Page 30 of The Kingpin’s Omega Lover (River City Omegas #2)

THIRTEEN

After a promise to look at external security and nearby traffic cameras for signs of Malori, Ziggy ended the call. King wanted to pick up the aluminum patio chair and fling it as far as he could, anything to vent his fear and rage and numbing confusion.

He did not understand why Malori had sneaked out. Why he’d lied, climbed through a vent, and left the building with a mysterious box. King genuinely thought Malori trusted him, and everything about this stabbed tiny little knives into that trust, leaving him hurt and bloodied inside.

Without a word, he stormed back downstairs, and he wasn’t surprised to find Kensley in his office, curled up on one of the large leather chairs opposite his desk. “Where’s Malori?” Kensley asked. “What on earth is going on?”

King was too angry to speak, so he nodded at Bishop, who explained what little they knew, mostly from Ziggy’s illegal access to the building’s security system.

Kensley stared at Bishop like he’d grown a third eye. “Why would Malori do that, though? It doesn’t make any sense. Where would he even go?”

“We don’t know, sweetheart,” Bishop replied. “He didn’t say anything to you? Was he acting strangely at all today?”

“He seemed fine. Obviously, he’s been upset and preoccupied, but he never said a thing about wanting to leave.” Kensley tossed a disgruntled stare at King. “I thought you two were happy.”

“So did I,” King snapped back. This wasn’t Kensley’s fault, though, and he didn’t blame Bishop for taking a protective step closer to his partner.

King dropped into his desk chair, which creaked ominously.

Part of him wanted to change into regular clothes, strap on his gun, and hit the streets.

Search until he found the missing part of his heart.

But the city was a big fucking place, and it was easy to disappear in a crowd of millions.

He absently picked up a pencil and tapped the eraser against a blank notepad.

His attention caught on the top edge of the notepad, where a piece had been raggedly torn off.

King was always careful—ridiculously careful, according to Bishop—when he removed a piece of paper from a pad.

He was slow and deliberate, because he hated jagged edges. They were sloppy.

Someone had quickly ripped the top sheet off.

Curious and not daring to hope, King picked up the pad and angled it.

The overhead light revealed indents in the paper.

Some sort of shape, over and over. Not letters, more abstract.

King put the pad down, ignored the curious stares from Kensley and Bishop, and pressed the side of the pencil’s graphite to the paper.

Began to gently rub over the paper’s surface, leaving long smudges of gray and revealing pale lines, the way a forensic scientist discovered fingerprints.

It was the same shape, drawn eleven different times on the four-by-six paper, a mixture of geometric shapes and letters that meant nothing to him. Bishop circled the desk to stand beside him. “What is that?” he asked.

“I’ll bet you a grand that Malori was drawing it,” King replied. “It means something to him. Take a picture and send it to Ziggy.” King used his computer’s webcam to do the same thing, so he could try and search for it on the internet.

A ringing sound echoed into the office from the hall, and King looked up sharply, startled because he rarely heard that sound. It was the elevator doorbell, which meant someone without a key was asking for permission to come up to the penthouse.

Terrified it was the police with horrific news, King bolted to the lobby. Garvey and Hartford were both there. Hartford had the wall phone receiver in his hand and a strange look on his face. He put his palm over the mouthpiece and said, “It’s Mr. Cann. He wants to come up.”

Relief and anger collided in a toxic haze that left King lightheaded. Malori was coming back? Why had he bothered running away only to return after less than an hour? It took King a few tries to find his voice and say, “He’s alone?”

Hartford asked then nodded. “Says he is.”

Too many years of being overly cautious didn’t let King assume that was the truth. “Go ahead.”

Hartford hung up then pressed the button to allow the elevator access to their floor.

King pulled his pistol out of the waist of his shorts and held it to the side.

Hartford and Garvey took their cues from King, moving to opposite sides of the elevator door with their weapons drawn and ready.

Bishop ushered Kensley out of the lobby. In case Malori wasn’t alone.

It was safer to expect an ambush.

The elevator dinged; the doors slid open.

Malori stepped inside, his already pale face going white at the sight of three guns trained on him, and he fumbled the box in his hands.

