Page 24 of The Kingpin’s Omega Lover (River City Omegas #2)

They did sit, close together, arms wrapped around each other, the offending package on the coffee table.

Neither of them could manage pressing Play on their show again, and eventually the DVD player switched to power saver mode.

Malori didn’t know how much time passed, only that he began feeling the need to pee before King finally strode into the living room.

He stopped in front of them and knelt on his left knee. “Are you both all right?”

“Yeah, just weirded out.” Malori pointed at the box. “I haven’t touched the DVD.”

“Good.”

“Where’s Bishop?” Kensley asked.

“Handling something delicate for me,” King replied gently. “Once I’m alerted that he’s finished, I’ll let him know what’s happening here. Unless it’s some sick prank.” His tone of voice said that was unlikely. “One moment.”

King left and returned quickly while putting on a pair of latex gloves.

Once he had them snug, he examined the exterior of the box.

The disc slid around inside. King opened the cut flap and tilted the box.

The single disc rolled out into his palm.

No writing on either surface, only a generic brand mark.

He looked inside the box then put it on the coffee table.

“No note,” King said. “Mal, are you sure you want to watch this?”

No. “Yes.” Malori suspected what might be on it, but he had to see for himself. “Kensley, you don’t have to stay.”

Kensley’s arm tightened around Malori’s waist. “I know.”

King ejected the current disk, put the unidentified one in the player, and closed it.

The player whirred as the disc spun. The TV’s black screen went blue with the word Play in the top left corner.

Malori’s insides turned to jelly and dread rolled through him.

King stood off to the side, both hands clenched behind his back.

The blue screen flickered several times before focusing on what looked like a door.

Even if Malori didn’t recognize every wood grain and scar on that door, he recognized his own muffled screams of pain.

The door opened on a horribly-familiar room he hated with his entire soul, because he’d spent too many hours of his life recovering there, collapsing in that extra bedroom so he didn’t soil his own bed’s clean sheets.

Exhausted and aching, sometimes bleeding, after experiencing some of the worst, most humiliating, painful moments of his life.

This wasn’t one of those moments, though.

The bizarre sight of his own self on the bed, propped up against the wall with pillows, spread legs covered by a sheet, panting through yet another contraction, shot hot surprise through his midsection.

He didn’t understand. No one had filmed him giving birth.

“Holy crap!” Kensley exclaimed. “Is that you?”

“Yes. But how?—?”

Dr. Luther moved into frame and faced the camera. “Good evening, Mr. Yovenko. You have good timing. He’s close.”

Malori’s hand jerked, as if wanting to reach for the screen but there was nothing to grab.

King growled, his entire body going rigid.

Malori stared at the TV, not completely understanding as the camera seemed to shake for several seconds, and then it resettled at a much lower angle.

Aleks entered the screen, and Malori released his own long, low snarl at the sight of his most reviled tormentor.

He also remembered this moment clearly. His relief at Aleks finally arriving.

He’d been scared they wouldn’t allow Aleks to be present during the birth, and he’d nearly jumped off the bed to hug Aleks.

He had been so certain everything would be okay now that his future husband was here.

The life Aleks had promised him would come true.

He watched his own memories playing out from a different perspective: Aleks asking how he could help; climbing onto the bed behind Malori to prop him up; Aleks kissing Malori on the mouth and cheek.

Now that he had this point-of-view, he studied Aleks’s face.

No real joy, only curiosity, as if participating in some sort of biological experiment.

His clothes: dress slacks and a white shirt, same as always.

But he’d taken off his sports jacket. Taking it off made sense, given the circumstances, but there was something else about the jacket…

The scene ended on another agonized scream from Malori, going black before brightening to a similar camera angle of the bed.

Malori was asleep on his side. Aleks crossed in front of the camera, back and forth, holding their newborn son.

The bare slip of Junior’s face twisted Malori’s heart.

Tears stung his eyes, and he released a sob.

Kensley hugged him tighter from the side.

The third scene was of Malori and Aleks cuddled on the bed together, both gazing down at their baby boy. The distorted picture of the perfect family made Malori’s stomach heave. He’d been so completely fooled, and his insides burned with fresh shame over believing Aleks’s lies.

It changed again, this time to a completely different location.

One Malori didn’t recognize. A room with pale green walls.

The shot moved off the wall to the left, and it focused on a white crib.

Malori sobbed again as the camera closed in on the squirming baby in the crib.

No longer newborn, months older, with more hair.

