Page 31 of The Kingpin’s Omega Lover (River City Omegas #2)

“Because you trusted me enough, cared about me enough, to come back. There is a humungous chance that yes, Yovenko is trying to draw you to this frat meeting. There’s a chance he’s counting on me showing up, too, and that there might even be an ambush waiting for us.

There is also a chance that Yovenko is fucking with us, and there won’t be anyone at this meeting except actual fraternity members with nothing better to do on a Friday night. ”

“I don’t think he’s fucking with us. I mean, yes, he is, but even if he isn’t an obvious attendee of this meeting, he’ll be there.

Somewhere. Watching to see if I show up.

See if I’m smart enough to understand the clues he was dropping in those DVDs.

Or if I’m a broken coward hiding behind your protection. ”

King squatted in front of Malori and rested his hands on the arms of the chair. “You are not broken or a coward, and you definitely don’t need protection. Your antics today showed me how brave and slightly insane you are.”

Malori’s lips twitched with humor. “I’ll do anything to find my kids.”

“I know. And I’ll do anything I can to get them back for you. But you have got to promise me, Malori, that you will never do something like this again. You won’t hide, you won’t sneak, and you won’t steal from me. We’re a team, period.”

“I promise. I mean it, Alexander Kingston. I promise.”

King smiled at the use of his given name, which few people ever used. “Thank you.” He eased back to his feet and perched on the edge of his desk, giving Malori his full attention. “So, what exactly was this grand plan of yours going to be? And what’s in the box?”

Malori tapped the side of the box with one fingernail. “This was part of my backup plan.”

“Oh? Tell me more. Maybe we can modify it so I can participate.”

“I don’t think you’re going to like it.”

“There’s only one way to find out.”

Malori stared at him for a long, uncomfortable moment, and then he began talking.

Returning to the penthouse and groveling for King’s forgiveness had been one of the hardest, most painful decisions of Malori’s life; it also been one of the easiest, which was a mind-fuck all by itself.

Malori’s attempt to locate Yovenko alone had been brave and doomed from the start.

As much as Malori had wanted to prove to himself he could face his own tormentor without cowering, he could not betray King like that and live with himself.

King had done too much for him. His feelings for King were too strong to go through with it.

Describing his plan, including the point of the device he’d ordered, was met with incredulity and a modicum of respect, considering the precarious position Malori was willing to put himself in.

The plan could have easily backfired and gotten Malori kidnapped or killed.

But King also didn’t dismiss it outright.

Instead, he called Bishop and Garvey into the room, and then called Ziggy.

They plotted. They negotiated. They finally agreed. King still hated one part of the new plan, but it was non-negotiable to Malori. He would have this small taste of vengeance tonight.

Kensley was an anxious, angry mess when he finally confronted Malori in the living room, where Kensley had been pacing.

“I’m so sorry, I never meant to hurt you,” Malori said.

He was fulfilling his quota of apologies today, but he also hated how much he’d hurt his friend.

Kensley had been by his side, fighting for Malori, since the moment they met.

Malori had betrayed everyone today.

Kensley punched him solidly in the left arm. “Don’t ever do that again. You’re my best friend, Mal. I can’t lose you.”

“You’re mine, too.” Malori had never had a best friend before, not a real one. Not like Kensley. “There’s no good enough excuse for scaring you.”

“Yes, there is.” He rubbed both palms over his belly. “You want your kids back. Trying to do it alone was really dumb, though, when you know King will do anything for you, short of chopping off his own dick.”

“You’re right. But we have a plan, and it is dangerous. Mostly for me. But I’m willing to take the risk, if it means getting my son back.”

“I know. Please, be careful.”

“I will.” He hugged his best friend tight and inhaled his familiar, warm scent. “You concentrate on your baby, okay? Try not to spend all night worrying about this.”

Kensley snorted and rubbed his back. “Yeah. Right. I’ll pray for you.”

“Thank you.” Malori didn’t believe in the hereafter, heaven or hell, but if prayer gave Kensley comfort, Malori would never shit on it. Kensley had spent fourteen years as a priest, providing support for the Holy Father and Mother in his cathedral. Old habits died hard.

The fraternity meeting began at eight, with a meet-and-greet cocktail hour starting at seven, which gave them a few hours to get things in order.

Ziggy had no trouble providing surveillance of the Passant Hotel it was a simple business transaction, not a trade.

As six, a runner arrived with an important package from Ziggy: a state-of-the-art, virtually undetectable tracking device that was safe to swallow.

If Malori got close to Aleks and convinced him to take Malori to his son, Aleks would frisk him.

He might even do a full-body search, so Malori was going to wear a fake wire meant to be found.

Aleks would never think to make Malori puke up a tracking device.

He hoped.

Even on the remote possibility he did, Malori had one more trick up his sleeve. Well, not his sleeve, but it was well-hidden, and part of the plan that King hated the most.

By six-thirty, Malori was cleaned up, dressed, hair styled, and all precautions firmly—if uncomfortably—in place.

He also had a quickly-made fake ID with the name and information of an actual fraternity member who, according to all their research, was vacationing with his family in Mexico right now.

King had considered providing a female date for Malori, so he was less conspicuous than arriving alone, but he worried she would tip Aleks off.

Malori definitely had motive to attend alone and seek Aleks out.

King called a car service, instead of his usual driver, in case Aleks had eyes and ears out in the city.

He also went down to the lobby with Malori.

King’s own car was waiting up the block, ready to pick up King and tail Malori to the Passant Hotel.

Bishop and another team were going in separate vehicles, on standby.

Malori tried not to fidget. He hadn’t been able to eat more than a peanut butter sandwich for dinner, he was so fucking nervous about this. But also, determined and excited and ready to stare his bogeyman in the face. To torment the man who’d lied, manipulated, used him, and then stolen his child.

King’s cell chimed. “Car’s out front.”

“This will work,” Malori whispered.

“It will.” King’s dark eyes burned with so many things. “Be careful.”

“See you soon.” I love you.

He swore King said it silently back.

Friday night rush hour meant it took about forty minutes to travel eight blocks to the hotel. The driver pulled up to the main entrance and got out to open Malori’s door. Malori handed him a cash tip, as King had instructed, then squared his shoulders and strode inside like he belonged there.

The lobby had high ceilings, wide glass windows, and a gold fountain in the middle, blocking the main check-in desk.

A sign was set up, directing guests to several different events occurring that evening, which meant there was a lot of foot traffic in and out of the lobby.

Perfect. Malori checked the ballroom name for his event, and then followed a trio of men about his age who appeared to be going in the same direction.

They went up a staircase and around a corner, to a wide corridor full of abstract paintings and hideously loud carpeting, where three sets of double-doors stood wide open.

The first ballroom was an anniversary party.

The next ballroom was the TDI chapter meeting.

He followed the three men inside. No one asked for IDs, no one was handing out their names on stickers.

Just a few dozen men of all ages, a bunch of round tables with chairs, and what looked like an open bar.

Perfect.

“Not a bad crowd,” he said softly. While the wire taped to his chest was a decoy, meant to be found, it did still work, and King was listening. “No familiar faces.”

Malori sucked at small talk, and he was terrible at walking up to strangers and starting conversations, so he approached the bar and ordered a cola.

Mostly to have a prop in his hand. Somehow, people with drinks always seemed more approachable.

At least, in movies they did. Malori had no experience with this sort of semi-swanky party.

Before today, he hadn’t worn a suit and tie since he was a boy.

But he’d acted for years on the Farm, perfecting whatever image the paying client wanted for those two hours. He could pretend he belonged here, among college graduates and fraternity boys who’d never grown up.