Page 93 of Devil May Lie

“It doesn’t matter what I think,” he said. “It matters what Baikal and the Brumal elders think. Things are…tough over there right now. He only just took the throne from his father, and there are still older members keeping their eyes peeled for any mistake they can call him out for. Our true loyalty is meant to be with our organizations. Not with each other. You know that.”

He did, but that didn’t change anything for him.

Maybe that was selfish.

Maybe he didn’t really care one way or the other.

If he happened to make things harder for Baikal? Who cared. The guy was still the Dominus, he’d figure his shit out. The only thing that truly mattered to Madden was Berga. Since he was willing to make this bet, did that mean he wanted to expose them every bit as much as Madden did?

He couldn’t actually believe he’d beat Madden in a race. That would be ridiculous. Hell, he could count on one hand how many times he’d lost since opening the Docks. The Butcher didn’t stand a chance.

That had to be it then. The Butcher must be using this as an excuse, a way out for himself. A way to force his hand into admitting this thing between them was real and thriving.

If that’s what he wanted, Madden was more than happy to oblige.

“All right,” he said. “It’s a deal. Wednesday evening. There’s nothing official happening here that night. We’ll race, and then I’ll take you out to dinner.”

Berga nodded his head. “It’s a date.”

It was.

And it was also one step closer to Madden owning the Butcher, completely, and openly.

Chapter 23:

Should Berga have waited until after the race to have this conversation?

No, putting it off would only cause more problems down the line. The man currently standing across from him deserved the loyalty Berga had sworn when he’d taken his oath and joined the Satellite. Being a part of this world was the only thing that kept him from slipping into total insanity. Without them, he would have given into the abyss a long time ago and would no doubt be locked up somewhere very dark and very far from society.

He’d always known there was something wrong with him. Whether or not that something stemmed from the girl in the pink dress or not didn’t matter. What mattered was control. Berga had to keep himself together. No one else was going to do it for him.

No one else would be able to even if they wanted.

Except maybe…

No. He couldn’t start relying too heavily on Madden. Things were already out of hand. This weird connection between them had been unexpected. At the start of it all, it hadn’t even occurred to him there could be a possibility of growing attached. Yet here they were, with the Mad King insistent on staking a public claim despite the risks.

Berga wasn’t stupid, he knew that’s what this was.

Madden might not be possessive, but he had a tendency to lean toward jealousy, and he wanted to mark Berga to keep others away. But for how long? Was he about to potentially throw everything aside for a man who could grow bored with him at the drop of a shiny hoverbike helmet?

“Are you going to speak,” Baikal’s voice cut through Berga’s swirling thoughts, “or did you come here just to stare at me?”

They were at Void Manor, in the drawing room. Baikal was standing by the mini bar and had poured drinks from a glass decanter filled with harsh-smelling blue liquor. It was hard to tell how long he’d been holding one of those glasses out to Berga.

Who’d pretty much been ignoring him.

He took it and gulped the contents down, the burn from the alcohol helping to pull him the rest of the way out of his rumination.

Right. He was here already. May as well get it over with.

“I need to speak with you about something,” he began, only for the Dominus to snort and drop down onto the leather armrest of one of the chairs.

“That’s apparent.”

“You’ve heard.”

“I meant it was obvious because you’re standing here, Berga.” Baikal sighed. “Just spit it out. I have things to do.”