Page 11 of Devil May Lie

“Butcher, are you really going to take advantage of me and run?”

“I’ll let you know when the drug is ready,” Berga replied. “If that video leaks before then—”

“Relax. I won’t show anyone.”

“You better not.”

“At least stay for breakfast. You’ve got to be famished after what we went through.”

“No, thank you.” He grabbed his keys from the floor, biting the inside of his cheek when his back panged as he lifted. “I’ll have someone deliver the pills.”

“Bring them yourself.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“What if I want to see you again?”

He paused on his way to the door. Was the Royal serious? “Also, not necessary.”

“I’m not a fan of that answer, Butcher.”

“Not my problem.” Having done the best he could as far as damage control went, Berga shoved on the metal door and slipped out of the boathouse as soon as there was a crack large enough for him to fit through.

He wasn’t running. Running was for people who were afraid, and he hardly had anything to fear from Madden. No, he was merely putting an end to a situation that never should have been in the first place.

Best to forget the whole thing even happened.

His asshole throbbed as if to taunt him.

Chapter 3:

The list of things Madden could recall wanting in his lifetime was short.

A hoverbike the first time he’d seen two racing each other on a busy street when he’d been a kid returning from some boring black-tie event with his parents.

The boathouse after his mother and sister kept letting themselves into his penthouse suite—even after he’d changed the code. He still didn’t know how they’d figured out the new one. Thrice.

And for there to be a shirt-free policy for any given establishment, optional, of course, but considered culturally acceptable.

Everything else he had or had been given couldn’t be thought of as things he’d personally desired. His position within the Retinue had been something Kelevra wanted, and since they were best friends and it’d equate to more power for Madden and his family name, he’d seen no reason to refuse.

His entrance into the Academy had been a decision made by his father. Madden had simply gone along with it because it wasn’t like there was anything else he wanted to do. There’d been nothing all that interesting he’d longed to study at Vail University, and he wasn’t particularly artistic, so Guest Fine Arts was also out. Kelevra was going to the Academy therefore it made sense for Madden to follow.

Easy.

Uneventful.

Even the races at the Docks were more about passing the time than anything else. Madden loved to ride. Period. He’d do it with or without an audience. When he’d realized he could utilize that singular passion of his and make money off of it, as well as form tighter connections to those higher-ups that broke their own laws, it was sort of a no-brainer to do so.

Basically, the only major decision he’d ever made for himself was learning to ride in the first place. Everything before and after was merely chips falling and landing where they may. And he was all right with that.

At least, he had been.

Only now, Madden found himself parked outside of the very university he thought he had no interest in, seated on the roof of his car, staring at the main science building across from him. He’d barely understood what he was doing when he’d climbed into the vehicle an hour ago, still wearing his uniform, drenched in sweat from a hard training workout.

His boots were planted on the hood of his car, mud smearing all over the black paint job, but he didn’t care.

He was waiting.

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