer on the table. ”

I watched him absorb the dismissal, saw the tiny flinch he couldn't quite hide. Good. Let him feel a fraction of what his betrayal had cost me.

He left without another word, and I was alone with my fury and the phantom taste of sedatives on my tongue.

The operational briefing took place in the safehouse's reinforced basement, a room designed for exactly this kind of catastrophic failure.

Concrete walls thick enough to stop artillery.

Communications equipment that could reach my contacts anywhere in the world.

And enough weapons to arm a small revolution.

My surviving lieutenants looked like they'd been through a meat grinder.

Dominic sported enough bandages to outfit a small hospital, courtesy of Noah's battlefield medicine.

Viktor favoured his right leg heavily, though he stood at attention like the soldier he'd always be.

The others bore various wounds, reminders of how badly I'd miscalculated Harrison's resources.

“Talk,” I commanded, settling into the head chair despite the screaming protest from my shoulder.

“Harrison's extraction was professional,” Viktor reported, tactical assessment cutting through emotion. “Military coordination. Government-grade equipment. We counted at least thirty operatives, possibly more in reserve.”

“Thirty.” I let the number sink in. “Where does a financial advisor get thirty military contractors?”

“He doesn't,” Dominic growled, his usual good humour replaced by pain-fuelled anger. “Someone's backing him. Someone big.”

I'd known it, of course. Had suspected for months that Harrison's ambitions extended beyond simple embezzlement. But confirmation still tasted like ash in my mouth.

“Dominic,” I said, studying the bandages wrapped around his torso. “How are you feeling? Honestly. ”

He shifted uncomfortably, clearly not expecting the question. “I'll live, boss. Noah did good work on the surgery.”

“That's not what I asked.” My voice carried that particular tone that made grown men confess their sins. Not harsh, but absolutely unyielding. “You took shrapnel to protect my interests. The least I can do is ensure you're properly cared for.”

“Few weeks of recovery, maybe less if I don't do anything stupid,” Dominic admitted, touched by the concern despite himself.

I turned to Viktor, noting how he favoured his right leg. “And you?”

“Functional,” he replied in his typical economical way.

“Viktor.” The single word carried decades of partnership, of battles fought side by side. “I need you at full capacity for what's coming. If you're compromised?—”

“Leg hurts like bastard,” he conceded, something almost like a smile ghosting across his scarred features. “But I've had worse. Will not slow us down.”

The admission satisfied me more than his initial deflection. These men had bled for our family, had stood between my enemies and everything I'd built. Their welfare wasn't just practical consideration—it was personal responsibility.

“Good,” I said, letting warmth creep into my voice for just a moment before the ice returned. “Because when we find Harrison, I want you both there to watch him pay for every drop of blood he's cost us.”

The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees as my tone shifted from protective concern to something altogether more dangerous. Both men straightened unconsciously, recognizing the promise of violence that lay beneath the civilized words.

“Double security at all properties,” I continued, the caring employer replaced by cold calculation. “Recall our international assets. Liquidate what we need to for operational funding. And find out who else is backing Harrison. I want names, connections, the whole fucking web.”

“What about the medical situation?” Dominic asked carefully, not quite meeting my eyes. “Noah saved a lot of our people last night.”

“Noah will continue his contracted duties,” I replied, ice in every syllable. “Medical treatment only. His... other privileges have been revoked.”

Something passed between my lieutenants, a silent communication I chose to ignore. They'd seen Noah and me over the past weeks, had drawn their own conclusions about our evolving relationship. Those conclusions were no longer relevant.

“Dismissed,” I said. “Except you, Viktor.”

The room emptied quickly, wounded men eager to escape the arctic atmosphere I projected. Only Viktor remained, patient and watchful as always.

“You have something to say?” I prompted when the silence stretched.

“The medical professional saved your life,” he observed carefully. “At considerable personal risk.”

“He betrayed my trust.”

“He acted from care.” Viktor shifted slightly, choosing words with unusual delicacy. “In my country, we have saying: 'Love makes fools of wise men and wise men of fools.'”

“Love?” The word tasted foreign, dangerous. “This isn't a fucking romance novel, Viktor. He's a contracted employee who overstepped boundaries.”

“Da,” Viktor agreed. “Employee who ran into active firefight to treat wounded. Who chose your life over his safety. Who looks at you like...” He paused, clearly struggling with emotional territory he usually avoided. “Like you matter more than contract terms.”

“Enough.” The command came out harsher than intended. “Focus on Harrison. Everything else is irrelevant.”

Viktor nodded, but I caught his expression before he turned away. Disappointment mixed with something that might have been pity. From anyone else, I'd have put a bullet in them for that look. From Viktor, I had to endure it.

Because maybe, in some part of my mind I refused to acknowledge, he was right.

I returned to Ravenswood like a conquering king nursing hidden wounds.

The ancestral estate had been transformed into a fortress that would make Harrison's government facility look like a garden party.

Guard posts at every entrance. Patrols with military precision.

Electronic surveillance that could track a mouse across the grounds.

Overkill? Perhaps. But I'd underestimated one enemy. I wouldn't make that mistake again.

The house itself felt different. Colder. As if Noah's absence had stripped warmth from rooms that had never been particularly welcoming. I found myself avoiding the medical suite, the formal dining room where we'd shared breakfasts, his quarters in the east wing that still held his scent.

Fucking pathetic.

I buried myself in tactical planning instead.

Maps covered my study walls, Harrison's known associates marked with red string like a conspiracy theorist's wet dream.

Financial records going back decades. Political connections mapped with obsessive detail.

The web of his betrayal spread wider than I'd imagined, tentacles reaching into Parliament, the Met, even the bloody Foreign Office.

“You've not eaten.” Sophia's voice cut through my concentration. My grandmother stood in the doorway, dignity intact despite her advanced years and recent chaos. “Or slept, from the look of you.”

“I'm fine.”