Chapter 2

Madden wasn’t exactly Berga’s type. They were about the same height, though Madden had a more polished appearance than he did. He was fit, but not bulky, with short hair that changed from burgundy to deep purple depending on the lighting. He was fierce on the racetracks yet poised in an office setting. A dual nature he could flip between with ease.

Not at all a skill Berga possessed, and not one he’d particularly wanted to get closer to.

Typically, he preferred smaller men—and he didn’t just mean in terms of stature. Whenever he did need to scratch the itch, he tended to take impressionable, easily manipulated men to his bed. Ones who wouldn’t question or hesitate to follow his strict set of instructions and rules.

Berga hadn’t even had the chance to rattle off a single one of those rules before he’d found himself trapped and bent over, his ass presented to the Retinue member as though he had a right to take him any way he pleased.

He was the Butcher of the Brumal mafia.

No one was allowed to mishandle him and get away with all ten fingers still attached.

Only…

It hurt.

A lot. Probably less than it would have if Madden hadn’t taken the time to open him up a bit—a note Berga filed away for later when he worked on the second batch of Impression—but there was still a pain sharp enough to have him gritting his teeth with every inward and outward pounding of that giant cock.

Berga bit down on his bottom lip, instantly tasting blood, and stopped before it could spread. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d played with his back entrance himself, let alone the last time anyone else had dared touch him there. His body wasn’t used to the intrusion, the sudden stretch of Madden’s cock as he pistoned into him agonizingly.

“Harder.” Berga reached back and grabbed a fistful of one of Madden’s ass cheeks, pulling him against him in time with his harsh thrusts. The pain intensified, as brutal as the Retinue member currently fucking him. He’d blame it on the drug if he could, but the truth was, Berga enjoyed the pain. “Make me bleed.”

Whoa. Had that come from him just now?

Pain was one thing. He’d dedicated his life to discovering all the ways to elicit it without causing unnecessary bloodshed.

Berga shook his head, trying to clear his mind from the lust-filled haze, but before he could grasp any sense, Madden angled his hips and rammed forward, hitting a different spot that had Berga shooting up onto his toes.

He cried out and clutched at the couch, trying to find purchase as his entire body quaked. Thank Light he’d had enough sense to put the condom on himself. At least he wasn’t dripping come all over the cushions—

“Stop.” He fought against the strong hold at the back of his neck, a bit more forcefully this time, and managed to get loose enough to spin and shove Madden off of him.

The Retinue member hit the coffee table, and the wood splintered beneath his weight but otherwise held.

“Condom,” Berga ordered, pointing to the pile next to Madden’s hipbone. “Just put a condom on. Then continue.”

“Fuck that.” Madden shot forward, pouncing onto Berga. He had him on his back across the faded leather, a knee between his thighs, shoving them apart. His cock was already searching for his hole again, hips mindlessly thrusting until he finally bumped against it.

“Wait—” Berga tossed his head back and moaned when Madden reentered him. There was still discomfort, but most of the pain had abated, and he would have been annoyed if not for the sharp bursts of electricity tingling through him with every pump of Madden’s cock. He lifted his arms and wrapped them around the other man, his nails digging into the flesh of his back.

Madden hissed but didn’t pull away, if anything, he settled over him even more, their bodies flush together. His breathing was labored when he turned his head and captured Berga’s mouth in a bruising kiss to rival the beating he was taking lower.

His tongue twirled over Berga’s, fighting for dominance as he responded back. They nipped and sucked at each other’s mouths and lips, though neither broke skin.

This was not at all how Berga intended the night to go. He’d come here searching for his best friend, Flix, not believing that he’d gone off on vacation like he’d texted the group over a week ago. It’d been too long and Berga was worried. Or at least anxious.

But Flix wasn’t here, and he should have left as soon as he’d discovered that fact. Instead, he’d gotten caught up in Madden’s little display, mildly curious what they were doing. As soon as he’d realized it was a bad bet made by an idiot, all of that interest had left him. The headache, however, was there to stay.

It was by happenstance he had Impression with him. Berga didn’t usually carry about that particular drug on his person, but Sila Varun had asked him for some, and ever since Sila had started to date Bay, Berga found it simpler to keep that particular Devil satisfied. It’d made sense to bring enough to pass on to Kelevra as an extra test subject.

He didn’t have time for this, an error in judgement that would cost him.

There were still several people in the Bunker, the Brumal’s dungeon of sorts, that needed sorting through, and Berga had a test tomorrow in his advanced biology class he couldn’t miss. If he’d been able to think straight, he could calculate how long the effects of Impression would last, but unfortunately, he wasn’t able to hold onto a full sentence, let alone do math in his head.

Which might actually be a good thing because if he was in his right state of mind, he’d no doubt be hyperventilating over the fact Madden was slicking his insides with his disgusting bodily fluids.

As if on cue, Madden grunted, burying himself deep before painting Berga’s inner walls with cream. His orgasm rippled through him, causing his body to quiver over Berga’s.

The second he felt him start to relax and, therefore, drop his guard, Berga struck.

