Page 60 of The Beast's Broken Angel
Hayes' blood showed steady drops along white gravel paths, suggesting Viktor's men had wounded him during his escape. The wound would slow him, compromise his thinking, force increasingly desperate decisions as blood loss accumulated.Each drop told a story of panic and pain, of a professional operative reduced to animal desperation.
My phone buzzed with updates from the security teams. “Perimeter secure.”
“No movement detected at north fence.”
“Blood trail leads toward groundskeeper's cottage.”
The reports painted a picture of systematic pursuit, the net tightening around wounded prey with methodical inevitability.
Of course he'd chosen the cottage. It offered shelter, medical supplies, potential weapons. Hayes was thinking tactically despite his wounds, falling back on training that had kept him alive through previous operations. Unfortunately for him, this wasn't foreign soil where backup might materialise. This was my domain, where every stone and tree branch served my purposes.
I signalled Viktor to maintain overwatch while I approached the cottage alone, drawing my gun with movements made smooth through countless repetitions. The grip felt familiar in my scarred palm, weight balanced perfectly for combat shooting in close quarters. The weapon was an extension of my will, death waiting to be unleashed at my discretion.
Blood smeared the cottage door handle, confirming Hayes' location with casual arrogance. The man was trapped, wounded, and running out of options. Time to end this particular comedy of errors.
The cottage interior smelled of copper and fear when I entered, weapon trained on the figure huddled behind an overturned table. Hayes had fashioned crude field dressing from torn curtains, stemming the worst of his bleeding while maintaining enough mobility to be dangerous. His face was grey with blood loss, intelligence operative training warring with basic human survival instinct.
“Your intelligence gathering targeted Harrison specifically,” Istated without preamble, keeping my pistol steady while cataloguing potential threats. “How long have you suspected him?”
Hayes looked up with resignation replacing the desperate calculation that had carried him this far. His breathing was laboured, each word costing him precious energy he couldn't afford to waste.
“Three years investigating financial anomalies,” he admitted, abandoning any pretence of cover story. “Blackwood's network extends beyond criminal enterprise. Political influence, judicial manipulation, money laundering through legitimate businesses. We needed evidence of his connection to the Calloway organisation.”
I absorbed this confirmation of suspicions I'd harboured for months, puzzle pieces clicking into place with satisfying finality. Harrison's reaction to Noah's arrival, his eagerness to provide intelligence that incriminated my healer, his subtle attempts to control information flow during crisis situations. All of it made sense now, viewed through the lens of long-term betrayal.
“We thought Noah's position would provide perfect opportunity for intelligence gathering,” Hayes continued, voice growing weaker as shock set in. “But Blackwood...” He coughed, blood speckling his lips. “Blackwood's been playing a longer game than any of us realised.”
The cottage fell silent except for Hayes' laboured breathing and the distant sounds of security teams maintaining perimeter. Through grimy windows, I could see Viktor's silhouette against moonlight, assault rifle ready for whatever orders I might give.
“Harrison orchestrated the entire operation,” I said, understanding flooding through me like revelation. “The Turner attack, the fabricated evidence against Noah, even your capture tonight. All designed to eliminate threats to his position while maintaining plausible deniability.”
Hayes managed a weak laugh that turned into another coughing fit. “Blackwood's been an asset for twenty years. Patient, methodical, absolutely ruthless when threatened. Your family never stood a chance once he decided to move against you.”
The enormity of Harrison's betrayal settled over me like lead blanket, twenty years of trust and collaboration revealed as elaborate deception. The man who'd saved my life as a child, who'd guided our family through crisis and prosperity, who'd been present for every major decision since my parents' death.
All of it performance. All of it manipulation designed to position himself for eventual takeover of everything we'd built.
15
DEADLY MERCY
NOAH
I'd been summoned to the basement twenty minutes after Viktor's men dragged Hayes back from the groundskeeper's cottage. He was conscious but pale from blood loss, the bullet wound in his thigh still seeping despite the rough field dressing someone had applied.
My hands stayed steady despite the chaos raging inside my skull, needle diving through Hayes' flesh like I was mending a torn shirt instead of patching up the bastard who'd manipulated my sister's illness for Queen and country.
Blood seeped through the gauze as I worked, each stitch pulling skin together that should have been left to rot for what he'd done to us. To me. To Isabelle. The steady rhythm of my movements was automatic, muscle memory from years of trauma care overriding the part of my brain that wanted to let the fucker bleed out on Ravenswood's basement floor.
“He'll need antibiotics to prevent infection,” I said without looking up. Professional detachment was the only thing keeping me functional right now, a thin wall between composureand the complete mental breakdown that lurked just beneath the surface.
Adrian watched from the doorway like a predator sizing up wounded prey, all coiled muscle and contained violence despite his relaxed posture. The man could make leaning against a wall look threatening, and right now, with Hayes' blood under my fingernails and the memory of my own interrogation still fresh, everything about him screamed danger.
“Interesting choice,” he noted, voice carrying that particular edge that meant someone was about to get hurt. “Providing optimal care to the man who weaponised your sister's illness for operational advantage.”
I disposed of the bloodied instruments with methodical care, each movement precise despite the tremor in my hands that I hoped he couldn't see. “I took an oath. Medical ethics don't have convenient exceptions.”
The words came out automatically, professional reflex that had been drilled into me through years of training. But even as I said them, my mind was racing through everything Hayes had revealed during his interrogation. Harrison as the real traitor. Three years of investigation. Financial anomalies that painted the Calloway empire in a different light entirely.
