Page 53 of The Beast's Broken Angel
The sudden violence triggered something primal in my chest—possessive rage that caught me off guard. Only I should mark what belonged to me. Only I had the right to draw Noah's blood, to leave bruises on that unmarked skin, to reduce him to desperate submission.
“Bring him to the basement,” I ordered, voice rougher than intended. “Intact. I need him able to answer questions.”
The amendment drew Viktor's sharp glance toward the camera, his expression unreadable but knowing. Few subjects arrived intact in the basement interrogation room. Most came broken, bloodied, already halfway to confession before the real work began.
“Adrian!” Noah shouted at the cameras as Viktor hauled him toward the service elevator. “Whatever you think I've done, you're wrong! I've never betrayed you! I wouldn't!”
The desperation in his voice sent another unwelcome jolt through my chest. Either he was still trying to manipulate me, or he genuinely believed in his innocence. The problem was, I couldn't let Harrison see which interpretation I favoured.
“Betrayal wounds deepest when unexpected,” Harrison offered, his clinical detachment perfectly calculated. “Your interest in him clouded usual judgment. Understandable, but dangerous.”
“My judgment is fine,” I replied curtly, standing to retrieve my suit jacket. “I just need to be certain.”
“Of course,” Harrison agreed, but something in his voice suggested he found my defensive reaction telling. “Shall I accompany you? Might need objective perspective while you work on him.”
The offer was reasonable, even sensible given my supposed emotional investment. But something about Harrison's eagerness to observe set my instincts on edge. He wanted to witness Noah's breaking, wanted to see his manipulation succeed.
“I'll handle this alone,” I decided. “Your presence might complicate matters.”
Harrison's nod was understanding, but I caught the brief flash of disappointment before he masked it. “As you wish.”
The basement feltlike descending into hell itself. Each concrete step echoed off soundproof walls that had swallowed countless screams over the decades, the fluorescent lights buzzing with that particular frequency designed to fray nerves before the real work began.
The interrogation room was a masterpiece of psychological warfare. Drain-lined floors for easy cleanup.Specialised equipment arranged on surgical trays, promising pain beyond imagining for those who refused to cooperate.
Viktor had already secured Noah to the steel chair bolted at the room's centre when I entered, the restraints heavy-duty leather and steel designed to hold men much larger and stronger. Noah tested them anyway, wrists already chafing against bonds that wouldn't yield to anything less than industrial cutters.
I adjusted the single overhead light with methodical precision, harsh illumination creating dramatic shadows that transformed familiar features into something alien and threatening. The effect was calculated—strip away humanity, reduce the subject to nothing more than flesh and bone containing information that needed extraction.
“Do you recognise these tools?” I began, voice deliberately controlled as I removed my suit jacket and hung it on the provided hook. Rolling up my sleeves with mechanical care, I let Noah catalog the implements of persuasion arrayed before us.
Scalpels for delicate work. Pliers for crude extraction. Electrical devices that could turn nerve endings into instruments of exquisite torture. Chemical compounds that transformed pain receptors into symphonies of suffering. A complete orchestra of agony, refined through decades of use against enemies who'd thought themselves unbreakable.
“Given your medical background,” I continued, selecting a thin blade and testing its edge against my thumb, “you understand what each one does to human flesh.”
Blood welled up bright crimson against scarred skin, and Noah's eyes tracked the movement with professional assessment even as terror crept into his expression.
“What the fuck are you talking about, Adrian?” he demanded, voice cracking slightly. The blood from his split lip had stained hisshirt collar—the same blue button-down I'd watched him put on that morning, appreciating how the colour brought out his eyes.
All of it calculated performance. All of it manipulation designed to create the emotional vulnerability that would allow him to operate within my defences.
Except it wasn't. I knew it wasn't.
“Your infiltration was professionally done,” I acknowledged, moving closer until he could see the blade clearly. “Medical credentials provided perfect cover. Even I had doubts about my suspicions.”
The lie tasted like poison on my tongue, but it was necessary. I needed Harrison to believe his manipulation was working when I reported back to him.
“You think I'm what, a spy?” Noah's incredulity sounded authentic because it was authentic. “Working with the people who attacked your club? Are you completely fucking mental?”
The insult sparked genuine anger, cutting through the cold calculation I was trying to maintain. I stepped closer, letting him feel the heat of my presence, the weight of barely controlled violence.
“Careful, Noah,” I said softly, voice carrying the promise of pain I had no intention of delivering. “Your situation is precarious enough without pushing me further.”
“This isn't a bloody courtroom, Adrian,” he shot back, desperation sharpening his voice. “This is you having lost your goddamn mind based on whatever lies someone's been feeding you.”
I moved behind his chair, letting the blade trace along his shoulder without breaking skin—cold steel through fabric, just a reminder of how easily I could draw blood if I chose. His pulse hammered against his throat, fear and confusion mixing in his scent.
“Then explain the security footage,” I said, knowing the footage was fabricated but needing to maintain the performance. “Explain your presence in my private office during the attack. Explain how you knew exactly where to find classified documents.”
