Page 58 of The Beast's Broken Angel
I increased the pressure fractionally, watching tendons stand out in Hayes' neck like bridge cables under stress. His body convulsed involuntarily, muscles firing in patterns designed by evolution to escape predators. Unfortunately for him, I was the apex fucking predator in this particular ecosystem.
“Intelligence gathering only,” Hayes finally managed through gritted teeth, blood foaming at the corners of his mouth where he'd bitten his tongue. “Standard monitoring of organised crime entities. We planned to use Noah's position once you recruited him, but he never cooperated.”
“You exploited his sister's illness.” My voice stayed conversational while I shifted to a different pressure point, one that sent fire racing down Hayes' spine without causing permanent damage. Yet. “Created financialpressure through insurance denials. Positioned him perfectly for my acquisition. Elegant methodology, I'll grant you that.”
Hayes' professional composure was cracking like ice under a blowtorch. Sweat poured down his face, mixing with tears he probably didn't realise he was crying. The human nervous system could only maintain control for so long under systematic assault.
“Noah was never the primary target,” he gasped, words tumbling out between ragged breaths. “You were valuable, but secondary. We needed access to?—”
Hayes’s jaw clenched as he cut himself off, refusing to speak the last word. I shifted techniques abruptly, my thumb finding the bundle of nerves where the neck met the shoulder. Pressure. Hayes convulsed, his scream cut off as unconsciousness claimed him, his body going limp in the chains like a marionette with severed strings.
The silence that followed was thick as treacle, broken only by Hayes' laboured breathing. I cleaned my hands methodically with antiseptic wipes, erasing evidence of interrogation techniques learned through years of extracting truth from unwilling mouths.
“Satisfied?” Noah's voice cut through the quiet like a blade, raw with disgust and something darker. Betrayal, maybe. Or recognition of what I truly was beneath the expensive suits and cultured facade.
I turned to study him properly, cataloguing the pale complexion, the clenched fists, the way he couldn't quite look at Hayes' suspended form. The healer confronting the monster's true nature, forced to witness what lay beneath civilised veneer. But there was something else in his expression, something that made my pulse quicken despite the circumstances. The way his chest rose and fell with controlled breaths, theslight parting of his lips, the flush creeping up his neck despite his obvious horror.
“He confirmed your innocence,” I replied, voice deliberately neutral as I stepped closer, close enough to smell the faint scent of his skin beneath the antiseptic.
“That's your fucking apology?” Noah exploded, taking a step toward me that brought us within touching distance. The heat radiating from his body sent electric jolts through my nervous system. “For suspecting me? For assuming I betrayed you based on obviously manufactured evidence?”
His anger was magnificent, transforming the composed healer into something altogether more dangerous. The moral outrage mixing with personal fury, creating a combustible combination that sent heat pooling low in my gut despite the circumstances. I wanted to grab him, pin him against the bloodstained walls, show him exactly what his defiance did to me.
“I don't apologise, Noah.” I met his gaze directly, refusing to acknowledge the uncomfortable truth that my judgement had been compromised by emotional investment. The way he said my name, even in anger, made my skin burn. “I correct errors and adjust strategy accordingly.”
“Then correct this error,” Noah challenged, gesturing toward Hayes' unconscious form. “He's just a pawn like I was. The puppet, not the puppeteer. Killing him solves nothing.”
The space between us had shrunk to mere inches, close enough that I could see the rapid pulse at his throat, count the individual breaths that lifted his chest in uneven rhythm. Close enough to reach out and touch, to claim what my body was screaming it wanted.
“You think killing solves nothing?” I asked softly, letting my voice drop to barely above a whisper. “Yet you stood there and watched me break a man piece by piece. Didn't look away once, did you, Noah?”
His sharp intake of breath was audible in the confined space. “That was different. I was?—”
“Aroused?” I finished for him, watching the colour drain from his face before flooding back in a wave of crimson. “Did you think I couldn't tell? The way your breathing changed, the way you kept shifting your weight, the way you couldn't decide whether to watch Hayes or watch me work?”
“You're fucking mental,” Noah breathed, but he didn't step back. Didn't break eye contact. Didn't deny what we both knew was true.
“Am I?” I reached up slowly, giving him every opportunity to pull away, and brushed my thumb across his lower lip. The touch sent shockwaves through both of us, his sharp exhale warm against my skin. “Or are you finally understanding what you really want?”
The moment stretched between us like a taut wire, electric with possibility and danger. Noah's pupils were dilated, his breathing shallow, caught between revulsion and attraction in a way that made my blood sing.
“We can't,” Noah whispered, though his body language suggested otherwise. “Not here. Not like this.”
I stepped back reluctantly, recognizing the wisdom in his words even as my body protested the distance. Hayes hung unconscious in his chains, breathing steadily but deeply sedated. He'd remain that way for hours.
“You're right,” I acknowledged. “This isn't the place.”
I moved toward the door, Noah following without argument though I caught him glancing back at Hayes' suspended form with something that might have been concern. The healer's instincts warring with whatever darker impulses our confrontation had awakened.
We climbed the concrete stairs in charged silence, the weight of unfinished business hanging betweenus like smoke. The main floor felt almost surreal after the basement's oppressive atmosphere—marble and mahogany replacing concrete and steel, civilization masking the brutality that lurked beneath.
“The library,” I decided as we reached the east wing. “We need to review Harrison's communications, find patterns that might reveal his network.”
“Adrian,” Noah said as we walked, his voice carrying new understanding. “What you did down there?—”
“Was necessary,” I finished. “Hayes had information we needed. Information that could save lives.”
“I know,” Noah said quietly. “That's what disturbs me. I know, and part of me... part of me understands why you had to do it.”
