Chapter 3

The list of things Madden could recall wanting in his lifetime was short.

A hoverbike the first time he’d seen two racing each other on a busy street when he’d been a kid returning from some boring black-tie event with his parents.

The boathouse after his mother and sister kept letting themselves into his penthouse suite—even after he’d changed the code. He still didn’t know how they’d figured out the new one. Thrice.

And for there to be a shirt- free policy for any given establishment, optional, of course, but considered culturally acceptable.

Everything else he had or had been given couldn’t be thought of as things he’d personally desired. His position within the Retinue had been something Kelevra wanted, and since they were best friends and it’d equate to more power for Madden and his family name, he’d seen no reason to refuse.

His entrance into the Academy had been a decision made by his father. Madden had simply gone along with it because it wasn’t like there was anything else he wanted to do. There’d been nothing all that interesting he’d longed to study at Vail University, and he wasn’t particularly artistic, so Guest Fine Arts was also out. Kelevra was going to the Academy therefore it made sense for Madden to follow.

Easy.

Uneventful.

Even the races at the Docks were more about passing the time than anything else. Madden loved to ride. Period. He’d do it with or without an audience. When he’d realized he could utilize that singular passion of his and make money off of it, as well as form tighter connections to those higher-ups that broke their own laws, it was sort of a no-brainer to do so.

Basically, the only major decision he’d ever made for himself was learning to ride in the first place. Everything before and after was merely chips falling and landing where they may. And he was all right with that.

At least, he had been.

Only now, Madden found himself parked outside of the very university he thought he had no interest in, seated on the roof of his car, staring at the main science building across from him. He’d barely understood what he was doing when he’d climbed into the vehicle an hour ago, still wearing his uniform, drenched in sweat from a hard training workout.

His boots were planted on the hood of his car, mud smearing all over the black paint job, but he didn’t care.

He was waiting.

It was midday and students kept coming and going. Most of them spotted him right away, either staring or pointing—some even snapped a few not-so-discrete photos. The parking lot shouldn’t be considered part of Brumal territory, and Madden hadn’t announced himself to the Brumal leader, so remaining here was the smart move, even if proof of his appearance got around campus.

Would the Butcher find out and avoid him though?

Madden scowled, not liking that possibility one bit. After he’d come all this way for him, Berga better not tuck tail and run like he had the last time. A part of him was still annoyed about that.

It’d taken a full week for Madden to realize why he was so irritable, his mood sour no matter how generically good or bad his day went. Because he’d felt it so infrequently, it’d taken a hot second to figure out the tightness in his chest was the first stirrings of pinning. Even after he’d realized, he’d spent another two days mulling the idea over in his head, certain it would fizzle on its own in due time.

But it hadn’t, and as of this morning, he’d been forced to acknowledge the obvious.

There was now another thing on that list.

Berga Obsidian.

Why he’d suddenly covet the Butcher was beyond him, but Madden yearned for things so rarely that he’d long since made the decision not to deny himself when that yearning did occur.

He wanted the Butcher?

Okay.

He’d have him.

The tricky question was…How?

After the way things had exploded between them, there was no way Berga was going to willingly roll over and let him insert his cock into that plush ass again. Madden had played with the notion of switching up his own tastes and bottoming for the Butcher instead, but the way he’d torn his hole when he’d brutally fucked into him had been the only unenjoyable part of that whole evening, and he really wasn’t too keen on a repeat experience.

Sun cream had taken care of it, but it’d smarted for a full day. When Madden had pinned Berga against the fridge, it’d taken all of his willpower not to flinch in front of the guy.

He’d drugged him and then accosted him. He should be furious and plotting his revenge.

Instead, he was out here like a sad puppy waiting for his owner to arrive so he could wag his tail.

“We’ll see who’ll be wagging for who,” he grumbled to himself, ignoring a particularly loud bunch of university girls who passed by too closely to his car to be a coincidence. Usually, he’d smile flirtatiously and wave just to get them off his back, but he just didn’t have it in him.

“What the hell makes your ass worth all of this?” Madden didn’t get it. Berga was hot, sure, in impeccable shape for a guy who spent all his time in a lab. But he was also weird and aloof and lacked social skills. He’d make for a shit romantic partner, and—

Wait.

