Page 13 of The Kingpin’s Omega Lover (River City Omegas #2)

They held eye contact but neither had to say the name.

All the heavy hitters in the underworld knew of King’s interest in locating Marta.

She was a big piece he was willing to pay heavily for, in cash or in favors.

But no one outside of King’s tightest inner circle knew how he was maneuvering the chess board to create a safe exit from this life. No one could .

“Okay,” King said.

King waited until Remington returned to his vehicle and drove off before retreating to his own car.

Simple meet, as he preferred. Now he had to make sure the rough rocks in Bishop’s pocket were actual diamonds, so they could move ahead with the deal.

The influx of cash was exactly what he needed, so King could continue to divest himself of his current business and set up a new life elsewhere.

He turned off the maintenance road toward the freeway on-ramp. He barely registered the glare of a vehicle’s high-beams or the fact that it was barreling toward him from the wrong direction. King slammed his foot on the brake, wrenched the wheel, and braced for the inevitable impact.

Malori was doing his absolute best to keep his pregnant friend from going out of his mind with worry, while also keeping his own head on straight as the time inched past midnight, and the only communication they’d gotten from Bishop had been a cryptic Had a snag, home late text sent a little after eight p.m..

The only thing keeping Kensley inside the penthouse was Conklin, the evening guard, who had not moved from his position in the lobby, blocking their access to the elevator.

A guard was always there if both King and Bishop were away from home, like tonight.

Malori hadn’t given it any thought, because in the six months he’d lived here, Malori had always seen King come home. Sometimes meetings ran late.

Malori had a sense that something was wrong, and he wasn’t sure if it was his own intuition, or if his fears were feeding off Kensley’s.

Kensley had a unique emotional bond to Bishop, as the pair was each other’s charus.

The other half of their soul. And Kensley had been restless since the start of the second evening game show they typically watched on TV.

They’d spent their evening together in the main living room, since it was closer to the elevator, with Malori fetching Kensley anything he wanted from the kitchen, which ended up being a steady supply of ginger ale and spicy corn chips.

Malori didn’t understand how the combo settled Kensley’s uneasy stomach, but it’s what Kensley needed, and Malori wouldn’t deny him snacks during a time of high stress.

Malori had also helped himself to two beers from the collection of artisan brews King kept in the lower level kitchen. The beers were spaced out enough that he was perfectly sober when Conklin strode into the living room, cell phone in hand.

Kensley instantly muted the movie they were trying to watch. “Any news?”

“King and Drew are on their way home,” Conklin replied. “They’ll be here in about twenty minutes. Drew said to try and relax, they’re both okay.”

Malori stared at Conklin, briefly confused, until he remembered that he meant Bishop when he said Drew.

Two-and-a-half years ago, Bishop had nearly been killed in an explosion.

King had manipulated things so that to the wider world, Bishop Anders had died.

Bishop had reconstructive surgery, which changed his face, and he’d adopted the persona of Drew Burton.

Only a scant handful of people knew Drew/Bishop were the same person.

Most of the guards, except for two of King’s most trusted men, Garvey and Hartford, thought Kensley loved a man name Drew.

“Tell Drew to fucking try and relax!” Kensley yelled.

“Hey.” Malori reached over and squeezed Kensley’s shoulder.

“Breathe.” His own relief had released the steel band from around his chest, allowing him to breathe a little easier.

Now he needed Kens to breathe and not send himself to the hospital.

Kensley’s blood pressure was already slightly elevated, and all this stress wasn’t good for the baby.

“Drew also suggested you go to bed and rest, Mr. Kensley,” Conklin added.

“Yeah, that’s not fucking happening,” Kensley snapped.

“They’re coming home,” Malori said.

“I know he’s coming home.” Kensley’s tear-thickened voice bounced around the large room. “But this is the first time since we’ve lived here that he hasn’t come home when he said he would. I’m not going to sleep until he’s here with me. I can’t.”

“You can rest in bed without going to sleep.”

“No.” Kensley shook his head violently and clutched a pillow over his round belly. “I can’t. The last time I fell asleep without him, I was kidnapped and he was shot.”

Malori had been astonished the first time Kensley told him the full details of Kensley and Bishop’s time on a private island, and Kensley’s dramatic abduction by Marta and her people.

The entire thing had felt pulled from a suspense movie plot.

