Chapter 1

Madden tossed the ball into the air and caught it, only partially listening to the blubbering taking place from the ground at his feet. He’d abandoned his inner-city high-rise apartment for the seedier boathouse located at the Docks, also known as his favorite place on the planet.

Usually.

“See,” he drawled, speaking to no one in particular as he continued to chuck the solid waif ball up, “this is one of the reasons I’m glad I’m not Brumal. Beating people down because they owe me coin? Not my idea of a good time.” He caught the ball and slammed it onto the wooden coffee table, gaze hardening when it landed on the man who’d wasted the past fifteen minutes making excuses.

And not even clever ones.

Great and Muse, two of Madden’s best racers, stood on either side of the man on his knees, both looking just as tired of this whole situation as Madden felt.

“You owe coin,” Madden said, “you pay it. It’s not a hard concept, Eric.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying!” Eric, the idiot, argued. “I did pay it!”

“He beat up a Vail freshman for it,” Great informed.

“Crippled her,” Muse added, scowling down at the man they’d dragged here a half hour ago. “The poor girl might never walk on her right leg again.”

“But I paid you,” Eric snapped, glaring defiantly up at Muse, “didn’t I? I upheld my end of the contract! Who fucking cares where the coin came from so long as you assholes get your money?”

“How old is the girl?” Madden asked. Not that it mattered. He’d be an equal level of disgusted no matter her age. As a royal on the planet, he had a certain image that needed upholding. In more ways than one, he’d meant that comment about not being Brumal.

The standards he was held to by his peers were a little bit different for him than they were for them, and if there was one thing he wouldn’t allow anyone to mess with, it was his public image. If word got out that someone from the Docks put an innocent student in the hospital, that would reflect poorly on him.

That he could not abide.

Royal Madden Odell was an upper-class citizen of planet Vitality, a member of the infamous Retinue, and the righthand of the Imperial Prince. He was a senior at the military training university, better known as the Academy, and was at the top of his class. He attended all of the ritziest parties, rubbed elbows with the right political influencers, and charmed the absolute pants off of everyone he came into contact with.

Which was the only reason his father turned his cheek when it came to the illegal hovercar street races Madden ran.

“Eighteen,” Great said.

Madden’s big sister, Rebecca, was ten years older. “Tie him to your bike and drag him over the course for twenty-eight minutes.”

“What?!” Eric shot up, struggling when Great and Muse both grabbed onto him. “You can’t do that! I’ll—”

“You might live,” Madden stopped him. “Same odds as that girl you beat up. Maybe she’ll walk again, maybe she won’t. Maybe you’ll survive tonight. Maybe not.” He shrugged. “Every action has consequences. This is yours.”

Eric started to curse at him, clearly giving up on begging even though he hadn’t really done much of that in the first place when he’d been talking Madden’s ears off on all the reasons he wasn’t in the wrong.

“Have you seen Flix?” a new voice spoke from behind the guys, and all three of them jumped.

“Good Light,” Muse swore, placing a hand over his chest as the newcomer walked around them to stand in the center of the area of the room they were in. “Butcher, someone needs to put a bell on you.”

The Butcher of the Brumal mafia, Berga Obsidian, cocked his head and stared Muse down but said nothing in retaliation.

“What are you doing here?” Madden asked, dropping back against the couch before recalling the man’s question. “Flix isn’t here. Heard he was on vacation.”

Berga’s expression remained enigmatic, but it was clear by the tense set of his shoulders that he was in a bad mood. Not that Madden had much experience with reading the Butcher. The two of them didn’t spend much time together, mostly talking in passing when they found themselves at Retinue/Brumal gatherings, or Berga showed up at the Docks in support of one of his other friends.

“Can you shut him up?” Berga turned his blank expression on Eric. “He’s giving me a migraine.”

“If you want to take out the trash,” Madden said, “he’s all yours. We’re going to drag him outside anyway. ”

“Sure.” Berga pulled a pair of plastic single-use gloves from the back pocket of his black dress pants and slipped them on. Before anyone knew what he intended, a small knife appeared in his hand, and he shot forward, stabbing the inch-long weapon straight through the side of Eric’s neck. He retreated a few steps back just as quickly and rotated his arms, checking to be sure he hadn’t gotten anything on him.