Why was he thinking that far ahead?

He was here to find a way to get the Butcher underneath him again, not to ask the guy out on a date. Please. It was the sex he was after, just sex. Had to be. Berga was too much of a wild card for him to want anything more serious than that.

Berga was also Satellite. If he’d been anyone else, Madden would have coaxed him into his bedroom long ago. Or simply kidnapped him. He’d never had to resort to those types of extremes before, but other members of their groups had. There were very few people on the planet who’d turn down an offer from a Retinue member, let alone an Odell .

Tying the Butcher up though…having him completely, one hundred percent at Madden’s mercy…Yeah, he kind of liked that. A lot. So much, in fact, he felt himself starting to grow hard in his pants and had to widen his stance.

As if sensing what he was doing to Madden’s cock, the very object of his annoying desire finally made an appearance, popping out from between the science building and the large stone structure next to it.

Berga was wearing a white lab coat over his uniform, a pair of protective goggles resting atop his head. It’d only been a week, but more of his roots were showing, most of the black gone so that it was only dyed at the tips.

“Pretty.” He jumped down from the car and started for him, slipping his hands into his front pockets to prevent himself from doing something rash.

Like tossing Berga back against the building and kissing him.

Punishingly.

Possessively.

For the whole damn campus to see—

“What are you doing here?” Berga was looking up from his multi-slate now, glaring suspiciously at Madden from the top of the steps where he’d stopped.

“Where are you going?” It was obvious he’d been headed to the parking lot. Was he leaving for lunch ?

Was he meeting someone else?

Madden’s hands tightened into fists, but he forced his expression to remain lax as he climbed the stone steps and stopped on the one just below where the Butcher stood. It put him at a height disadvantage, but that could work in his favor. People tended to feel less intimidated when they had the higher ground.

Even if it was all an illusion.

No matter what Berga expected from here on out, Madden wasn’t leaving until he’d gotten what he wanted.

“That’s none of your business,” Berga stated cooly, dismissively. When he went to step past, Madden slid right along with him, remaining in his path.

“Do you have what I asked for?” That other morning when he’d used the video to threaten him, Madden had done so without understanding why he was bothering. Now he knew it’d just been an excuse. A reason for future him to stalk the Butcher and hound him.

It worked. Berga shifted on his feet but clearly was no longer thinking about leaving, crossing his arms in mild frustration that thinned his otherwise plump, strawberry-pink lips.

Had they always been that soft looking?

Madden had been too hopped up on the drug to recall what they’d tasted like.

He’d have to remedy that.

Soon .

“I told you,” Berga said, “that I’d send someone over once it was ready.”

“I want it now.” He wanted something, that was for sure, but it was far too soon to say. It was obvious by the other man’s reaction that whatever Madden was feeling about their joint experience, Berga wasn’t feeling the same.

Pity. Things would have gone a lot smoother if the Butcher already wanted him back.

“It’s not ready.”

“How close to ready is it then?”

Berga sighed. “This is ridiculous.”

“Almost as ridiculous as slipping a date rape drug into someone's beer?”

The Butcher stilled. “I apologized for that already.”

“Here’s the thing,” he drawled, “just because you say sorry, doesn’t mean the other person has to accept.”

“No?” he seemed genuinely put off by that concept.

“No.”

Berga hesitated and then said, “The pills are in my lab. Come on.”

Madden’s eyes widened when the Butcher retreated a step. “You’re making drugs on campus? Using the school's facilities to do it?”

He frowned. “Where else would I do it? My apartment?”

“You have a personal lab through the Brumal. I know you do. ”

“Yes, but that’s at a secure location, which is a bitch to get to. This is more practical,” Berga explained as he led them down the path and then around to the front of the large building he’d no doubt just exited. Underclassmen, identified by the colors of their uniform shirts, bowed their heads at him as they passed.

And stared at Madden, but he continued to ignore them, all of his focus reserved for the man with the mint-colored hair steadily walking in front of him. Despite his obvious disapproval at finding Madden waiting for him, there didn’t seem to be anything holding Berga back from leading him straight to his school lab.

