Page 30 of The Beast's Broken Angel
“Finish this,” I instructed Viktor, the euphemism's meaning perfectly clear to everyone in the room. I crossed to Noah, placing my hand at the small of his back to guide him toward the elevator. He flinched at my touch but didn't pull away, another small victory.
We were in the elevator when the gunshot echoed through the tiled room below. Noah's body tensed beneath my hand,but he remained silent as the doors closed and we began our ascent to the club above.
In the enclosed space, I could study him properly. He was pale but composed, his breathing still measured despite what he'd just witnessed. The complexity of his reactions intrigued me. Not simple horror or disgust, but a layered response that suggested both ethical outrage and a deeper, perhaps unconscious understanding of necessity.
“You're wondering if all that was necessary,” I observed, straightening my blood-spattered cuffs. His eyes tracked the movement, fixating momentarily on the crimson stains. “The information could have been gotten with less blood. Perhaps. But the message his death sends to others is equally valuable.”
Noah's eyes snapped to mine, that defiant light flaring again. Fascinating how quickly it returned even after witnessing such violence. Most people stayed broken longer.
“Is that what I was there for? To witness your message?” His voice was steady despite everything. Impressive.
“Partly,” I admitted as the elevator doors opened onto the club's pounding heartbeat. “And partly to understand the full scope of your new position.”
I guided him through the VIP section, past beautiful people too absorbed in pleasure to notice the blood on my cuffs or the tension radiating from Noah's body. My private office overlooked the main floor, soundproofed walls and one-way glass allowing me to observe while remaining separate from the revelry below.
Once inside, Noah immediately moved to the window, putting distance between us. The city lights played across his features, illuminating eyes too bright with emotions he was struggling to contain.
I poured scotch into crystal tumblers, selecting the Macallan 25-year I kept for significant occasions.Tonight qualified. The amber liquid caught the light as I approached him, offering a glass.
“Say it,” I instructed when he predictably refused the drink. “Whatever moral condemnation you're formulating. You've earned that much after tonight's performance.”
He stayed silent, his reflection in the glass showing a war of emotions I found myself wanting to catalogue properly. Fear, yes, but buried beneath layers of outrage, calculation, and something darker he might not even recognise in himself yet.
“You killed him to make a point,” he finally said, voice steady despite his evident disgust. “Not just to me. To everyone who works for you. Fear was the goal, not just getting information.”
His perceptiveness caught me slightly off guard. Most people missed the broader strategy, too fixated on immediate violence to see its purpose.
I sipped my scotch, letting the accusation hang between us. The smoky liquid warmed my throat, a pleasant contrast to the cool calculation required for Parker's interrogation.
“Fear prevents greater violence,” I replied, watching his face for reactions. “One death deters dozens. Your hospital treats the aftermath when such deterrence fails—gunshot victims, overdoses, gang beatings. My methods prevent more suffering than they cause.”
“Do you actually believe that bullshit,” Noah challenged, turning from the window to face me directly, “or is it just convenient justification?”
The audacity simultaneously irritated and intrigued me. Most employees would be begging for their lives after such insubordination. Even Dominic, who'd been with me for years, would never speak to me with such blunt disregard for hierarchy.
I set my glass down and closed the distance between uswith deliberate steps, invading his personal space—a tactic that reliably intimidated. Yet Noah stood his ground, his pulse visibly racing at his throat but his gaze unflinching.
“Your moral outrage is noted,” I said softly, close enough that he had to tilt his head slightly to maintain eye contact. “But ultimately irrelevant. You signed away such concerns last night along with your autonomy.”
The scent of him reached me this close—antiseptic from the medical suite, a hint of expensive cologne from the clothes Dominic had provided, and underneath, the unmistakable adrenaline tang of fear his controlled expression couldn't hide.
“I signed away my time and medical expertise,” he countered, jaw set stubbornly. “Not my conscience. That wasn't in the contract.”
His continued defiance sent an unexpected current of heat through my body. This close, I could see every detail of his face—the flecks of gold in his hazel eyes, the slight stubble along his jaw, the tiny scar near his temple that I'd need to ask about someday.
I reached out, watching his subtle flinch as my scarred hand approached his face—but instead of the violence he clearly expected, I merely straightened his collar with slow, deliberate movements.
“Your conscience is your own,” I conceded, letting my fingers linger against the warm skin of his neck, feeling his pulse jump at the contact. “Your obedience, however, belongs to me.”
The tension between us shifted perceptibly, something electric and dangerous charging the minimal space separating our bodies. I recognised it instantly—that intoxicating edge where fear blends with attraction, power with submission. Noah's dilated pupils confirmed he felt it too, though he'd likely denythe recognition.
For a breathless moment, we stood there, neither advancing nor retreating, caught in a gravity field of mutual awareness that transcended our adversarial positions. I could have pushed further, used that tension to break his resistance completely. But something told me that breaking Noah Hastings would destroy precisely what made him valuable—and unexpectedly fascinating.
“I'll have Viktor drive you back to Ravenswood,” I said instead, stepping back to restore a semblance of professional distance. “I have business to conclude here tonight.”
Relief and something like disappointment flickered across his features before he controlled his expression again. “Is that business going to involve more dead bodies?”
“Would it matter if it did?” I countered, returning to my desk.
