Chapter 8

Chapter 8 :

The room was a mess.

The whole day was, apparently.

The female cadet who’d taken the tumble down the stairs had been collected by an ambulance ten or so minutes ago. Madden had waited there with the rest, mostly so he could act as a mediator if the cadet’s family opted to try suing the school. It wasn’t completely unheard of. Parents of injured trainees frequently tried cashing in on their kid's misfortune. Weren’t they all like that?

Though the Retinue didn’t personally deal with legal issues within the Academy, they were expected to keep an eye out on their peers and protect the school accordingly. It was paramount for the planet to be able to boast that it was home to not only the most prestigious university but also one of the very few that housed an Academy. Their reputation could not be slandered.

He’d been raised thinking that way, brought up understanding his obligations to the throne and the planet as a whole. Even before he’d been named as Kelevra’s official second-hand, he’d acted the part. It was second nature by this point.

Which was why he’d been distracted enough not to realize that Berga was no longer there with him. The shouting was what alerted him to that fact, cries for help that quickly escalated into screams of pain.

Unsurprising, considering the state he’d found the room upon entering.

Jones, a sophomore, was nearest the door, his left leg bent at an odd angle. He’d passed out, so he was quiet, but it had to have hurt. Next to him, two other cadets Madden didn’t know the names of were also unconscious, their injuries not as noticeable from a glance. A female cadet was huddled in the corner, covering a nasty bruise beneath one eye, and one final male cadet had been in the process of being strangled by Berga in the middle of the room.

Madden had struggled to get the cadet away from the Butcher before it was too late, only just managing it. It was obvious they’d ganged up on him, but the reasoning behind it was murky. No one in their right mind would attack a member of the Brumal, let alone one as high profile as Berga Obsidian. Unlike the rest of the Satellite though, Berga wasn’t known for picking fights.

Typically, he sat on the sidelines running his experiments and patching up the other members of his group. This was actually the first Madden had even seen him in action—the guy never even stepped into the ring at Friction, the exclusive fight club co-owned by the Retinue and the Satellite. For a fraction of a second, it’d even been tempting to stand by and watch, but…

There was something off about the Butcher. His gaze never seemed to fully focus on anything, and his movements were frantic, like a cornered animal fighting for survival. Except, even a dozen sophomore cadets wouldn’t be a threat to someone like Berga, and he’d only been up against five.

When Madden got too close, Berga took a swing at him as well, catching him off guard, but the attack didn’t feel personal. It didn’t even feel like it’d been on purpose. After trying and failing to get through to him, he’d finally taken a shot in the dark and mentioned the blood.

“Did they come at you?” he asked now that he sort of had Berga’s attention.

The Butcher hesitated, then curtly shook his head. “I don’t know.”

He’d blacked out? That explained why he was acting out of character. But what was the cause?

“What do you know?” Madden wasn’t sure how to proceed. What questions were the right ones and which were better left unasked? He could tell just by looking at him that Berga was still teetering on whatever edge he’d miraculously been pulled from, and Madden didn’t want to be the one to push him back over it.

“He made her disappear,” Berga whispered, the words almost inaudible.

Shit.

“There’s still blood on your shoes,” Madden lightened his tone so he sounded almost flirtatious and parroted the comment that seemed to do the trick and keep Berga focused. “It’s sexy as hell, but I doubt you’re comfortable with that.”

Berga’s gaze remained unfocused, but he was clearly trying to process that statement, even if it was taking him a million years to compute. His chin tipped downward until he was staring at the shoes in question, where a single speck of blood was visible on the tip of his right one.

It reminded Madden of his sister when she’d been little, unable to comprehend why her baby clothes no longer fit her. Not that he was comparing someone as fierce and formidable as Berga to a child, but still…

His mother had always approached Rebecca’s confusion with patience.

Madden made a big show of sighing and dropped into a crouch, untying his standard-issue black boots as he spoke. “If I had any say in the matter, you’d keep yours on. Seriously, the blood is a good look. It makes you seem badass and dangerous—which you are. But since you don’t like it,” he slipped out of both and then kneeled in front of Berga, lifting his foot to remove the bloodstained shoe first. “Let’s trade.”

Berga blinked down at him but said nothing as Madden placed his feet into his boots and did up the laces carefully. Once he had the Butcher’s on, he straightened and rested his hands on his hips, humming in approval.

“We’re the same shoe size,” he pointed out. “Isn’t that interesting?”

“Your shoes are dirty,” Berga murmured, barely audible, his eyes locked on the bloodstain Madden was now wearing.

“Yeah,” Madden tilted his foot as if showing it off, “don’t you think I look badass and dangerous?”

“You look—” He stopped himself abruptly, brow furrowing. “I believe I am malfunctioning.”