His eyes were open, and he gurgled at the camera.

“There’s my boy,” Aleks said. His dark laughter filled Malori’s ears like toxic sludge, and then the screen went black. Stopped playing.

“I’ll snap his fucking neck,” King growled. “How dare he!?”

Malori wanted to do the exact same thing—after he spent a few days torturing Aleks. He was furious and sick and hopeful. He’d seen his son somewhere besides the Farm. Somewhere with his father. That was hopeful in the worst, weirdest way.

When I find Aleks, I’ll find my boy.

King was suddenly kneeling in front of him, both hands resting on Malori’s knees, his eyes red and blazing. “Are you all right, angel?”

“I think so.” Malori released his sideways hold on Kensley and covered King’s hands with his own. “I have an answer I didn’t have before.”

“Which is?”

“My son is with his father. Or he was very recently.”

“I hate that your baby is with that monster.”

“So do I. I don’t trust him. Not one iota. But I know where my son is.”

King frowned. “Did you recognize the room in the last scene?”

“No. I meant, I know who he’s with, not where he is.”

“I thought you said that people the Farm let, uh, buy you, didn’t allow recordings?” Kensley said in a wrecked voice.

Malori hated that his friend was hurting over seeing such painful, intimate moments, but he couldn’t seem to let go of King long enough to comfort Kensley. “They didn’t. Not overtly. I guess Aleks had a hidden camera on him. Or on his coat.”

“I’ll make sure Ziggy gets this disc,” King said. “He can check for fingerprints. I don’t imagine he’ll find any. Yovenko seems too smart for that. But there’s no doubt in my mind this came from him.”

“Same.” Malori gasped like he’d been punched. “Fuck. The postmark is River City. He was here.”

“Or he paid someone to come here and mail it for him.”

“No. I’m positive Aleks would come himself. He’d want a chance to see everything he’s stirred up by sending this DVD.”

King studied his face for several long, anxious seconds. “You spent the most time with Yovenko, so I’ll go with your assessment. If he’s in town, do you think he was responsible for last week’s car crash?”

“I don’t know. From my experience, it doesn’t feel personal enough.

Everything he did to me was about me. About stripping me of my humanity and of my son.

Of my will to live. And he almost succeeded in the latter.

The day you rescued us, I was done. If they’d carted me off to murder me, I wouldn’t have fought. I’d have welcomed it.”

King’s eyes flashed with pain. “That’s nothing to be ashamed of. We all reach our breaking point. I’m lucky we got there when we did, and that you’re allowing me to lo—to care about you. And I know watching this DVD was painful, but we finally have a new lead.”

Malori saw it as more of a taunt, but he trusted King’s way of handling the DVD. “Can you burn a copy for me before you hand it off to Ziggy? Maybe if I watch it more, I’ll notice something. A reason for the specific moments he chose? A pattern?”

“I don’t like the idea of you watching that over and over.” He sighed. “But I agree with your reasons. I’ll make you a copy.”

“Thank you.”

“Do you want to watch it again now?”

“No. I need some air first.”

“Company?”

Malori shook his head no. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’ll be here when you need me. Promise.”

“Thanks.” Malori stood and had to work hard not to sprint toward the stairs.

King watched his heart walk away and take some of his calm facade with him.

King had done his best to keep it together for Malori, to not explode in a furious, jealous, vindictive rage and terrify his emotionally fragile…

boyfriend? Lover, for sure, but they never talked about labels.

Neither were fond of them. But if Yovenko was presented to him in this moment, nothing would stop King from ripping the man’s limbs off with his bare hands.

Which scared King, because his very-pregnant little brother was sitting there, pale and devastated by what he’d just seen.

Comforting others wasn’t his best event, but King rose from his knees far enough to slide onto the couch beside Kensley.

Kens flung his arms around King and pressed his face into his armpit.

He’d seen Kensley hug Bishop like that, so King hugged him back, providing what comfort he could for as long as Kensley needed it.

And Kensley didn’t let go until King’s phone rang.

Kensley reared back, face red but eyes dry. “Is it Bishop?”

“Yes.” He accepted the call. “Bishop, how did it go?”

“Exchange went off without a hiccup,” Bishop replied. “Transfer is complete and secure. We’re on our way home.”

“Good.” King hadn’t modulated his voice well enough on four little letters, damn it.

“Why? Is something wrong with Kensley?”

“He’s fine, physically. This is about Malori. And Yovenko.”

Bishop grunted. “Tell me.”