Not that he would have, with how skillfully he’d implanted the blade. Only a single drop managed to roll from where the hilt was buried, acting as a sort of stopper.

Madden bolted off the couch. “That isn’t in the slightest what I meant.” Although…It wasn’t often anyone got to see the Butcher’s work. “But…I’m not mad about it.”

Great covered his mouth with a closed fist and shook his head while Muse merely sighed, used to how things operated around here by now.

“You sure?” Berga asked, not affected in the slightest by what he’d just done. He looked at Eric, who was standing there with his mouth gaping like a fish out of water. “Because I can probably save him so long as—”

Eric’s fumbling hand reached up and yanked the knife out, causing a spurt of blood to spray across the concrete floor.

“Never mind.” Berga waited until the body hit the ground before turning back to Madden. “Can I have something to drink? It’s too late to stop the migraine, I’m afraid.”

This was why everyone was afraid of him. Berga didn’t have a conscience. He’d probably forget all about the fact he’d just crassly taken a life in the next five seconds. Madden liked to believe he was at least somewhat better than that.

But then again, he was capable of feelings so…

Madden waved toward the mini-fridge tucked under the long table on the other side of the room. “Help yourself.”

“Thanks.”

“What now?” Muse asked.

“Clean this up,” Madden replied, rubbing at his forehead. He was starting to get a headache as well. Not because there was currently a dead body oozing in his safe space—it wasn’t the first, wouldn’t be the last—but because he was so over this whole conversation, it wasn’t even funny.

He needed something entertaining immediately.

“What?” Great scrunched his nose. “He made the mess, why are we the ones cleaning it up?”

“The Butcher never cleans up after himself,” Madden stated plainly.

Berga propped himself against the edge of the table, a glass of water in his left hand, a small vial of pills in the other, and shrugged at them. “I’m squeamish.”

Muse stared as though waiting for the punchline.

“He’s not joking,” Madden saved him from waiting an eternity and said.

“He just stabbed someone through the jugular without blinking,” Muse pointed out.

“Of course I blinked,” Berga corrected. “On average, I blink eleven times per minute. Oh.” He reconsidered. “I suppose it didn’t take me that long to incapacitate him. Is that the period of time you’re referring to?”

“Just,” Madden sighed again, “clean up and go.”

The two of them grumbled but otherwise did as they were told. Muse dragged out the body while Great got the mop from the far corner. Despite their protests, this wasn’t their first time dealing with a spill either, and they got the job done quickly and, mostly, silently.

“Does Kelevra know you’re here holding court without him?” Berga asked as he sipped at his water, and it took Madden longer than it should have to realize the man was teasing him.

Kelevra Diar, the Imperial Prince third in line for the throne, was the leader of the Retinue and, in fact, the only reason the Retinue even existed in the first place. All of the members were handpicked by Kel, chosen to help support his position on the planet and keep him safe.

He also happened to be Madden’s best friend since they were children.

“The Docks are my own personal kingdom,” he played into the joke with a shrug. “Which means you’ve crossed into my territory, Butcher. What do you say, want to bend the knee?”

“Sure,” Berga surprised him by saying, until he pointed at Muse and added in an even tone, “As long as I can cut that guy’s off. He’s a Craz, correct? Some pieces of their body have toxic properties when ground up and added to—”

“Bro,” Muse straightened from his task of drying up the water left over from the mop, “I’m literally within hearing range. I can hear you.”

“That’s good,” Berga didn’t skip a beat. “Then you can answer for the Mad King. Are you from Crazimer?”

Mad King?

Madden straightened a bit in his seat at the odd nickname. He hadn’t thought they were close enough for those. But also…Where the hell had it come from?

“We’re done,” Great slapped a protective hand on Muse’s shoulder and said to Madden, “and we’re leaving.”