Madden snorted. “You’re not a robot, Butcher. Though, perhaps Mad King is a more fitting nickname for you than it is for me.” He snapped his fingers. “Mad Scientist? We can be mad together. What do you think?”

“That you are reacting far too calmly given the situation.”

“What’s the situation?” He tipped his head and softened his tone. “Hmm? You can tell me, Berga. I won’t judge you. ”

“Judgement is the last concern I have,” Berga stated, but life was starting to reenter him, lighting up the hue of his eyes.

Madden considered that for a moment and then took a shot in the dark. “Abandon you then. I won’t vanish on you because of a little thing like this.”

“Abandonment is…closer.” He blinked. “This is not a little thing.”

“You only beat up five cadets,” Madden took a closer look at their uniforms, “and they’re all sophomores.” They both knew Berga could have taken on a group of better-trained people, but he didn’t point that out. “Only one of them bled.”

“That wasn’t me,” Berga corrected. “He came that way...Didn’t he?”

If would make sense if the cadet had. The Butcher was too cautious about keeping himself spotless. Even if whatever manic state he’d just been in, Madden doubted that one particular detail of his personality would have changed, considering the states of the others around them.

But that was neither here nor there. What mattered was the fact there was blood no matter what, though he at least appeared to be calmer now that the shoe was on Madden’s foot instead of his.

“Should we call someone?” Zane’s voice reached them from the entrance to the room.

Madden hadn’t noticed the other man following him. Maybe he hadn’t and he’d only just arrived .

“I am not a child.” Berga took a deep breath and then met Madden’s gaze. “Tell the head nurse that I’m taking her up on her offer and leaving early. If she deducts my grades for it, she’ll be sorry.”

It was like watching a switch being flipped, almost as if Berga was actually a robot after all.

“Where are you going?” Madden followed him out the door, pushing past Zane on the way. At the last second, he paused and turned back, motioning to his friend quickly. “Tell the nurse.”

Zane didn’t reply, but Madden didn’t stick around to determine what he thought of all of this.

“I’ll drive you,” he offered, catching up with Berga on the stairs—a different set from the ones the girl had been discovered on recently. He vaguely wondered how Berga knew his way around the building so well but didn’t ask. Since he hadn’t cared before, he’d never paid attention to how frequently or infrequently med students from Vail visited the Academy. Perhaps that was how he knew.

“No.”

“Come on,” Madden insisted, catching the door when Berga would have let it slam shut in his face. Outside, the air was breezy, the smell of smoke from the nearby open firing range and freshly cut grass tickling at his nose. “It looks like it’s going to rain, and you came on a group bus, right?”

Berga started crossing the parking lot, not bothering to give him the time of day now that his panic attack—or whatever that had been—had abated, and Madden found that familiar trickle of anger lick at his insides all over again.

“Hey.” He latched onto the Butcher’s elbow, jerking him to a stop. “I don’t give a shit what you’re running from, so long as it isn’t me. It’s a ride in my hover car, Berga. Not an offer to sit on my dick. Stop being so stubborn.”

“We aren’t friends,” he stated. “We’ve fucked a couple of times, that’s all. Quit acting like we’ve suddenly become besties overnight. I’ve got one of those already and I’m not in the market for another.”

“Yeah?” Madden threw out his arms. “And where is he?”

Berga didn’t reply.

“Flix went on vacation without you,” he continued, admittedly rubbing salt in the wound. Was there a chance… “Are you two more than friends?” Had he slept with Madden because the person he’d really wanted to bed had been absent?

That seriously pissed him off.

Before he could consider the consequences of his actions, Madden grabbed Berga’s wrist and dragged him toward where he’d parked his car. He was so frustrated that he hardly noticed the Butcher barely resisting, even when Madden let him go and clicked the button on his multi-slate that would unlock the doors.

“Get in,” he ordered sternly, rounding the vehicle to the driver's side without waiting to see if Berga did as he was told. He was only partially surprised when he slipped onto the seat and found the Butcher buckling up next to him. “If you were going to be so amicable in the end anyway, why bother being a prick about everything?”

He started the car and shot out of the parking space, not bothering to keep his speed in check.

“You’re angry,” Berga noted, staring unabashedly when Madden snorted.

“No shit.”

There was a moment of silence and then, “Is it because of the blood?”

Madden frowned. “The—” The stained shoes. Right. “No, I don’t care about that at all. Why would I?” He wasn’t the one with the weird aversion to bodily fluids on his person. “I’ve been covered in blood before and ruined more clothes than I can count. What’s a single droplet on the tip of a sneaker to me?”

Berga grew quiet.

“Where are you going?” Madden had half a mind to take them to the Docks and lock the man up for the rest of the day where he could monitor him, but he understood how crazy that was.

