Page 92 of The Beast's Broken Angel

“Caught him doing extra reps when he thought no one was watching,” Noah said with the exasperation of a medical professional dealing with a non-compliant patient. “Trying to prove he's ready for tonight, I reckon. Had to give him a proper bollocking about tearing his stitches.”

“And?”

“Told me to piss off, that he knows his own body,” Noah continued with a wry smile that suggested he'd expected exactly that response. “Then proceeded to demonstrate why hedoesn't by nearly face-planting during a basic coordination drill.”

I snorted with amusement despite the gravity of the situation. That sounded exactly like Dominic, too proud to admit weakness, too loyal to stay on the sidelines when he thought I might be in danger.

“He's worried about you,” Noah said, voice going softer with genuine concern. “Feels like shit that he can't watch your back tonight. Classic protective guilt response from someone who's defined his identity around keeping you safe.”

The assessment hit closer to home than I liked. Dominic had been my shield for over a decade, taking bullets and knives meant for me without hesitation. His absence tonight would leave gaps in my security that Viktor was scrambling to fill with personnel who didn't have the same instinctive understanding of my movements, my patterns, my vulnerabilities.

“He'll live,” I said, though Noah's concern for someone who'd threatened him weeks ago still amazed me. “Viktor's got tonight sorted. Dominic can get back to being my attack dog once his shoulder's properly healed.”

“Make sure he doesn't rush it,” Noah said seriously, professional authority bleeding through the concern. “Muscle memory tricks the brain into thinking everything's fine until something tears and causes permanent damage. He needs those extra weeks whether his pride likes it or not.”

“I'll sit on him if I have to,” I promised, meaning every word. Dominic's loyalty was absolute, but that same loyalty made him reckless when he thought I was in danger. “Your job is dealing with Harrison.”

Noah nodded, something passing between us that felt like shared electricity, recognition of the danger we were walking into and the trust we were placing in each other. Tonight woulddetermine whether what we'd built together was strong enough to survive the shitstorm coming our way.

“Try not to get yourself killed,” Noah said quietly as he reached for the door handle. “I'd hate to have gone through all this trouble of falling for you just to lose you to Harrison's schemes.”

The casual admission sent warmth flooding through my chest that was immediately followed by cold terror. If I felt this strongly about him, if the thought of losing him made my chest ache like a physical wound.

“Same goes for you,” I said, voice dropping low with promise and threat. “I've got plans for later that require you breathing.”

His grin was pure wicked promise, heat and mischief and something deeper that made my pulse quicken. “Is that so?”

“Definitely,” I said, letting him see the hunger in my eyes, the possessive need that went far beyond physical desire. “So don't do anything heroic. Leave that to me.”

“Wouldn't dream of it,” Noah replied, though we both knew he was lying. If it came down to protecting someone, heroic was exactly what he'd do, consequences be damned.

As he left to prepare for whatever performance Harrison would demand, I found myself hoping love would prove stronger than the violence and betrayal that had shaped us both.

Because if it didn't, we were both fucked.

And not in the good way.

20

SYMPHONY

NOAH

Harrison’s financial records were scattered across Adrian’s desk like a crime scene, which was fitting, really. Three weeks of shagging the man senseless had turned me into someone I barely recognized—half doctor, half accomplice, all in.

I’d stopped pretending I wasn’t complicit.

The ledgers were dense, precise. Too precise. A lifetime of theft laid out in crisp columns and clean formulas. I wasn’t pissed because of the money. I was pissed because of the audacity. Two decades of bleeding the Calloways dry while smiling in their faces, playing the loyal advisor, the surrogate uncle.

“The offshore accounts link to the same properties Hayes flagged,” I said, stabbing a finger at the page like it might bleed. “He’s been funneling money through shell companies and hiding it behind fake charities. Millions, Adrian. Gone.”

Adrian didn’t answer at first. His hands slid over my shoulders from behind, steady and warm, grounding me. That touch used to send warning bells through every inch of me. Now it felt like a fuse I lit on purpose.

“Hang on,” I said, flipping back a few pages. Something clicked. “He started skimming right after the fire, yeah?”

Adrian’s grip froze. The silence around us changed. “Yeah,” he said finally. “Right after.”

I turned around to face him. “You think that’s a coincidence?”