“Probably for the best,” Madden replied. Even he couldn’t tell if Berga was serious about the kneecap thing. Muse was one of his top racers. Better for them all to play it safe and get him away from the Butcher. “Shut the door on your way out.”

The main entrance to the docks was a large roller door, with an opening big enough to fit a boat, though the space had been converted into Madden’s home of sorts. As soon as the metal door hit the floor, he gave all of his attention to Berga, curiosity getting the best of him .

“Thought you came around to ask about Flix?” Which he’d already done, and Madden had already given a reply to. Why was he still here? “What’s up? Don’t tell me you suddenly want to get to know me better.” Doubtful, considering they’d technically known one another for over a decade, having met when they were both children.

“It appears as though I used the wrong pill,” Berga stated cryptically, holding the vial up to one of the swinging lamps so he could peer in at the contents. “I thought I was taking a regular pain medication, but instead, I took Impression.”

“Impression?” He’d never heard of it.

“It’s an aphrodisiac,” Berga said bluntly, tearing his eyes off the pills when Madden sucked in a sharp breath at that.

The Brumal mafia dealt in all sorts of untoward things, and it wasn’t like Madden himself was innocent, but still. “What possible reason could you have for carrying that around all day on your person?”

“I didn’t intend to use it, if that’s what you’re getting at.” Berga replied, skin beginning to flush a light pink shade. “It’s still in its testing stages, and I was hoping to convince Kelevra to conduct a few tests for me.”

“Kelevra?” He frowned. “Why him?” And since when were the two close enough for the prince to trust ingesting something from the Butcher?

“He and his Royal Consort like to dabble from time to time,” he explained with a noncommittal shrug. “It spices up the bedroom.”

As someone who had—unfortunately—walked in on Kelevra and Rin a time or two, they didn’t need any help in that department.

Madden shifted awkwardly in his seat when the Butcher didn’t say anything else, but his gaze seemed to focus on him. “What are you doing?”

“I’m calculating.”

“Calculating what exactly?”

“Your last race for the night would have just ended. Typically, the crowd starts to thin as soon as that happens, but there are always those who linger. Plus, one of the racers tonight was Gull—She has a rather large fanbase. I won’t be able to make it back to my car before the effects of the drug kick in.”

Oh. “Do you want me to call someone over?” Madden stepped toward the door, but Berga shook his head sharply.

“I don’t fuck strangers,” he sounded disgusted by the notion, but that only confused Madden further.

“We aren’t exactly bosom buddies, Butcher. We barely know each other.”

“You know I don’t like getting bodily fluids on my person,” Berga reminded. “That’s enough for us to proceed.”

“Pro—” He laughed, catching himself, and then rested his hands on his hips. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but no thank you.”

“Do you not find me attractive?” He didn’t sound insulted by that possibility. “You sleep with men and women, so it’s not my gender. Is it the horns, perhaps?” Berga brushed his fingers over the right one almost self-consciously.

Except, people like Berga didn’t get self-conscious.

Did they?

Most of Madden’s experiences with psychopathy and sociopathy came from the other Devils, but Kelevra took front and center since he was around him all the time. Kel and Berga were completely different monsters, however. They had practically nothing in common, and that reason alone put Madden on edge.

Because he wasn’t entirely sure how to handle this situation.

He’d wanted entertainment.

But this wasn’t what he’d meant.

“It’s not the horns,” he found himself saying. “I always liked them, actually.” Not a lie. He really had. What wasn’t to like?

In truth, everything about the other man was attractive. He was beautiful in an ethereal sort of way, with soft features that belied the viciousness hidden beneath that pale, moon-kissed skin. Since he was a born Vital, he had many of the features natives to the planet did, the horns included. They were two tiny gemstone protrusions set high on his forehead, only an inch or so long and of a similar width.

“When’d you change your hair?” Madden asked, noticing for the first time since Berga had entered that his roots were showing. A shimmery, pale green color was coming through. “Your natural color isn’t black?”

Had he been dying it even as a kid?!

“My natural color is pastel green. Why?” Berga’s hand moved there. “Do you not like it?”

“I…” Huh? “Why does that matter?”