Madden wasn’t the possessive sort. Why would he be? All his life, he’d had enough coin to buy whatever he wanted. And if what he had broke? He replaced it. He wasn’t like Kelevra, careful with his stuff. No, if he had it he used it until he couldn’t use it anymore. People were no different.

Had been no different.

But, after viewing how the Butcher looked when he was broken…Whatever had happened to him at the Academy, that hadn’t been normal. So mething was wrong, and he wanted to know that it was.

“I was going to the Bunker,” Berga sighed, settling deeper into the seat. “But since you insisted on tagging along, I guess you can just take me home.”

The Bunker was a secret building owned and operated by the Brumal. No one outside of those carefully selected knew where it was located, not even the Imperial family. It wasn’t a place Madden would be welcomed, and if he was ever brought there, it wouldn’t be with peaceful intentions, of that he was sure.

“Home it is then,” Madden didn’t bother hiding the teasing lilt to his voice, chuckling when Berga’s eyes narrowed.

“ My home,” he reiterated. “Take me to my home, Madden.”

“Come on, you don’t want to go home with me?”

“Not even a little.”

“Okay,” he shrugged. “Then I’ll go home with you.”

Berga opened his mouth as if to argue but, surprisingly, seemed to change his mind.

He waved a hand in the air as if it didn’t matter to him one way or the other and turned to stare out the window as Madden drove them across the city.

Was he tired? Madden had heard mental breaks and manic episodes took a lot out of a person, and while he wasn’t entirely positive that’s what he’d witnessed, it seemed likely. He tried to think back on all that he knew about Berga, but there wasn’t a single recollection that mentioned mental instability—aside from the obvious, which was that the Butcher liked to experiment on subjects. That wasn’t entirely normal, even for one of the Devils.

Neither of them spoke again until twenty minutes later when he pulled up in front of Berga’s apartment building. Madden shut off the engine and waited when Berga didn’t make any moves to leave the vehicle.

The storm started in a flash, a single crack of lightning ripping across the sky before the downpour. Sheets of rain cascaded around them, pinging heavily against the roof of the car and instantly blocking the view from the windows. This sort of weather was pretty typical for Vitality, but not even the umbrellas stashed in the back would keep them dry in this if they stepped outside the car.

Deciding he’d rather not, Madden reached over, his fingers unsnapping the button on Berga’s pants before the Butcher even knew what was happening.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Berga grabbed onto him and shoved him away with a glare.

“Clearly you need a distraction,” Madden replied. “Whenever I need to blow off steam, I do it one of two ways. Either riding my bike, or…” He waggled his brow and yanked on Berga’s zipper. “Come on. I promise I can make you hard for me in under a minute. It’s better than sitting here twiddling our thumbs until the storm passes.”

“Surely you can find someone else to screw,” Berga stated, but his grip on Madden’s wrist loosened some, a tell-tale sign that he wasn’t as averse to this as he was trying to make it seem.

“You chose me that night,” he reminded with a shrug, downplaying the way he was currently feeling since it was obvious the Butcher wouldn’t be pleased about his growing obsession, “Now I’m choosing you. Can’t I?”

He considered for a moment. “You want to even the score?”

Not exactly.

“Sure, if you want to call it that.”

“If that’s the case, I’d call what you did at the university more than enough.”

“What we did, Butcher.” Madden eased his hand beneath the waistband of Berga’s violet boxer briefs, the corner of his mouth lifting when there was no resistance. The second he cupped him, Berga exhaled and pressed into him, leaning back against the car seat. “Does it really matter? Why do we need to label anything?”

“It’s just sex,” Berga insisted anyway.

“This is a handjob,” he corrected. “I sort of have a feeling you wouldn’t let me take you with my mouth.”

“Absolutely not.”

He hummed and lightly moved against Berga’s dick, smug when the other man started to harden and lengthen at his touch. “Not a fan of spit?”

“Spit is all right,” Berga surprised him by saying. “It’s clear. Clear fluids are fine.”

He quirked a brow. “Then why—”

“We’re in the middle of the parking lot,” he reminded. “Do you really want people finding out we’re screwing on the side?”

“There’s no rule against it.”

“Call Kelevra right now then,” Berga motioned to his multi-slate. “Tell him we’re getting married.”

Madden chortled. “Were you always this funny, Butcher? How have I never noticed?”

“Probably the same way I’ve never noticed how thick your fingers are.”

“That a suggestion?” He’d been debating whether or not he’d be comfortable bottoming for Berga from here on out, but hadn’t come to a definitive conclusion as of yet. On the one hand, if it meant getting another taste of the Butcher, it’d be worth switching up his preferences. On the other, he was used to taking control and wondered if he’d slip up in the bedroom and lose his cool.