He flipped their positions in one move so that Madden was the one lying on his back with Berga between his legs.

“My turn.” It was the only warning he gave before he pinned Madden with a palm to his lower abs and shoved his weeping dick between Madden’s ass cheeks. He entered him in a mirror move to the one he’d just been taken, brutally and without mercy, laughing when Madden cursed and clawed at his arms in a bid to get away.

“Believe it or not,” he found himself confiding, the words tumbling off his lips like a madman spewing nonsense, too lost to the throws of passion to make rhyme or reason out of why he’d bother speaking at all, “I don’t enjoy hurting others. It doesn’t get me going. But my pain?” He drove in as deep as he could go. “Claw me harder if you want this to be over quicker.”

Madden moaned. “At least I had the decency to stretch you out first. As soon as you come, that ass of yours is mine again.”

“If you can take it,” he challenged, smirking.

He vaguely wondered if Impression might have other side effects, like perhaps turning you into a completely different person.

But then Madden met his thrust and all he could think about was chasing his own release. The moment the drug took complete control over them both was obvious because everything that took place between them after that was a blur of motion and raw desire.

At some point, the door to the boathouse may have opened, and someone might have walked in on them—but Berga only had a vague impression of that happening and of Madden ordering the intruder away with scary threats that had somehow excited Berga even more. He’d ground down onto him in a frenzy, taking him as deep into his body as he could go, no longer caring about the mess or his usual preferences.

It flipped back and forth between them. Him on top. Him on bottom. The squeeze of Madden’s body around his dick. Sharp intakes of breath as he was pounded from behind himself. Copulating had never been this chaotic for Berga before. This frenetic. He’d find his anxiety spiking whenever reality threatened to trickle past the desire, but Madden would help chase that feeling away with sensation unlike anything he’d ever experienced.

Eventually, they must have both passed out, because when he next came to, Berga was lying on his back on the cold concrete floor, bright sunlight spilling down from the skylight above to blind him. He blinked against the harsh rays with a groan which caused him to wince. Why was his throat so sore?

He rubbed at it and peeled himself off the ground, only managing to make it into a seated position. He’d ended up between the couch and the coffee table, his body itchy and covered in dried sweat and come. At some point, probably after the first orgasm, he’d lost the condom, so half the mess was undoubtedly his. There were bite marks peppered all over his skin, the light indents of teeth and bruises scattered over his chest, arms, and thighs. Even still, there were very few places where blood had been drawn, and where it had, the wounds had already healed and left no smears or smudges of red.

The spot directly between his eyes hurt like a bitch, the pulsing sensation causing him to make yet another sound as he pressed his middle finger there.

“Morning,” Madden’s sleepy voice, barely audible even in the near-silent room, had Berga glancing over. The royal was sprawled out on his stomach over the couch, his arms wrapped around one of the throw pillows. He didn’t look any better than Berga.

For every mark he’d given, Berga had returned the favor two-fold.

He almost chuckled, catching himself at the last second. Not that Madden would have noticed with his eyes still shut.

“Grab me a water.” Madden motioned in the direction of the mini fridge.

“Get it yourself.” His multi-slate, the body-borne device that acted as a communicator and computer, was still attached to his wrist, and he checked for missed messages, frowning when there was nothing from Flix. Where the hell—

“Come on,” Madden persisted. “You need to make it up to me. I’ve never bottomed before. ”

“Neither have I.”

“Yeah, well we can both agree that I at least was more thoughtful than you in that department. This is your fault. The least you can do is get me some water. My throat feels like it’s been rubbed down with sandpaper. What’s your spunk made of?”

“What are you talking about?” Berga planted a palm against the coffee table, took a deep breath, and then lifted onto his feet, grimacing all the while. Everything ached. He even wobbled a bit before finding his balance.

“I blew you,” Madden said. “Aw, don’t tell me you can’t remember?”

“I have a very vague recollection,” he admitted, sort of able to picture Madden’s head between his thighs, his maroon hair clutched between Berga’s fingers as he spurred him on.

It’d been soft after all, his hair.

The old boathouse had been converted to Madden’s hangout pad for years now, complete with a living space, a full kitchen, and an entertainment area. A set of wooden stairs to the left and by the kitchen led up to the top level, where a wraparound balcony overlooked the first. Madden’s bedroom was apparently up there, but clearly they hadn’t managed to make it even off the couch, let alone anywhere close to the stairs.

The mini fridge was tucked underneath a bar that separated the kitchen from the living space, but Berga didn’t think he’d be able to manage bending over to grab anything from within and get back up again, so he passed it and went straight for the large unit between the stove and an empty countertop.

He pulled it open and searched for water, needing to brush food takeout cartons and single-serve protein shakes to the side in order to locate one way in the back. Why was he doing this again? To keep the peace? Hadn’t that ship sailed?

Once he had the water he straightened, but before he could turn, an arm came around him, holding a multi-slate out. Berga paused and stared at the silent film playing on the screen, watching footage of himself spiking Madden’s beer before handing it over. If someone didn’t know what to look for, they’d miss it, but the threat was obvious.

