Page 61 of The Beast's Broken Angel
“Ethics are luxury few can afford,” Adrian countered, moving closer to examine my handiwork. His fingers brushed mine as we both reached for the bandage roll, casual contact that sent electricity racing up my arm despite the anger still churning in my gut.
The touch lasted longer than necessary, his scarred skin warm against mine, and I found myself frozen between pulling away and leaning into the contact. This was the man who'd strapped me to a chair and threatened to carve truth from my flesh. The same man who'd touched my liplike I was something precious, who'd made my pulse race with nothing more than proximity and possibility.
Adrian continued, voice dropping lower as his thumb traced across my knuckles. “Go clean up and make yourself presentable.”
It wasn't a request.
Adrian debriefed me privately afterward, sharing Hayes' intelligence about Harrison's long-term manipulation. We agreed to maintain normal operations while gathering evidence, but the weight of that knowledge sat heavy between us. Harrison wasn't just stealing money—he'd been systematically positioning himself to inherit control of the entire Calloway empire.
Sleep wasa joke after the night we'd had. I paced my quarters like a caged animal, mind cycling through the same bloody carousel of revelations and betrayals until I thought I might go mental from the repetition. Hayes' manipulation. My own torture. The vindication that came too late to erase the memory of Adrian's hands on my body, extracting confessions and something darker that I wasn't ready to name.
The sound of my door opening without so much as a knock made me spin around, heart hammering against my ribs. Adrian stood in the doorway with a tumbler of what looked like expensive scotch, his presence filling the space like smoke from a fire you can't quite see yet.
“Your suspicions about Harrison,” he said without preamble, stepping into my room like he owned it. Which, technically, he did. “Explain them.”
The command came softer than usual, almost conversational, but there was steel underneath the silk. I accepted theoffered drink despite every instinct screaming that accepting anything from this man was dangerous territory.
“It's medical training,” I explained cautiously, the scotch burning down my throat like liquid courage. “We're taught to recognise inconsistencies between stated symptoms and physical indicators. Harrison's reactions when you mentioned financial investigations showed classic deception markers.”
Adrian studied me with that unnerving intensity that made me feel like a specimen under a microscope. The dim lighting in my room created shadows that carved his scarred features into something even more predatory, all sharp angles and dangerous curves.
“Harrison has been manipulating family financial structures for years. The Turner situation was orchestrated to eliminate rivals while appearing to defend Calloway interests.” He said, voice dropping to barely above a whisper.
Adrian was sharing intelligence with me, treating me like a confidant instead of property. The shift was subtle but seismic, changing the entire dynamic of our fucked-up relationship.
“Why tell me this?” I questioned, pulse quickening as he moved closer. The space between us charged with the same electricity that had been building since our first meeting in the hospital. “I'm just property according to our contract. Medical equipment with inconvenient ethical standards.”
The bitter reminder of my status came out sharper than I'd intended, revealing wounds that were still bleeding despite his vindication of my innocence. The basement interrogation had left marks that went deeper than skin, and we both knew it.
But instead of the cold dismissal I expected, something shifted in Adrian's expression. The mask of calculated indifference cracked, revealing glimpses of something more human underneath.
“You've proven unexpectedly valuable beyond medicalexpertise,” he acknowledged, closing the distance between us with predatory grace. The usual coldness had receded, replaced by something more dangerous and infinitely more magnetic. “Your perspective identified Harrison's deception when my judgement was compromised.”
I backed away instinctively, spine hitting the bedroom wall with nowhere else to retreat. Adrian followed like he was drawn by gravity, effectively trapping me with proximity rather than physical restraint.
“Bed,” he commanded, voice rough with want. “Now.”
I moved to the mattress on unsteady legs, heart hammering as he followed. When I turned to face him, he was already removing his jacket with deliberate precision.
The heat radiating from his body was overwhelming, making it hard to think past the primal awareness of his presence.
“That doesn't explain why you're here,” I challenged, though my voice came out rougher than intended. “In my room. At this hour. Sharing classified intelligence with the bloke you tortured less than twelve hours ago.”
The reminder made him flinch, almost imperceptible but there nonetheless. The first genuine regret I'd witnessed from Adrian, and it did something dangerous to my resolve.
“Harrison's betrayal requires careful handling,” he explained, voice lowering to barely above a whisper. His breath was warm against my skin, scotch and mint and something darker underneath. “His financial control extends through multiple operations. Removing him immediately would destabilise our entire structure.”
I could feel the heat radiating from his body, close enough that I could count his eyelashes, map the topology of scars that carved stories across his skin. Close enough that when hebreathed, I breathed, our rhythms synchronising despite every rational thought screaming warnings.
“I need someone I can trust absolutely during the transition,” he continued, and there was something vulnerable in his voice that I'd never heard before. Something that made my chest tight with emotions I wasn't ready to examine.
“And you trust me?” I asked incredulously, though the question came out breathier than I'd intended. “After accusing me of being a spy? After the basement? After everything you put me through?”
His hand came up slowly, giving me every opportunity to pull away, but I found myself frozen as his scarred fingers traced the still-healing cut on my lip from Marcus's strike. The touch was feather-light, almost reverent, completely at odds with the violence those same hands had inflicted.
“I'm offering elevated position,” he stated, thumb brushing across my lower lip with devastating precision. “Not just medical provider. Strategic advisor with protected status.”
The words should have meant something, should have registered as the significant promotion they represented. But all I could focus on was the way his touch made my skin burn, the way my pulse hammered against my throat, the way my body responded to his proximity despite every logical reason to hate him.
