Page 3 of Devil May Lie
“That’s what I’ve been saying!” Eric, the idiot, argued. “I did pay it!”
“He beat up a Vail freshman for it,” Great informed.
“Crippled her,” Muse added, scowling down at the man they’d dragged here a half hour ago. “The poor girl might never walk on her right leg again.”
“But I paid you,” Eric snapped, glaring defiantly up at Muse, “didn’t I? I upheld my end of the contract! Who fucking cares where the coin came from so long as you assholes get your money?”
“How old is the girl?” Madden asked. Not that it mattered. He’d be an equal level of disgusted no matter her age. As a royal on the planet, he had a certain image that needed upholding. In more ways than one, he’d meant that comment about not being Brumal.
The standards he was held to by his peers were a little bit different for him than they were for them, and if there was one thing he wouldn’t allow anyone to mess with, it was his public image. If word got out that someone from the Docks put an innocent student in the hospital, that would reflect poorly on him.
That he could not abide.
Royal Madden Odell was an upper-class citizen of planet Vitality, a member of the infamous Retinue, and the righthand of the Imperial Prince. He was a senior at the military training university, better known as the Academy, and was at the top of his class. He attended all of the ritziest parties, rubbed elbows with the right political influencers, and charmed the absolute pants off of everyone he came into contact with.
Which was the only reason his father turned his cheek when it came to the illegal hovercar street races Madden ran.
“Eighteen,” Great said.
Madden’s big sister, Rebecca, was ten years older. “Tie him to your bike and drag him over the course for twenty-eight minutes.”
“What?!” Eric shot up, struggling when Great and Muse both grabbed onto him. “You can’t do that! I’ll—”
“You might live,” Madden stopped him. “Same odds as that girl you beat up. Maybe she’ll walk again, maybe she won’t. Maybe you’ll survive tonight. Maybe not.” He shrugged. “Every action has consequences. This is yours.”
Eric started to curse at him, clearly giving up on begging even though he hadn’t really done much of that in the first place when he’d been talking Madden’s ears off on all the reasons he wasn’t in the wrong.
“Have you seen Flix?” a new voice spoke from behind the guys, and all three of them jumped.
“Good Light,” Muse swore, placing a hand over his chest as the newcomer walked around them to stand in the center of the area of the room they were in. “Butcher, someone needs to put a bell on you.”
The Butcher of the Brumal mafia, Berga Obsidian, cocked his head and stared Muse down but said nothing in retaliation.
“What are you doing here?” Madden asked, dropping back against the couch before recalling the man’s question. “Flix isn’t here. Heard he was on vacation.”
Berga’s expression remained enigmatic, but it was clear by the tense set of his shoulders that he was in a bad mood. Not that Madden had much experience with reading the Butcher. The two of them didn’t spend much time together, mostly talking in passing when they found themselves at Retinue/Brumal gatherings, or Berga showed up at the Docks in support of one of his other friends.
“Can you shut him up?” Berga turned his blank expression on Eric. “He’s giving me a migraine.”
“If you want to take out the trash,” Madden said, “he’s all yours. We’re going to drag him outside anyway.”
“Sure.” Berga pulled a pair of plastic single-use gloves from the back pocket of his black dress pants and slipped them on. Before anyone knew what he intended, a small knife appeared in his hand, and he shot forward, stabbing the inch-long weapon straight through the side of Eric’s neck. He retreated a few steps back just as quickly and rotated his arms, checking to be sure he hadn’t gotten anything on him.
Not that he would have, with how skillfully he’d implanted the blade. Only a single drop managed to roll from where the hilt was buried, acting as a sort of stopper.
Madden bolted off the couch. “That isn’t in the slightest what I meant.” Although…It wasn’t often anyone got to see the Butcher’s work. “But…I’m not mad about it.”
Great covered his mouth with a closed fist and shook his head while Muse merely sighed, used to how things operated around here by now.
“You sure?” Berga asked, not affected in the slightest by what he’d just done. He looked at Eric, who was standing there with his mouth gaping like a fish out of water. “Because I can probably save him so long as—”
Eric’s fumbling hand reached up and yanked the knife out, causing a spurt of blood to spray across the concrete floor.
“Never mind.” Berga waited until the body hit the ground before turning back to Madden. “Can I have something to drink? It’s too late to stop the migraine, I’m afraid.”
This was why everyone was afraid of him. Berga didn’t have a conscience. He’d probably forget all about the fact he’d just crassly taken a life in the next five seconds. Madden liked to believe he was at least somewhat better than that.
But then again, he was capable of feelings so…