“I have cameras set up all over the place,” Madden’s smug voice came from behind him a second before the royal eased in close enough to bump up against Berga’s ass. He didn’t move away even after the contact, following Berga when he stepped forward to try and break it.

All he managed to do was trap himself more effectively between Madden and the refrigerator.

“I wonder what Kelevra and Baikal would say if they saw this?”

Berga should have known turning him into a water boy wouldn’t be enough to satisfy the Royal. “What do you want?”

“You saw how messy things can get for me,” Madden began. “Running this place isn’t all fun and games. It’d be nice if there were a way to settle things with less murder. ”

“How often do you end up killing those in your debt?”

“You’re forgetting a lot this morning,” he drawled. “I didn’t kill anyone, Berga.”

Right, well… “I already apologized for that.”

Madden chuckled. “You’re funny. Anyway, I’m sure you’ve got a drug in your arsenal that can do what I need. I’d only use it on the high rollers. The guy last night, for example, owed millions in coin. I want something I can use as collateral.”

Berga worked for the Brumal, and while they sometimes traded things with the royal family and the Retinue, they rarely made personal deals on the side. At least, not ones involving product. Still…There was a first time for everything, and that video could not see the light of day.

It’d kept playing during their discussion and was now at the part where Madden had him bent over the couch panting. Berga wasn’t bothered by that, it was what he knew came later. If there was come on his chest, it had to have gotten there somehow, and even though it was a far cry from blood, he still wasn’t comfortable with the idea of anyone seeing him that way.

Covered in filth.

Disgusting.

Unlovable.

“There’s Grex-13,” Berga said, thinking over the selection of items in his lab. “You could call it a dud of sorts. It has effects that mimic a serious poison—vomiting, rashes, that sort of thing—but isn’t really a danger. It’ll wear off on its own within three weeks.”

Madden considered it. “My repayment window is a month and a half.”

Berga exhaled slowly and tried to remain calm. He was the one at fault here, and Bay was always reminding him it was in good taste to settle his debts. “I can adjust the composition, but it will take me a bit of time.”

“Deal.” Madden pulled the video away and stepped back, tapping on his device when Berga turned and sent him a glare. “Don’t look at me like that, Butcher. Fair is fair. Speaking of,” he set the device onto the bar, “want to go again?”

Berga scrunched up his nose. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t be like that. We were good together. You took me so well.” His gaze dropped down the length of Berga’s body, a spark of interest entering his dark eyes. Neither of them had bothered with clothing when they’d gotten up, and Madden’s cock twitched noticeably between his tanned thighs.

His skin was pretty, terracotta colored with an earthy orange-red undertone. He had a long, lean torso packed with corded muscle and legs that went on for seemingly miles. When Berga thought about how he’d touched every last inch of that just last night, how it’d been all over him—inside him, even—he shuddered before he could help it.

And not in an entirely unpleasant way.

He needed to get out of here.

Madden went to the sink and grabbed a paper towel, wetting it beneath the faucet before turning back. Before Berga knew to evade, he was on him, pressing him against the fridge, hand with the towel dropping to wrap around Berga’s flaccid dick.

“What—”

“Hold still,” Madden urged, the corner of his mouth tipping upward. “You got a little something on you. I’m just getting it off before you can see.”

“Something—” Blood. He meant blood. Berga blanched.

“It’s mine,” the Royal added. “If that helps any. Probably from when you took me with no prep. You’re a bastard for that, you know? I should really,” he squeezed and laughed when Berga made a strangled sound, “be getting back at you, not helping out like this. Keep that in mind next time.”

“There isn’t going to be a next time.” Berga shoved him away, but was careful not to glance down because, damn it, Madden was right. He really didn’t want to see.

“Relax,” Madden didn’t have the same problem, “I got it all.”

He didn’t seem bothered in the least at having seen blood on Berga…

Nope. Didn’t matter. This whole thing had been an error in judgment and he needed to leave immediately.

Clearing his throat, Berga tossed the bottle of water he was still holding, already spinning on his heels before Madden had even caught it. Reentering the living area, he collected his things quickly, slipping back into his clothes with a little struggle, considering how tight and achy he felt all over.

“Butcher, are you really going to take advantage of me and run?”

“I’ll let you know when the drug is ready,” Berga replied. “If that video leaks before then—”

“Relax. I won’t show anyone.”

“You better not.”

“At least stay for breakfast. You’ve got to be famished after what we went through.”

“No, thank you.” He grabbed his keys from the floor, biting the inside of his cheek when his back panged as he lifted. “I’ll have someone deliver the pills.”

“Bring them yourself.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“What if I want to see you again?”

He paused on his way to the door. Was the Royal serious? “Also, not necessary.”

“I’m not a fan of that answer, Butcher.”

“Not my problem.” Having done the best he could as far as damage control went, Berga shoved on the metal door and slipped out of the boathouse as soon as there was a crack large enough for him to fit through.

He wasn’t running. Running was for people who were afraid, and he hardly had anything to fear from Madden. No, he was merely putting an end to a situation that never should have been in the first place.

Best to forget the whole thing even happened .

His asshole throbbed as if to taunt him.