But then again, Malori’s own life at the Farm had been straight out of an X-rated thriller/mystery/horror.

The one thing he did understand was going to sleep in a familiar place and waking up alone, scared, with no idea what his life was about to become.

“Okay, you don’t have to go to bed,” Malori said gently. “But please, Kens, try to relax right here. They’re coming home.” To Conklin, he said, “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Conklin nodded to each of them, then returned to his post.

Malori scooted closer to Kensley but did not hug his friend.

Malori still had trouble with casual touches, even with someone he trusted implicitly like Kensley.

Which was why yesterday’s lesson with King still confused him so much.

None of King’s touches had bothered him, and then with how physical they’d gotten with each other by the end?

Why did friendly hugs with Kensley make his stomach squirm, but rolling around on the floor with King excited him?

“Why don’t you brush your teeth?” Malori said. “Then you’ll be ready to go right to bed when Bishop comes home. You look ready to collapse.”

“I’m going to be up every two hours to pee no matter what,” Kensley groused.

“Yes, you will, but your teeth will be clean. Please?”

“Yeah, okay.”

Malori helped him stand, then watched Kensley shuffle toward the stairs to the second-level rooms Kensley shared with Bishop.

Kensley did not move fast, so hopefully the task would eat up most of the twenty minutes Conklin said it would take for Bishop and King to return.

Keep Kensley distracted so he didn’t see how worried Malori was.

So far, Kensley didn’t know or suspect that Malori and King’s relationship had gotten very, very physical yesterday.

Tonight had changed something deep inside of Malori that didn’t make any sense.

His fear for King, his absolute terror that something had happened to King, was both immediate and strangely distant.

It was like the memory of a horrible nightmare he’d had years ago was back, invading his waking hours, and Malori didn’t understand why.

He didn’t understand his physical attraction to King when he’d never desired a man before.

Didn’t matter. He needed to see King with his own two eyes and know he was all right.

Malori fetched a third beer and drank half of it by the time the elevator dinged.

He fumbled the bottle but didn’t drop it, and then froze in the middle of the living room.

Since he didn’t know the nature of tonight’s meeting, he had no real expectation for what had gone wrong.

He was not prepared for Bishop to walk in first, his left arm in a sling and bruises on his face.

Malori squawked at the sight of the man, and then King shuffled in behind him.

King had a bruise on his forehead and a cut across the bridge of his nose, wounds reminiscent of a bar fight. But Malori knew better. These two careful, calculating professionals hadn’t gotten caught up in the moment and engaged in a pointless brawl.

“What happened?” Malori asked, unable to tear his gaze from King’s pinched face. “You look terrible.”

“Car accident,” King replied in a tone that suggested he wasn’t being completely truthful. “We’ve both been seen by doctors, there are no concussions, just a lot of bruises, and Bishop has a sprained wrist.”

“Fuck.”

“Where’s Kens?” Bishop asked.

“Upstairs, brushing his teeth. He’s waiting for you.”

Bishop bolted.

Malori crossed the room to stand in front of King, who’d lost a few shades of bravado once it was the two of them. Malori hated the marks on King’s face, but he was insanely happy to see him alive and mostly well. “Just a car accident?”

“Is an accident ever just an accident?” King walked stiffly to the couch and sank down. “You should get some sleep, Mal, I’ll be fine.”

“Bullshit. Something went wrong tonight, didn’t it?” He sat next to King, close enough their knees could touch if either of them moved their leg an inch. “Bishop wouldn’t have made Kensley worry for hours if it had only been a fender bender. He would have called.”

King tried to glare at him but didn’t seem to have the energy, and his handsome face settled into a disgruntled frown. “The meeting went fine. We had a setback on the way home.”

“A setback in the form of a car accident bad enough to put Bishop’s arm in a sling?”

“Yeah, well, the other car was coming off the on-ramp as I was speeding up to merge, so…it could have been worse.”

“Was the other driver drunk?”

“No.” King’s mouth moved in a strange way, as if he was chewing on glass.

He was hiding something, and it didn’t take Malori long to understand. He wasn’t an idiot. “Someone tried to kill you tonight.”

King snorted. “By driving thirty miles an hour on an interstate ramp? It wasn’t an assassination attempt, it was warning.”

“From one of your enemies?”