Page 22 of The Beast's Broken Angel
“The contract says weekly visits with my sister,” he said, his voice steady. “I want those scheduled ASAP.”
“Already sorted,” I replied, watching his face. The tiny flicker of relief around his eyes, gone in an instant. “Viktor will drive you, with security, of course.”
Noah nodded once. No argument. His sister came first. Always. That kind of loyalty was rare in my world, where everyone typically looked out for themselves.
“Seven tomorrow morning in the medical suite,” I continued, lacing my fingers together on the desk. “My shoulder needs a proper look, and we'll sort out how this is going to work going forward.”
My shoulder throbbed under its bandage, a reminder of the Vega attack from two nights ago. Montgomery had barely touched it earlier during his cursory examination, too bloody careful as always. The bullet graze had torn through old scar tissue in ways he clearly didn't understand. The thought of Noah's more capable hands on the injury created a warmth I hadn't expected.
“And my sister?” Noah asked, still standing tall. “I need to know her treatment's continuing. Like you promised.”
I might have smacked anyone else down for that tone. Instead, I found myself respecting it.
“Her doctor got all the paperwork two hours ago,” I told him, grabbing my tablet and turning it to show him the confirmation. “Full treatment approved no matter how long it takes or what it costs. Her next treatment's tomorrow morning, right on schedule.”
Relief washed across his face for just a second before he got it under control. But I saw it—the slight drop of his shoulders, the tiny exhale, the quick blink. The weight he carried was visible if you knew where to look.
“Thanks,” he said simply, and I could tell he meant it.
“Let's be clear—this isn't charity,” I said, not wanting his gratitude. It felt wrong somehow. “You work for me, I pay for her treatment. Business, not kindness.”
“Business,” Noah repeated, with something almost like a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Right. Because this is totally normal employment.”
His little challenge sent a thrill through me. Most people are falling over themselves to agree with everything I say by this point.
“When you're drowning, you don't haggle over the price of a life raft, Mr. Hastings.” I said, watching him carefully. “Your sister needs treatment. I need medical care. The rest is just details.”
“Noah,” he said, catching me off guard. “If I'm living in your house and treating your wounds, we might as well use first names. Like you said earlier.”
I nodded slightly. “Noah, then. Dominic will show you to your room.” I pressed the button under my desk, and my right-hand man appeared almost instantly. “Get some sleep. Tomorrow's when the real work starts.”
Dominic appeared silently at the doorway. Noah squared his shoulders like a soldier heading into battle, his jaw set with determination.
As Dominic led him away, I stayed at my desk, thinking about what I'd just acquired. Noah Hastings wasn't like my usual staff. There was something about him—the way he stood his ground, the way he looked at my scars without flinching, the quiet strength behind his eyes. It wasn't just that I needed a new doctor. Something about him had gotten under my skin the moment I saw him working in that hospital.
Whatever it was, I found myself unusually interested in this particular acquisition, in ways that went beyond business. That was new. And potentially dangerous.
I couldn't sleep.Midnight came and went, and I was still prowling the halls of Ravenswood like a restless ghost. The old clock in the main hall struck one, its deep gong echoing through the quiet house. Security checks buzzed occasionally in my earpiece, a soft reminder of the invisible web of protection surrounding me.
Knowing Noah was in the east wing kept distracting me. Usually when I bring someone new into the fold, I set things up and forget about them until they're needed. But tonight, my thoughts kept circling back to him.
I ended up in my private office, sinking into the chair by the security monitors. The screens lit up with a gesture, showing me every corner of Ravenswood. It took me seconds to find Noah's feed.
Instead of sleeping, he was exploring his suite with the careful attention of someone mapping escape routes. Not panicking, not crying—just methodically checking every inch of his new cage. He examined the bathroom with its medical cabinets, went through the wardrobe filled with clothes in his size, and studied the security features with cool assessment.
Not your typical reaction. Most new acquisitions either fall apart or try something stupid. Noah was strategizing, figuring out what he had to work with. Smart.
I pulled up his file on my tablet, suddenly wanting to know more. Council estate kid from South London. Worked two, sometimes three jobs while getting his nursing degree with top marks. Took on full responsibility for his sister's care without complaint when she got sick.
The psych profile painted a picture of someone who wouldn't break easily—stubborn, protective, with a core of steel underneath the healer's compassion. The combination stirredsomething in me. Most people were either soft or hard, not both at once.
My shoulder chose that moment to send a spike of pain through me. Montgomery's half-arsed bandaging job wasn't holding up. The inflammation was getting worse, the bullet graze tearing at the old scar tissue with every movement.
Perfect excuse to see what Noah was made of.
Decision made, I closed his file and left my desk. Usually new residents get the first night alone to stew in their new reality. But tonight, I wanted to test the waters.
I walked through the quiet corridors to the east wing, where Noah's suite sat in the prime spot. Close enough to reach quickly, isolated enough to make a point about his new position. I knocked softly on the heavy door, not wanting to seem like I was checking up on him.
