Page 120 of Devil May Lie
And here?
His eyes drifted to the body that was still oozing green slime from the ears.
Less than two months ago, his name was going to be written down in the history books as the best Butcher the Brumal mafia had ever had.
Now…
“The elders have heard what’s been going on,” Baikal stated. “They are not pleased.”
“I imagine not,” he agreed with a sigh, pressing at the spot between his brows that was thumping wildly.
“Take this seriously.”
“I am.” Berga dropped his hand, a speak of blood across his knuckles catching his attention. He’d worked on the prisoner without gloves. He wasn’t wearing plastic on his shoes or on his head either. The goggles were still in regular use, but that was because no one wanted vomit or gunk in their eyes.
He stared at the blood spot for a long time, longer than he probably should have, and had no clue what Baikal was talking about when the Dominus finally got fed up and shoved him.
Berga knocked into the rolling metal table, sending scalpels and needles clattering to the ground.
“Baikal,” Flix sounded disappointed, but Berga couldn’t tell who that disappointment was aimed at.
Why was he trying so hard?
Berga lifted his hand again, this time palm up. He’d braced himself on the surface of the table, but had ended up on one of the spiked blades. It’d sliced through his skin, the cut thin, but deep enough blood welled.
“This isn’t something that can be fixed with time,” Baikal growled. “You need to get yourself together, Butcher. Madden—”
“This has nothing to do with him,” he stated.
“Madden,” he reiterated, “is out there living his life like nothing ever happened. He’s flourishing while you’re here doing…” he motioned at him with disgust, “this.”
“Do I disgust you, Dominus?” Berga supposed it was only a matter of time, really.
“The way you’re acting disgusts me, not—”
“Madden can go on like nothing happened because he doesn’t remember anything,” Berga interrupted. “I do not have that luxury.”
“Then you need to make a decision, quick. Either forget about him, or quit your position as the Butcher.”
“All right.”
Baikal blew out a breath. “Good. I’m glad—”
“I quit.”
“What?!” Flix rushed forward, latching onto his arm, but Baikal merely stared. “Berga, you’re not thinking straight. If you give up being the Butcher, you have to leave the Brumal. You can’t—”
“Those were my options.” He shrugged and took a definitive step back, bowing low and holding that position a respectable amount of time before straightening. “Thank you for taking a chance on me. I apologize for letting you down.”
“Stop,” Baikal ordered when he went to leave.
“Yeah, stop him, he—” Flix began, only to be cut off.
“Is it that you can’t forget him,” Baikal asked. “Or that you won’t?”
In honor of their very long friendship, Berga took a moment to really think it over before answering, even though he already knew what he was going to say.
“Both. You know me.” He smiled solemnly. “I’ve never been very good at forgetting.”