Chapter 17

Chapter 17 :

Madden’s bike was still burning.

Kind of like his insides, though he called upon that steely calm fa?ade his father had beaten into both him and his sister—one of them successfully—since they were kids. The Odells had appearances to keep, after all, and losing your temper wasn’t a good look.

Odd, considering murder was totally cool and acceptable behavior, but whatever. Madden didn’t make the rules, he merely surprised everyone by attempting to play by them.

For the most part.

But his hoverbike, his literal prized possession, was currently in a heap of burning metal in the middle of his entranceway, and all he could think were all the ways he was going to make the asshole standing next to it pay.

The explosion sound had been them crashing the bike into the metal door. It’d dented and Madden had pressed the remote to lift it, curious when he found a group of four guys on the security camera. Guest had arrived through the side entrance, just a little too late with his warning that there was a group coming after Madden.

He’d left both the Racer and Bay in the bedroom upstairs with Berga, with orders not to leave the Butcher for any reason. There was no telling when he’d wake, and unconscious, he was vulnerable.

“It’s an interesting entrance,” Madden drawled, stopping in the living room area, far enough to keep some distance but close enough to react the second he got the chance. “Points for creativity. Pretty sure four generations of your family couldn’t afford that bike though. We’ll have to figure out a way to settle that debt.”

None of the four men were familiar to him, but one was a little cockier than the other three, clearly the leader. He stepped forward, grinning at the bike before he risked giving it a kick, quickly so as to ensure he didn’t catch any of the flames .

He was Vital, with purple hair and gray eyes. Would have been pretty even if not for his otherwise ugly features.

And the whole blowing up Madden’s hoverbike thing.

And not being the Butcher.

“Rich coming from you,” the man sneered. “That’s why we’re here. To settle a debt.”

“I don’t keep my own books,” he said. “So I have no idea who any of you are.”

One of the guys in the back seemed offended by that statement, another uncertain. Whoever they were, it was obvious by the reactions they falsely believed they were hot shit.

“Grimes and Fraunz,” the purple-haired one said.

“Right.” He shrugged. “Never heard of them.”

“We’re the number one loan company in the city!” one of the guys with red hair sputtered, offended.

“Isn’t that the Brumal?” Madden tugged at his ear. “And after them, it’s the Shepards. They’re the only ones the Brumal consider even a remote threat to their empire so…Grim and Funz? Not important.”

“It’s—” the annoyed man was cut off by his boss lifting his arm.

“It doesn’t matter. You know who we are now. We’re here to collect a debt you owe us.”

“I don’t owe anyone anything.” Madden slipped his hands into his front pockets. “There seems to be a misunderstanding. ”

“Why? Because you’re a Royal and part of the Retinue?” the purple-haired man snorted derisively. “You think you’re all that? Too good for us? Think again. You ain’t Brumal, which means you’re not untouchable.”

Untouchable was exactly what he was, but with Berga upstairs, Madden didn’t want to waste time with unimportant details.

They were all going to be dead within a half hour anyway. No point in correcting dead men walking.

“You’re also made of money. What’s a few thousand coin to you? Nothing. But to us, it’s—”

“Get to the point.” Madden sighed. “What’s this supposed debt?”

“It was Eric Daubs debt initially,” the redhead explained.

“But you killed him,” the leader added, “so now it’s yours.”

“Right.” Idiots. “So I murdered someone who owed you coin, and you lot thought it would be a smart idea to storm in here, destroy my hoverbike, and threaten me? You said it yourself, I’m a member of the Retinue, a Royal, and known killer. What part of that equation made you wrongly assume I also must be a pushover?”

“Canham,” one of the other guys whispered to the leader nervously.

“Shut up,” the purple-haired man, Canham, growled back before reaching behind himself. He whipped out a blaster and aimed it at Madden’s chest, clearly not noticing how unaffected by the weapon Madden was. “It’s well past midnight, which means this place is practically vacant. Aside from a couple of racers, there’s no one here who can help you. Doesn’t matter who you are, you’re not immune to bullets.”

Well, that much was true at least.

“Wire over the coin and we’ll leave.”

Madden snorted. “My bookkeeper is off the clock. No can do.”

Canham lowered the gun and fired off a round, the bullet cracking through the concrete less than half a foot away from the tips of Madden’s boots. “The next one goes in your kneecap.”

He wasn’t faster than a blaster, so darting forward wasn’t going to get him much more than a hole in his body. And even if he did somehow manage to get it off Canham, there was no way of knowing if the others weren’t also packing.

