Page 12 of The Kingpin’s Omega Lover (River City Omegas #2)

SIX

“Where’s the goddamn update!” King slammed his open palm down on his desk and glared at the phone he’d jostled, which was on speaker.

Across from him, leaning forward in his chair, Bishop raised his eyebrows at King’s errant shout.

King ignored the look, uninterested in his best friend’s opinion on King’s bad mood.

“I’m sorry, sir, but there’s nothing new to report today,” Julian replied. “We’re constantly monitoring the facial recognition program, but every hit we get is a dead end.”

“Fine. I still want regular updates, even if it’s to say you’ve found nothing. And on schedule. Understood?”

“Yes, sir. I won’t call late again.”

“Good.” King picked up the handset and slammed it down, having kept a landline for this exact reason.

It was much more satisfying than with a cell phone.

He’d asked for regular updates from his surveillance team, every day at ten a.m. and again at three p.m., and when he hadn’t gotten his three o’clock call, King had been pissed.

Six minutes late was unacceptable, damn it. Even when the report was nothing had changed, no new targets acquired, King still needed to know, so he knew how much he was failing to keep his promise to Malori.

“So, should I execute Julian, or do you wanna do it?” Bishop asked.

“What?” King stared, confused by the question.

“He was a few minutes late calling with no new updates, because he was finishing up a lead that was a dead end. It’s not the most egregious thing anyone’s ever done, but you look like you want to reach through the phone and throttle the man.

I could have his position shifted, but he’s one of the best computer guys we’ve got after Ziggy. ”

“No, don’t transfer him, it’s fine. I’m just frustrated.”

“Clearly.” Bishop glanced at his own cell, then put the phone face-up on the desk. “Are you sure you still want to do the Remington meeting tonight?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

“You’ve been a little distracted since yesterday.”

Since yesterday’s amazing self-defense lesson that had ended with King beyond embarrassed by being turned down. Turned down for something he had never imagined asking for from another man, but he’d wanted it so badly with Malori. And he’d blown it.

So to speak.

He’d avoided Malori, Kensley and Bishop (as much as business allowed) since yesterday morning.

Bishop didn’t seem to be fishing, though, simply making a statement.

“I have been distracted, but I’m perfectly capable of managing tonight’s meeting.

” The potential business relationship with Lynn Edgerton was too valuable a commodity to postpone, and Remington had always come through with his introductions in the past.

“All right.” Bishop cleared his throat. “I also saw the change to tomorrow’s schedule. A firing range?”

“Yes.” King squared his shoulders. “I promised Malori I’d teach him how to use a gun properly. Hold it and fire it. Safety and all that.”

“You know, I could teach him. Or I could ask someone?—”

“Malori asked me to do it. He wants to learn how to defend himself, and I’m more than happy to teach him.”

“So, you rented an entire gun range for two hours?”

“Yes.”

“It’s not a bad idea, actually. If Kens wasn’t so far along, I’d probably bring him, too. I mean, I showed him how to handle a rubber gun, but we’ve never worked with live ammunition.”

King nodded, unsurprised Bishop had given Kensley some lessons in gun handling.

Kensley had spent literally half his life away from the world, behind the high walls of the Holy Order Ninth Cathedral, and he wasn’t being passive in his own safety now that he was out.

Being kidnapped once was enough for anyone.

Kensley was also insanely protective of the baby growing inside of him, and he was careful to do everything his doctor suggested, from a healthy diet to moderate exercise.

Shooting a gun, even while wearing protective headgear, was probably not a great thing to attempt during his last trimester.

Most omega males ended up in abbeys, as confirmed priests, celibate for their entire lives, so the number of OBs in the city who had experience with pregnant men was limited to two.

King had had both doctors carefully vetted before choosing one to take care of Kensley and the baby.

King’s future niece or nephew. Neither Kensley nor Bishop wanted to know the sex until the baby was born, so everyone had to wait for the surprise. King hated surprises.

“Well, if all goes to plan, Kens will never have to learn to fire a real gun,” King said.

“You’re still sure about this plan?”

“It’s what meeting Remington tonight is about, isn’t it?”

