Page 122 of Devil May Lie

It was easy enough to slip past Madden’s security and infiltrate his home. Berga had spent enough time there to memorize the layout and knew exactly where to hide so he wouldn’t be discovered by the Mad King too early.

A small part of him wondered if he should feel guilty about what he was about to do, but then he recalled Baikal’s ultimatum, and that only drove his determination deeper. His actions, as of late, had affected far too many people to let stand. Something had to be done to correct his course, Berga more than understood that. He agreed with it wholeheartedly.

He tucked himself behind one of the trophy cases in a spot where he could view the stairs and the kitchen and waited. Admittedly, there was an inkling of doubt, the chance he was left waiting forever, or someone else arrived before Madden came down.

Berga wasn’t very good with patience, but if he rushed upstairs and made his presence known too early, he’d blow the whole plan. In order for this to work, for it all to end, there was a specific order to things that needed to be executed.

As he stood in his hiding spot, his mind began to wander. There wasn’t an inch in this place he hadn’t been. Not a single part of the floor his feet hadn’t trodden upon. He’d taken it all for granted—No, not granted. That wasn’t the right word. Advantage. He’d taken advantage of all the memories he had of this place and the man who resided here.

And he was about to do it again.

Shamelessly.

It was too late to turn back now. The trap had been set, and—

Footsteps from above had Berga freezing in place. They drew nearer until legs appeared on the top steps. He pressed himself closer to the wall as he watched Madden descend from the top level, almost giving himself away with a gasp when he saw what the man was wearing.

A gray towel was hung low around his narrow hips, and Madden was using a smaller one to dry his hair. He was humming a tune under his breath, something Berga either hadn’t heard before or couldn’t recognize. Water rolled down the expanse of his chest, further proof he’d only just finished with a shower.

Berga had always enjoyed when they’d bathed together…

Focus. He would have slapped himself if it wouldn’t have alerted his prey. As it were, he bit the inside of his cheek, silently watching as Madden entered the kitchen and pulled open the fridge.

Madden took out a beer and popped the top, discarding the smaller towel onto the counter by the sink. He wasn’t planning on lingering, already headed back the way he came, sipping his drink as he went.

That was fine, Berga allowed it, keeping still and quiet, even after Madden disappeared upstairs.

He held his position until there was a heavy thud and a curse loud enough to echo down the steps, then he shot into motion. It didn’t take any effort at all to locate the Mad King in his bedroom, and Berga already had the blaster lifted and aimed when he turned the corner and came into view.

Madden was on the ground, his back against the end of the bed, the can of beer spilling out at his side. His jaw was clenched tightly and his left hand was cupping himself between the legs beneath the towel. The second he spotted Berga, he swore.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Butcher?” he demanded in a guttural tone that ended with a moan and subtle thrust of his hips upward.

“I increased the dosage this time,” Berga said, then winced. “Oh, right. You don’t remember the last time. Just take my word for it.”

“You drugged me?” he sounded incredulous. “Again?! Are you out of your damn mind?”

“Yes,” Berga acknowledged. “Very much so, in fact.” He held the gun steady with one hand, his other going to the snap on his belt.

Madden’s gaze shot there and he gave a slight shake of his head. “I’m not fucking you, Butcher. Get out.”

“Don’t worry. I promise this will satisfy both of us.” It was a bit tricky, but he managed to to create a small loop with the end of his belt one-handed and then motioned for Madden to lean forward. “Give me your wrists.”

“Fuck you.”

“Thought you said we weren’t doing that?”

“Are you seriously making jokes now?”

“You used to find me entertaining.”

“Yeah, well, not anymore.”

Berga sighed. “Just give me your wrists, Mad King, so we can move this along. Aren’t you starting to ache?” He motioned with the barrel of the gun at the massive tent between his thighs. “You’re going to want to take care of that soon.”

“Going to shoot me if I don’t?” He clicked his tongue. “What, no longer afraid of pissing off the Brumal elders? Harming me will incite a war between our groups.”

“I won’t harm you.” Frustrated, Berga shot forward, pressing the blaster to the center of his forehead. “Hands. Now.”