Page 40 of The Beast's Broken Angel
“I know everything concerning those under my protection,” I replied simply. “Dominic is waiting outside with the car. He'll ensure you both return safely.”
Noah's jaw worked as he struggled with competing impulses, defiance warring with the practical reality that his sister did indeed need to return to medical supervision. Finally, he nodded stiffly.
“Fine. But I'm staying with Isabelle until she's settled back in herroom.”
Not a request. A statement of intent. His continued boundary-testing should have irritated me. Instead, it only heightened my interest in what would happen when we were finally alone.
“Of course,” I agreed smoothly. “Family should always come first. I'll expect you at Ravenswood afterward.”
The unspoken promise of consequences hung between us, Noah's swallow the only indication he recognised what awaited him upon return. Isabelle missed nothing, her artist's perception cataloguing every expression exchanged.
“It was... interesting meeting you properly, Mr. Calloway,” she said as Noah prepared to wheel her toward the exit. “I have a feeling we'll be seeing more of each other.”
“I look forward to it, Ms. Hastings.”
I watched them leave, Noah's protective posture never relaxing even under Dominic's watchful eye. My phone vibrated with a text from Harrison:
Harrison
Meeting concluded. Investors satisfied. Should we discuss the Vega situation this evening?
His persistent interest in my movements continued to raise warning flags. I texted back a noncommittal response, mind already turning to the more immediate concern of Noah's punishment.
Adrian
Tomorrow. Other priorities tonight.
The driveback to Ravenswood crackled with tension, Noah's defiance radiating from the opposite seat. We'dleft Isabelle at Westminster Memorial under Dominic’s supervision, her return processed with the smooth operation that my name and money guaranteed. Now, alone in the Bentley's luxurious confines, the reckoning could no longer be postponed.
“She needed this,” Noah finally broke the silence, voice quiet but unapologetic. “One normal achievement that wasn't bought with my bloody soul.”
The phrasing caught me, buying his soul. An accurate assessment of our arrangement, though not one I'd expected him to articulate so bluntly.
“Our deal says all departures from Ravenswood need my permission,” I replied, keeping my voice deliberately soft. Dangerous. “Taking your sister from medical supervision without asking violated our arrangement on multiple levels.”
“She's responding well to treatment. The doctors said a brief outing posed minimal risk.”
“That isn't the point.”
“Isn't it?” Noah challenged, finally looking directly at me. “Over the past few weeks, I've delivered on my end of the bargain. I treat your scars. I stitch up your men when they get shot. I kept my mouth shut about Parker. But Isabelle isn't your property just because you're paying for her treatment.”
The Bentley passed through Ravenswood's gates, security personnel nodding deferentially as we swept up the long driveway toward the main house. I studied Noah as he turned away from me, jaw set in stubborn lines, gaze fixed determinedly on the passing landscape rather than meet my eyes after his challenge. His body remained coiled with anticipation of coming confrontation, the tension radiating from him in waves. His continued resistance proved surprisingly arousing, a challenge that demanded response rather than the boring submission most offered.
The car stopped at the main entrance, Viktor opening mydoor with silent deference. I stepped out, then turned to Noah still seated inside.
“My study. Now.”
The command brooked no argument. Staff scattered as we entered the mansion, recognising the tone that typically preceded violence. Noah followed with resigned determination, chin lifted in that particular way that simultaneously infuriated and intrigued me.
The heavy door to my private study closed behind us with finality. I locked it, the sound unnaturally loud in the tense silence. With deliberate slowness, I removed my suit jacket, hanging it precisely on the coat rack beside my desk.
“Remove your shirt,” I instructed, watching the predictable flash of alarm in Noah's eyes. “Your punishment should leave no visible marks. I prefer not to explain bruising to your sister during her next hospital visit.”
To his credit, Noah didn't plead or argue. Instead, he held my gaze while unbuttoning his shirt with steady fingers, a silent defiance in the careful movements. When he finally stood shirtless in the study's centre, the afternoon sunlight streaming through tall windows highlighted the lean musculature of his torso, unmarked skin a perfect canvas for the lesson in consequences about to be delivered.
I circled him slowly, assessing. Physical punishment was standard procedure for disobedience in my organisation, the severity calibrated to the transgression. Yet something about this particular moment felt different, charged with currents beyond simple discipline and control.
“You're intriguing, Noah,” I observed, trailing fingers lightly across his shoulder blades, feeling the involuntary shiver my touch elicited. “Most men in your position would grovel for mercy. You prepare to endure instead.”