King had every intention of keeping his promise to Malori about finding his children, but he was also laying the groundwork for a safe exit from this life for all of them.

Kensley had always deserved a safe, happy life, and as soon as Bishop fell head over ass for Kensley, Bishop had shown signs of wanting out.

Once the baby was born and old enough to travel safely, King would bid his brother and best friend a fond farewell to a new home.

The plan was to join up with them one day—with Malori, if possible.

But with each month that passed and no clear leads turning up, King wasn’t sure if or when they’d be leaving the city.

Or if Malori would go if King asked. Malori seemed unable to make plans past finding his kids, which was perfectly valid.

Malori couldn’t make those plans, but King could. And he was.

“Kensley said dinner is at five o’clock,” Bishop said, apropos of nothing, “since he knows we have an evening meeting. We’ll have time to get where we need to be.”

“That was kind.” And exactly like his brother. He had a generous, nurturing soul but also a fierce spirit. “I’ll see you at five then.”

Bishop quirked an eyebrow at him as he stood and left the office, used to the abrupt ways King dismissed him when he needed to be alone.

They had a shorthand that had worked for them for years, which was half the reason King was willing to get out of his current life.

He’d never have another lieutenant he trust the way he trusted Bishop.

King would rather separate himself from the life he’d built than try to exist alone in a crowd of people.

He worked until dinnertime. Kensley had put together individual taco salads, which was an interesting choice, but Kensley often said he made what the baby craved.

Tonight was tacos. It wasn’t King’s favorite, but he adored how Kensley tried to cook for his family, so he’d never complain.

Malori offered dull smiles and few comments during their inane dinner chatter.

King wanted Malori to smile for real. For yesterday’s genuine emotions to rise above the bland politeness.

Malori had agreed to tomorrow’s shooting lesson, though, so hopefully they’d have a chance to talk about more than how to figure out which was his dominant eye, so he could properly aim a handgun.

At six-thirty, King and Bishop left for their meeting.

King drove to the agreed-upon spot on the south side of town, near a series of interstate over and underpasses, which butted up against an industrial park and several self-storage facilities.

A service road ran beneath one of the underpasses with low visibility from most sniper positions, which made it a good meeting spot for business.

King had worked with Remington before on several profitable projects, and while he didn’t completely trust the man, this was another step toward getting there.

He exited to the service road and parked beneath the underpass.

They had another hour-plus of sunlight, but the highway ramps above cast shadows he studied carefully while they waited.

A blue SUV joined them. The passenger front door opened, and Remington climbed out, dressed in a familiar black suit.

It didn’t matter where they’d met or for what purpose, Remington always wore the same suit, no tie.

Bishop nodded at King, and they both got out of the car.

“Everything we talked about is in order,” Remington said as he came around the front of the SUV.

He walked with a sure, steady gait, both hands loose by his sides, no sign of hostility or weapons.

Bishop stood behind King, and King didn’t have to look to know Bishop had a hand on his own gun.

“They agreed to the terms of the deal, and I even got a down payment.”

“Without requesting it?” King asked.

“I think she wanted to make a good impression.” Remington made a show of opening his jacket with his left hand, while exaggerating the reach into his pocket with his right. He removed a flat black box and held it out.

Bishop took the box and opened it. Showed the contents to King.

Nestled in a bed of red velvet were five small, uncut diamonds.

“Can they be traced?” King asked. He didn’t often deal in precious stones or jewels, but Remington’s contact had agreed to a generous split if King helped fence the product.

He also needed to establish trust with Lynn, so they could do future business on a much more valuable product than diamonds: information.

“No serial numbers, no way to trace them,” Remington replied.

“All right.” He nodded at Bishop, who slipped the box into his own pocket. “Once I verify these are legit, I’ll contact you. We can proceed from there.”

“Sounds like a deal, boss.”

“And so you know, if these aren’t legit, you and I will never do business again.”

“I understand. I wouldn’t have brought this to you if I didn’t think it was legit. I’ve known Lynn for a long time, and she knows her stones. I also know she’s good for the information you’re looking for.”