“Okay,” he said. Why not? They weren’t wrong about him not missing the coin either. He’d pay them now, have the police department run a search using the security footage them, and then pay them a visit under the shroud of darkness just like they had him. Only he wouldn’t waste time on meaningless chatter. He’d put a bullet through each of their skulls as soon as they saw it was him and—

“It’s so loud,” Berga’s usual empty tone came from above them a second before he appeared at the top of the landing. Casually, he made his way down, assessing the scene before him with obvious disinterest. “I was sleeping.”

“Shit,” the redhead cursed and retreated a step, the other two with him following suit.

Right. Because they’d mentioned they were afraid of the Brumal. Made sense. Everyone feared the mafia, especially small fry loan sharks who risked stepping into their territory on the daily.

Berga came to the bottom of the steps and cocked his head, taking in the leader. “Canham Smartly, correct?”

That was not this moron's last name…? Seriously?

Madden would have laughed, but now that they were closer, he could tell that Berga’s color was still slightly off. He shouldn’t be up right now. And why weren’t Guest or Bay with him?

“Yes,” Canham straightened but didn’t drop the blaster still pointed at Madden. “I wasn’t aware you were here, Butcher.”

“I come by on occasion.” Berga moved into the kitchen and opened the fridge. “What brings the hardworking members of Grimes and Fraunz all the way out to the Docks? I didn’t realize you were friends with them, Madden.”

“Does it look like we’re close, baby?” Madden asked, indicating the gun with his chin.

“Baby?” the redhead whispered, and his two buddies swore and slid another step back.

Canham was too busy staring at Berga like a superfan who’d just met their idol to notice.

“Aren’t you playing?” Berga asked, that total lack of concern still in his voice.

“He owes us money,” Canham seized the opportunity to say. “It’s business. Nothing personal.”

“Does he?” Berga popped open a can of beer and took a drag before holding it up in silent offer for Canham. When he nodded, he grabbed a second one and went to the bar, placing his down so he could pop the top for Canham as he spoke. “Well, then, he should pay you back. What are you waiting for, Madden? Grimes and Fraunz are known for settling their debts quickly. They have the fastest turnaround times in the city. Even the companies run by the Brumal give at least an extra week for repayments. It’s better just to get it over with so it’s off your mind.”

“You’ve heard of us?” a blond who’d been cowering only a moment ago perked up some at that.

Berga hummed and walked over to Canham, stopping at a respectable distance. He held out the can, continuing only once the man had taken it. “Of course. You’ve been on the Brumal’s radar for a couple of months now. Ever since that deal you pulled with the Mulkin family. Impressive work.”

“Thank you.” Canham sipped the beer, but no matter how much he idolized Berga, his hand on the blaster never wavered.

“How much does he owe you?” Berga asked, heading to Madden.

“Thirty thousand coin.”

“I see. No wonder you came to collect. That’s not a small sum.”

“It was originally Eric’s,” Madden drawled when Berga reached him, and when the Butcher lifted a questioning brow, added, “The guy who got stabbed in the neck.”

“Oh.” He nodded. “He really shouldn’t have pulled the knife out like that. None of us would be here if he’d been just a little bit smarter. But, then again, I suppose the same can be said about you all.”

“What?” Canham paused with the can pressed to his lips, frowning. Almost as though he couldn’t compute the insult after Berga had been kissing up to him the past five minutes.

“It should start—” Berga was cut off by a startled and pained sound from Canham. “There we go. Right on time.”

The man dropped the can of beer onto the ground, frothy golden liquid pouring out to soak his expensive leather shoes. Not that he seemed to notice, too caught up with grabbing onto his throat. He finally dropped the blaster, but only because he got distracted.

His sudden screams were loud enough to make Madden wince.

“Yikes.” He covered his ears and turned to Berga. “Did you give him something to turn him into a banshee?”

“No, nothing like that,” Berga waved him off, the corner of his mouth tipping upward in that maniacal, mad scientist look he sometimes got. “The nanites I slipped into his beer are taking apart his throat muscles and his vocal cords. Just wait a moment and it’ll stop.”

Almost as soon as he said it, Canham coughed and then went silent. He dropped to his knees, tears flowing down his cheeks as he continued to claw at his neck.

“He’s going to tear through his skin like that,” Madden noted.

“An interesting side effect I hadn’t considered,” Berga agreed.

Madden blinked at him. “Are you saying this is untested?”

“It’s in the testing stages, to be accurate.” He tipped his head, brow furrowing ever so slightly. “Strange. He should be screaming again.”

“He’s still screaming.” They just couldn’t hear him, that was all, but by the way his mouth was gaping open, it was clear he was.

“Yes, but the nanites should have repaired his vocal cords by now.”

“Repaired them?”

“They’re programmed to take them apart and put them back together again—” Berga grinned when Canham’s whimpers filled the room once more. “There we go. I was worried there was an issue with the programming for a moment.”

“Make it stop!” the redhead seemed to snap out of his horror long enough to rush for Canham, wrapping his arms around his shoulders. “Please!”