Technically, he was also now officially in Brumal territory, but whatever. A few members of the Retinue attended the university and didn’t have to announce themselves daily or anything crazy like that. If he did come upon Baikal Void, Madden would just lie and say he was here with Zane. It would be believable since the guy studied in the same department as the Butcher.

“You must have serious problems if you came all this way just to pick up Grex-13,” Berga told him over his shoulder as he led him into the massive building and down a long, white corridor.

They passed by several classrooms, some in the middle of class, others empty, and a couple of private labs. There was also a library filled exclusively with medical journals and books on anatomy, physiology, and psychology. Madden read off the list in his head quickly, curious since he’d never bothered to visit the science department of Vail before.

“You could say that.” They weren’t talking about the same thing, but the Butcher wasn’t wrong. Madden did have a problem, that problem just happened to be here and not at the Docks. “You haven’t visited again.”

“Why would I?” Berga stopped at a single door and pressed his hand against a scanner to the left of it. As soon as a green light swept over his palm, there was a beep and the door clicked and slid open of its own accord. He walked into the room without even a modicum of hesitation, as if allowing some random person into his private space was normal.

“You shouldn’t be so trusting,” he warned. “What if I was here for payback after all?”

“You said you weren’t interested in that,” Berga replied, not the least bit concerned.

That isn’t anywhere near what he’d said, but okay. Madden paused as soon as the door swished shut at his back. “Are you that confident you could take me in a fight, Butcher?”

“I’m not much of a fighter.”

“You’ve gone through training just like the rest of the Brumal.”

“Sure,” he shrugged, already riffling through one of the tall cabinets with glass doors, his back to Madden. “But I prefer to avoid hand-to-hand combat of any kind. Too messy.”

“I don’t know, I had fun wrestling with you the other night.”

Berga paused with his fingers on one of the glass vials before clearing his throat. “That was not wrestling.”

“Semantics.” This wasn’t going to do. For some reason, Madden didn’t like the way Berga was going about regular business, as though his presence in his personal space wasn’t worth the effort of noticing.

As if fucking him last week wasn’t even an afterthought swirling around in his mind.

Had he forgotten it all so easily? The way he’d arched his back and moaned for Madden like a bitch in heat? How his body had clung to him with every outward stroke as if begging him to remain buried in that silky, tight embrace?

Had Madden been the only one caught up in those memories?

That…seriously irked him.

“Got it.” Berga pulled a glass vial from the way back and turned. “I haven’t had the chance to perfect the formula yet, but you can take this one for now.”

“I’ve changed my mind,” Madden stated, watching closely as the Butcher’s forehead wrinkled in mild confusion. “Maybe we could waive the whole pill deal if you can make me feel good again.”

Berga tapped the vial against his hand and then spun on his heels, replacing it and selecting another, which he promptly held out to Madden.

“What’s this?” It was his turn to frown.

“That drug from the other night,” he explained. “It made you feel good, didn’t it?” Berga faltered when Madden didn’t immediately agree. “Isn’t this what you were asking for?”

“You really are terrible at reading the room, huh? Is nuance not a thing to you?”

He bristled. “I struggle with identifying it, as well as sarcasm, which I sincerely hope you’re exercising now or—”

“What? Going to stop playing nice?” Madden would actually prefer that. He hadn’t come here to fight with the Butcher, but he wanted some type of reaction other than…this.

“If you were hoping for something,” Berga said, “sorry to disappoint. I’ve been told I’m wooden. Although, I prefer those occasions when I’m likened to a robot instead. Machines can be programmed to do just about anything, and my programming is sound.”

He blinked at him. “You’re serious?”

“Jest is also something I—”

“I regret to inform you, judging from my own personal experience with your body, you are a far cry from robotic.”

Berga tilted his head. “You don’t sound regretful.”

“Yes, because that was sarcasm.”

“So…You do find me robotic?”

“No, that—” Madden closed his eyes and inhaled slowly. “Let’s try this again, Butcher, shall we? Fuck me, and I’ll delete the video.”

It was obvious by his reaction that he really hadn’t seen that coming, and the surprise was too much for him to contain or cover-up. Berga’s lips parted slightly and his cheeks turned a noticeable shade of pink.

Kind of like the way they’d heated when Madden was balls deep inside of him and Berga was sobbing his name.

Nope, not a robot at all.