Page 71 of The Beast's Broken Angel
The vulnerability in his admission made my chest tight. “What changed?”
“You.” He looked at me then, those mismatched eyes holding something raw and unguarded. “You make me remember who I was before the scars. Before the anger. Before I became what Harrison shaped me into.”
He sat on the bench, hands hovering over the keys like he was afraid they might burn him. “I used to play for hours. Mozart, mostly. Some Chopin when I was feeling ambitious.” A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Mum said I had the touch for it. That music was in my blood.”
“Play for me,” I said softly, settling beside him on the bench. “Please.”
Adrian's hands trembled slightly as they finally found the keys. The first notes were hesitant, uncertain, but then muscle memory took over and the music flowed. It was Mozart—something achingly beautiful and melancholy that filled the small space with pure emotion.
I watched his scarred fingers move across the keys with impossible grace, watched the tension leave his shoulders as the music carried him somewhere beyond the violence and darkness that defined his days. This was Adrian as he might have been—should have been—before trauma reshaped him into a weapon.
When the piece ended, silence settled between us like a blessing.
“It's been so long,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion. “I thought I'd forgotten how.”
“You could never forget something that beautiful,” I said, my hand finding his on the keys. “It's part of who youare. The real you.”
He turned to look at me, and I saw tears threatening at the corners of his eyes. “You see things in me that I thought were dead.”
“They were never dead,” I corrected. “Just buried. Waiting for the right moment to breathe again.”
Adrian stood slowly, fingers sliding from the keys like he was releasing something sacred. The silence between us pulsed—too full, too fragile—until he reached out, tracing his thumb along my cheek, a ghost of a touch that left me trembling.
“Come with me,” he said, voice low and taut, as though any louder and it might break.
We slipped back into his room, the familiar shadows and softness now charged with something darker. The moment the door closed behind us, the air changed—thicker, waiting.
I froze. Someone was already there.
Viktor.
He sat in Adrian’s chair, impossibly at ease for a man his size, legs sprawled, fingers steepled. For a wild second, I thought I’d walked into the wrong room.
My pulse stuttered. “What—” The question snagged in my throat, raw and half-formed.
Viktor’s gaze flicked up, as lazy as a lion waking. There was no surprise in his expression. He’d been waiting for us. Waiting forme.
A sick, weightless feeling dropped into my stomach. I looked at Adrian, searching for explanation, for reassurance, for anything except the cold calculation I found instead.
He didn’t give me time to protest.
Viktor rose to his feet, moving with that predatory confidence that always left me off-balance. The dark gleam in his eyes promised trouble.
Adrian didn’t hesitate. “Both of you. Undress. Now.”
The command made my blood run hot. Viktor strippedwith calm efficiency, eyes on me the whole time, and as each layer came off, it was impossible not to stare. Underneath the expensive suit was a body that looked built for violence—broad chest dusted with dark hair, thick slabs of muscle over his shoulders and arms, old scars scoring his skin like battle trophies. His stomach was flat and hard, a trail of hair leading down to where his cock hung heavy and thick, already hard. Everything about him was big—hands, thighs, the dark ink swirling over one bicep, the cocky set of his jaw as he watched me take it all in. It was raw, intimidating strength, and it made my breath catch.
Adrian reached for my chin, making me look at him. “Tonight, you do exactly as you’re told. Is that clear?”
My heart hammered. “Yes.”
Viktor’s voice was rougher, threaded with hunger. “Yes, sir.”
Adrian smiled—a wolf’s smile, sharp enough to cut. He took two silk ties from a drawer, letting the cool fabric slip between his fingers. “No hiding. No pretending. I want you both raw. Helpless for me.”
He slipped the blindfold over my eyes first. The world went black, my breath catching in my throat. Everything else sharpened: the scent of leather and sweat, Viktor’s heavy presence behind me, the soft drag of silk as Adrian secured it.
Viktor’s hands found mine, his grip commanding but gentle as he guided my wrists above my head. He moved with total confidence, like he’d done this a hundred times before—like he owned my body as much as Adrian ever could.