“I’m afraid I haven’t gotten that far in the testing stage yet,” Berga replied flippantly, inspecting Canham closely. Like he would a lab rat.

Madden actually shuddered.

Berga grimaced when the screams became shrill. “Perhaps I should shorten the time the vocal cords are repaired. This is cumbersome.”

“When will it end?!” the redhead changed tactics.

“He’d go mad long before the nanites run out of energy.” He considered something and then said, “You’d be better off shooting him in the head. End his suffering. Feel free to do so whenever. I’ve observed enough. I’m confident I can tweak the composition to correct these minor inconveniences.”

“You’re a fucking monster!”

“That’s interesting. Weren’t you all, only a moment ago, admiring me? What did you think the Butcher of the Brumal did, exactly? Oh.” Berga nodded. “Is it that you only find my work fascinating when it isn’t being conducted on one of you? That’s a bit hypocritical.”

“Please—” Before the redhead could finish, Canham lifted the blaster.

He could have aimed it at Madden, but instead, he brought it to the side of his own head and pulled the trigger in less time than it took to blink. Blood and brain matter exploded, coating the redhead's face in an instant.

“I guess that also works,” Berga said, though his lips twisted in obvious distaste. His humor returned when the redhead snapped out of it and picked up the weapon, lifting it Berga’s way. “Think carefully, Paradox.”

“You know…who I am?” the redhead hesitated.

“Of course. I wasn’t lying before. The Brumal has considered poaching a few of you from that pathetic loan business. Your name was on the list. Pity, really. I was going to add you to my personal medical team, but you had to go and throw your life away.”

Paradox was shaking.

“Think,” Berga repeated. “Think really carefully. If you can’t kill me in one shot, you’ll regret it, and you’re all alone now so…”

He sucked in a sharp breath and spun on his heels, staring behind him where his friends should have been.

“They left after the first time the screaming stopped,” Madden filled in for him. “I would have told you, but I didn’t think you’d hear me over the noise.”

“I…” He gulped.

“Whose idea was it to blow up the bike?” Berga asked.

“Rigs.”

“Ah, the blond. Of course.”

“I—”

“It’s getting late,” Berga said, “and, unfortunately, I didn’t bring any other drug worth experimenting with tonight. I’m not a fan of blasters,” he glanced pointedly at the puddle of brains and blood, “too messy. So I’ll make you a deal. You get to live.”

“I do?”

Berga took a step forward and Paradox panicked and grabbed the gun with his other hand as well.

Madden wanted to stop him, a rush of worry zipping through him, but Berga didn’t seem to share in that concern.

“In exchange,” Berga continued evenly, “you’ll help me spread a message. Can you do that?”

Paradox frantically nodded in the affirmative.

“Royal Madden Odell belongs to the Butcher.” Gently, he took the blaster out of the trembling man's hands. “And I’m protective of my things.”

He aimed low and emptied the clip into Canham’s body, not even twitching when blood splattered across his legs and his bare feet, maintaining eye contact with Paradox all the while.

Madden's worry grew. That was very unlike Berga. Was he going to have another episode now? The doctor had been clear that he needed rest. What if this set him off a second time that night? Would he be okay?

“See? Messy. If anyone from Grimes and Fraunz even considers coming for revenge,” Berga said as soon as the last echo from the final shot dissipated, “remind them I can have their entire family poisoned with far worse than what I gave Canham before any of them even know to watch out. I am off limits. What’s mine is off limits.” He leaned toward the shaking man. “Understood?”

“Y-yes!”

Berga motioned with the gun. “Run along then. I’m bored now.”

Paradox tripped over his own heels retreating, hitting the ground with a hard whack. He was back on his feet and racing off into the darkness within seconds though, not even sparing a second glance at his fallen leader.

“Tell me I’ve never looked hotter,” Berga ordered, and as the only other person still with him, it was obvious he was talking to Madden.

“You’re legitimately the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life. I know you don’t like it on you, but red really is your color, baby,” he said, watching closely as the Butcher’s shoulders started to quake.

“Hey, Mad King,” Berga kept his back to him, but his voice sounded off, “Can you come here?”

Madden barely made it in time to catch the Butcher as he crumbled. Maybe it was for the best he’d lost consciousness again. It could be that was his brain's way of protecting himself from having to see the blood splatters on his body.

“What happened?!” Bay came running down the steps, and Madden barely held his tongue from demanding what took him so long.

“He passed out,” Madden explained, lifting Berga into his arms. He headed back upstairs, passing Guest in the process. “Clean this place up,” he told the racer. “Bay. Call the doctor again for me. And someone put out my flaming hoverbike, damn it.”

This was starting to feel like the longest night of his damn life.