Now, though, watching the way Berga arched his back for him and widened his thighs, listening to the sharp, breathy sounds escaping from his parted lips…

“Just because it felt good the once doesn’t mean I want to do it again,” Berga stated, motioning with his chin down at Madden’s hand in his pants. “This is more than enough for me.”

“That’s unfortunate for you then,” Madden risked saying. “Because it isn’t for me.”

As expected, Berga frowned. “What—”

He shushed him. “Let’s focus on this first, shall we?”

Madden gave his dick a light squeeze and then started working him faster. He used his other hand to shove Berga’s boxers down and out of the way so he could finally get a good look at him, letting out an appreciative, low whistle as soon as he caught sight of the Butcher’s flushed crown.

“Are you about to talk pretty to my dick?” Berga asked, dropping his head back against the seat, staring over at Madden through hooded eyes. “You look like you just fell in love with it.”

“Funny.” He had a wicked sense of humor, made even more humorous by the fact that half the time Berga spoke, he did so with a monotone and a blank expression. There’d only been a handful of times Madden had seen him openly emote, and three of them had been in the past week alone.

He wanted to see more.

Wanted to know what made the Butcher tick, what sort of twisted thoughts circled around his mind.

What had happened to make him go berserk back at the Academy earlier.

Madden changed his grip, slicking precome down Berga’s long shaft. When the Butcher moaned for him and bucked his hips, he chuckled. “You were so mad about the come last time,” he pointed out. “Going to get upset if you stain your clothing now? ”

Berga’s eyes narrowed. “I know what you’re implying.”

“Just let me use my mouth,” he said. “It’ll be cleaner for the both of us.”

“Don’t tell me you have a swallowing kink.”

“I’m beginning to think I have a Berga one,” he mumbled, but before the other man could process that statement, he took control of the situation himself.

Madden readjusted in his seat and then held Berga’s cock still, dropping down to swallow it in one gulp. One hand went to the top of Berga’s thigh to keep him still when he jerked beneath him, the other slapping against his chest to pin him to the seat.

If he had his way, he’d take this slow, enjoy himself and explore all that the Butcher had to offer, but Madden could tell he was already pushing his luck here. At any moment, whatever weird state of being Berga had slipped into could shatter completely, and he could return to the cold-hearted, mad scientist he was used to.

Unless…

Madden dared a glance up as he continued to suck.

Berga wasn’t watching him though. His eyes were squeezed shut and his breathing was labored. His left hand found its way to Madden’s head, tangling his fingers in his hair, but he didn’t push him down or pull him off. He simply held him and allowed Madden to set the pace.

Maybe that’s what a guy like Berga needed .

Someone to take things out of their overthinking hands.

Someone to take control.

Madden lifted and rolled his tongue around Berga’s salty crown, flicked the tip of it against his slit, and then swallowed him back down. It didn’t take much longer after that, another couple of bobs of his head, a few good sucks, and then the Butcher was emptying a warm load down his throat and mewling for him.

He swallowed it all down, wringing him dry before finally straightening. Giving a self-satisfied sigh, he rubbed at his mouth with the back of his hand and winked when Berga’s eyes peeled open.

The Butcher looked spent, content in that afterglow way. Gone was the man who’d been on the verge of tears the entire drive over here.

Before he knew what he was doing, Madden reached out and captured the back of Berga’s skull, yanking him forward to seal their mouths together in a rough, overly frantic kiss. There was still the taste of spunk on his tongue, but he held Berga firm as he tangled theirs together, ignoring the grossed sound the Butcher emitted.

He’d make him accept this. Accept whatever this burning sensation in the pit of his stomach was.

“You need a keeper, Butcher,” Madden breathed against his lips before forcing his tongue back in. He was careful not to nip at him too hard, not wanting to draw blood and push the other man too far past his limits. But a little aftertaste? That should be fine. They were both going to have to start crossing lines they’d never crossed before.

“Invite me inside.” The rain had started to slow outside, the ping against the metal lessening, allowing for his words to be more easily heard. They couldn’t sit out here all day, and even though he’d fully intended to just drop Berga off and leave, he was no longer satisfied with that outcome.

Madden could recognize the signs of a person ready to give in. Some people were better at it than others, and though he never would have guessed that Berga was that type of person, he could see it clear as day now.

Berga needed someone else to coax emotions out of him.

He was in luck.

“Invite me inside,” he repeated, voice firm and commanding. He pulled back just enough to meet Berga’s gaze, searching his expression to try and get a read on what the Butcher might be thinking. Trying to see if this fiery thing he felt between them was reciprocated.

Or if he was going to have to figure out a way to stoke the flames himself.

Berga exhaled slowly, as if buying himself some time. Then he reached for the door handle and pulled away from Madden. He paused as soon as his feet hit the ground, then leaned in. “Are you coming?”

Madden grinned.