Page 25 of The Beast's Broken Angel
I dragged myself out of the ridiculously plush bed and staggered to the bathroom. It was bigger than my entire flat, all marble and gold taps that screamed money. The shower had eight different jets and water hot enough to scald. Part of me wanted to trash the place just to make a point, but who would that hurt except me?
As I got dressed in clothes that had been waiting for me like they knew I was coming, I tried to wrap my head around my new reality. This wasn't prison, not exactly. More like being a well-kept pet. Or maybe a special kind of slave with medical benefits.
The wardrobe was stuffed with clothes in exactly my size, all of them ludicrously expensive. I pulled out simple jeans anda button-down, ignoring the designer labels that probably cost what I made in a week at the hospital. Everything in this place was a mind fuck, designed to make me feel small and grateful at the same time.
I poked around the suite while waiting for my escort to breakfast. The place was kitted out with everything I could possibly need, including a top-notch medical cabinet filled with supplies most hospitals would envy. Adrian had planned this down to the last detail, which made me wonder how long he'd been watching me, sizing me up for this role. The thought made my skin crawl.
At 6:55, someone knocked. I opened the door to find Dominic, Adrian's right-hand man. He looked like he bench pressed cars for fun, with a blank face that gave nothing away.
“Morning,” I said, trying to sound normal, like I hadn't sold myself into medical servitude. “Guess you're my babysitter?”
“Security escort,” he corrected without a hint of humor. “Mr. Calloway asked me to show you to breakfast. The staff know you're here as a medical consultant under his personal protection.”
Protection. Right. That's what we were calling this arrangement.
“Lead the way,” I said, stepping into the hallway. “I'd hate to get lost in this bloody maze.”
The house was even more massive in daylight. We walked through corridors lined with artwork that belonged in museums, past rooms bigger than surgical theaters, down staircases wide enough for a car. Security cameras were tucked discreetly into corners, watching everything. This wasn't just a home; it was a fortress.
“So what exactly does everyone think I am?” I asked as we walked. “Live-in doctor? Personal nurse? Stockholm syndrome patient?”
Something that might have been amusement flickered across Dominic's face. “Medical consultant with residency requirements. Mr. Calloway often has specialists stay on-site.”
“How many others are locked up here like me?”
“You're the only current resident specialist,” he replied, ignoring my phrasing. “And I wouldn't say 'locked up' where Mr. Calloway can hear you. He considers your arrangement mutually beneficial.”
Before I could tell him exactly what I thought of that, we reached an enormous dining room with a table that could've seated twenty. Only three places were set at one end. Adrian was already there, looking irritatingly perfect in a dark suit despite the early hour. Sophia sat to his right, her silver hair styled like she was heading to a fancy lunch, not just having breakfast.
“Seven o'clock exactly,” Adrian said, checking his ridiculously expensive watch. “Have a seat.”
I sat across from Sophia, feeling awkward as hell. A staff member materialized out of nowhere to pour coffee and put a covered plate in front of me. The whole setup was surreal, like playing house with captors.
“Sleep well?” Sophia asked, watching me like I was a bug under glass.
“Not really,” I admitted. No point lying. “The room's a bit over the top.”
Adrian's mouth twitched. “Quality surroundings for quality work. You'll get used to it.”
“No offense, but I don't want to get used to it,” I said, then wondered if talking back at breakfast was going to get me in trouble. Too late now.
Instead of getting angry, Adrian looked almost amused. “Nevertheless, this is your home for the foreseeable future. Adaptation seems the wisest course.”
The server lifted the cover from my plate to reveal a breakfast that looked like something from a food magazine. My stomach growled, reminding me I hadn't eaten properly yet.
“Your medical suite is ready,” Adrian continued as I dug into perfectly scrambled eggs. “After breakfast, I want a full assessment and treatment plan.”
I nodded, food momentarily distracting me from how fucked up this whole situation was. The eggs were perfectly seasoned, the bacon crisp, the mushrooms cooked in wine and herbs. Even the toast was better than anything I'd ever made. Another subtle reminder of the life Adrian was offering, as long as I played by his rules.
“You'll come with me to The Raven's Nest tonight,” Adrian said between bites. “I've got business that needs your medical skills.”
The way he said it made it clear we weren't talking about anything legal. I set down my fork, suddenly less hungry.
“I thought I was here for your treatment,” I said cautiously. “Your burns and the gunshot wound. That's what we agreed on.”
Adrian's expression cooled about ten degrees, though nothing visible changed. “You're here for whatever I require, Noah. Your medical opinions are useful; your assumptions about what I need aren't.”
The rebuke was gentle but unmistakable. I'd signed my life over, and he was making damn sure I understood the terms.