He immediately dropped to his knees and hugged that box to his chest, head bowed and shaking.

“I’m sorry, please, don’t shoot, I’m sorry,” he whispered, over and over.

The rest of the elevator was empty.

“Fuck.” King put his gun on the hall table and knelt in front of Malori. “We’re not going to shoot, but fuck it all, Malori, where the fuck did you go? Why did you do that? You scared the shit out of me!”

“I’m sorry!” Malori’s shout surprised King, his voice mixed with equal parts anger and grief. “I thought I could do this alone, but I can’t. I can’t hurt you like that.”

“What does that even mean?”

Malori trembled, and their audience was not doing them any favors.

King gently pulled Malori to his feet and led him straight to his office, where he installed Malori in his desk chair.

Malori hunched over, perfectly miserable, but he seemed undamaged.

Just upset. King took a few deep breaths and counted to ten, so he could talk without losing his temper.

He didn’t want to scare Malori more than he already had.

King picked up the notepad. “What does this symbol mean?”

Malori raised his head then gasped. “How did you even think to do that?”

“Intuition. You know what this is, right?”

“I do. It’s a fraternity symbol for Theta Delta Iota.

I’d seen it before as pin.” Malori’s eyes swam with anger.

“A pin that Aleks always wore on his suit jacket. Right around the spot where a hidden camera could be, based on the angles of those DVDs. I remembered where Aleks would hang that jacket.”

King gaped at Malori, stunned silent by the admission. By the huge secret Malori had kept from King, about a major detail of their enemy.

“I honestly didn’t remember it until yesterday, and it felt like a clue,” Malori continued. “When I finally got the drawing right, I found the fraternity order. And I discovered there’s a chapter meeting in the city. Tonight.”

“What?” King smacked the top of the desk with an open palm. “Damn it, Mal. Were you going to sneak out and go confront Yovenko on your own?”

“Yes.”

He’d been honest, but that didn’t dispel any of King’s pent-up confusion and hurt. “Why? Do you have any idea how fucking dangerous that could have been?”

“Yes, I do, which is why I came back.”

“But why did you leave at all? You know I’d have helped you. I can have a team ready to ambush Yovenko at this chapter meeting in thirty minutes. I thought you trusted me.” King hated himself for allowing his voice to quaver, hated that show of weakness.

Malori flinched. “I do trust you. I just…wasn’t thinking clearly.

When I realized Yovenko was probably in the city right now, taunting me with those DVDs, likely hoping I’d figure it out and show up at that meeting…

I was furious. I can’t explain it, King, I wish I could.

All I knew was that my son could be in a hotel room, maybe eight blocks away, so fucking close.

This primal part of me needed to go, to buy a suit and show up at that conference room, and to do something. If nothing else, to put eyes on him.”

“It was reckless and dangerous.”

“I know. I got as far as a clothing store, and then I came back.”

“Why?”

“You.” Malori coughed and rubbed his eyes.

“I knew I could risk my own life by going to look for Aleks. But then I thought about what would happen if my plan to observe him didn’t work, if Aleks overpowered me and took me.

Or killed me. How you might never know, and that you might spend the rest of your life wondering.

Searching. Never knowing.” The hard lines around Malori’s eyes softened.

“I couldn’t bear to break your heart like that. ”

King closed his eyes against an onslaught of unwanted emotions: relief, compassion, confusion, hurt, love. So much at once. He hated seeing Malori so upset, but it was upset of his own making, wasn’t it? Malori had acted irrationally, irresponsibly, and he could have gotten himself killed.

He’d also rethought his plan and come home.

Naturally, his reeling mind settled on the most obscure detail of Malori’s entire explanation. He opened his eyes. “How were you going to buy a suit?”

Malori’s face and neck flushed. He reached into his left pocket and withdrew a roll of cash. “I’m sorry. I’ll find a way to pay back the money I used for the taxi rides to the store and back.”

King couldn’t even be furious that Malori had stolen his cash stash.

It had been clever and resourceful. His lover was certainly full of surprises today—some good, some bad.

He took the cash roll from Malori and put it on the desk.

“I want to be angry with you, Mal. I should be. Do you know why I’m not? ”

Malori shook his head slowly side to side. “No.”