“I guess it doesn’t really.” Berga dropped his arms and set the glass down, then reached into the mini fridge and grabbed a beer. Bringing it over to Madden, he offered it with what was clearly a forced smile that was more creepy than friendly.

Creepy enough it had Madden taking the offering and downing a swallow just for an excuse to look away from it.

“Why do you dye it?” he asked, mostly to keep the conversation going and off that other topic.

“Blood shows up too easily on light colors,” Berga said.

“That why you’re always dressed in black?”

“I’m always dressed in black because I’m a senior at Vail University, and black is the senior uniform color,” he stated. “But you know this already. Are you stalling? You’re not very good at it. Try choosing a topic that we can actually converse about. Like…How is your sister doing? Is she still working at the hospital?”

“Rebecca?” Madden frowned. “Since when did you talk with my sister?”

“I don’t.” He shrugged. “We interacted a couple of months ago when I was helping Bay and Sila out with something.”

“With what?” Bay Delmar was one of Madden’s racers and a professor at Berga’s school.

“It’s not nice to share other people’s business without consent.”

“Right…” Madden cleared his throat a second time. “This has been fun and all, but shouldn’t you—” There was a sharp pang in his lower abdomen, followed quickly by a rush of unmistakable heat that had him inhaling sharply.

A move that brought with it a whiff of whatever cologne Berga was currently wearing, something gourmand with a hint of salt that instinctively had Madden leaning in closer for another smell.

Wait.

He stared at the beer bottle in his hand. “Did you…?” Another pang, this time the sensation even more intense, and he had to set the bottle down on the coffee table or risk smashing it across the Butcher’s head.

Which would be satisfying for two point five seconds—maybe—but would come with far too many repercussions.

Actions equaled consequences, and Madden wasn’t willing to pay up for the ones that would come with injuring a Satellite member.

But still.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he growled, sitting down for good measure. His cock lengthened in his jeans, the tight squeeze uncomfortable, and without much thought, he popped the button on his pants and slid down the zipper to free it.

The drug was insanely fast acting, his cock springing free to push against the thin material of his boxer briefs. A wet stain was already forming, and with a curse he pulled it away, hissing at the rush of cool air against his exposed member.

“It’s helpful that you’re already shirtless,” Berga stated, tipping his head afterward. “Why is that? I’ve noticed you have an aversion to shirts. You’re very often without.”

“Is now really the time to discuss this?”

“No, I’d rather be fucking already, but I figured you needed more coaxing. The effects of the drug still need to take a stronger hold on your mind. I fear you’ll react poorly to my advances otherwise.”

“You drugged me,” he snapped, even though that was painfully obvious. “You just admitted it.” His hand wrapped around his girth and he started to stroke himself, too livid to be embarrassed when the Butcher’s gaze dropped there and held.

“You said you weren’t interested in sleeping with me before,” Berga said. “Are you interested now?”

“Good Light, what is wrong with you?”

“We don’t have enough time before the drug makes it hard for both of us to focus,” he replied. “If you’re still interested in my condition afterward, I’ll give you my official medical diagnosis.” Berga undid the buttons of his black shirt carefully, each one coming undone in a slow, almost strip tease. “Fair warning, the list is long and a bit contradictory—according to Bay, at least, but I trust his judgment when it comes to these sorts of things.”

“Right.” Madden didn’t want to, but he found his gaze drawn to the movements of Berga’s fingers, watching as swath after swath of that creamy skin was exposed to him. Unclothed, the Butcher wasn’t as soft as he’d imagined, with hard, well-defined muscles and shoulders broad enough to rival Madden’s.

“Condoms?” Berga asked then, and when Madden met his eyes, there was more emotion there than there’d been a second ago. The ruby shade of those orbs seemingly glowing.

He wanted to resist and put the brakes on this before they went too far, but his arm shot out as though of its own accord, pointing toward the metal desk the holo-tv was set on top of.

Berga went to it and fished out a handful of condoms from the top drawer, coming back to drop them onto the coffee table in the first almost careless motion he’d made all evening. He had his pants off and was kicking out of them almost before he’d fully straightened, unabashed by his nudity in front of Madden.

He’d hid it well, but the drug had clearly been affecting him all this time. His dick was full and rosy, a bead of precome leaking from the flushed crown to roll halfway down his long shaft before breaking free. It plopped onto the concrete between Berga’s spread feet, and the Butcher paused and grimaced at it before tearing open one of the condoms and slipping it on.

“What are you doing?” Even as Madden asked it, he found himself standing to do away with the rest of his own clothing, his gaze still trapped on what the other man was packing. He had an impressive girth, a full set of balls that would fit perfectly in Madden’s palm.

“I don’t come inside,” Berga stated. “Too messy.”

Madden hadn’t been aware that his aversion to bodily fluids meant all bodily fluids. He’d actually been under the impression the guy simply didn’t like to get blood on him. If he’d had to guess, it would have been because blood was a bitch to get out of clothing, but now…

Wait. That wasn’t the most important thing at the moment.

“Excuse me?” Madden quirked a brow. “How exactly are you envisioning this going, Butcher? Because I’m a top.”

“Switch it up for the night.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Trust me. In a minute, it won’t matter how you get it so long as you do.”

“If that’s the case, then I can say the same back to you,” Madden countered.

“I’ll care,” he insisted. “The bottom has to be lubed up, and that means more fluids leaking everywhere and potentially contaminating the environment. Hard no.”

“Something’s hard, but it isn’t that.” Madden grabbed onto Berga’s sheathed dick, not bothering to be gentle. Annoyance was prickling at the lust he was feeling as the drug flooded his system, drowning out rationality. All of the reasons for him not to do this—and not to harm a member of the Satellite—went out the window.

Clearly Berga wasn’t in his right state of mind either, because he barely resisted when Madden spun him around and shoved his face down into the middle cushion of the couch. The man was big, but Madden was a bit bigger, and more importantly…

A lot stronger.

He held him down with a hand at the back of his neck while the other slipped between his cheeks and felt for his puckered entrance. The second his middle finger pressed against it, Madden felt his balls tighten, his vision momentarily winking out as need coursed through him.

“You don’t want messy lube?” Madden asked, barely recognizing the low, gravelly sound of his own voice. “Fine. Then we’ll go without.” He stroked himself again, coating his fingers in precome before returning them to that tight entrance.

The first one was a struggle to get in, both of them cursing as he worked it into Berga’s resisting body. He felt around once he’d fully inserted it, then pulled out and pressed in two at once.

“It burns,” Berga growled, trying to turn. The taut muscles of his back and shoulders were as tightly strung as his hole, and he shook some, almost as though his entire being was vibrating.

“Give it a second.” If not for the guy’s aversion to blood, Madden wouldn’t even be bothering with this step. It was his fault they were in this mess in the first place. Tearing through him, making it hurt, was what Berga deserved.

And yet…

“I’ve always prided myself on being a good lover,” Madden said, and even he couldn’t tell if that was an excuse or not. He added a third finger, the grip around his digits still too tight for his cock to fit in comfortably, but at least he’d worked him open somewhat.

It was going to have to do, because even though he’d successfully kept Berga down until this point, it was clear the Butcher was growing more irritated and could soon break free.

Madden pulled his fingers away and took his cock, lining himself up with the Butcher’s virgin entrance, rubbing himself against that spot until they were both moaning and a gush of precome slipped out of his slit to wet the area.

“You drugged me,” he held Berga still when the man started to struggle and attempted to straighten off the couch.

Actions.

Consequences.

This might not be so bad after all. He’d never tasted Brumal before, too keen on keeping the peace. It was twisted, but he also kind of liked the idea of taking it from someone who’d never had it from behind, especially if that someone was as pretty and deadly as Berga Obsidian.

Juxtapositions. He’d always been such a sucker for those.

Madden folded himself over Berga’s back so he could reach his ear, no longer able to contain himself as he gave in to the overwhelming lust. “You really shouldn’t have done that.”

The Butcher's scream as he tore through him with his cock was almost loud enough to drown out the pounding of his heart racing in his own ears.

Almost.