Page 35 of The Kingpin’s Omega Lover (River City Omegas #2)

Junior was awake and babbling in his crib.

Malori delighted in changing his stinky diaper, while King showered off and dressed for the day, delightfully still able to feel Malori’s thickness in his tender hole, after being fucked with zero prep.

It had been so fucking hot, Malori taking what he wanted like that.

King had never felt used, bullied, or trapped.

He felt loved.

It was only a little after seven, still early, but he and Malori found Davia awake in the kitchen with McFadden nearby. She was watching a simmering pot on the stove. “You have no baby food,” she said. “I am boiling carrots for mash. I will make grocery list.”

“There wasn’t baby food in the diaper bag?” King asked.

Davia blew a raspberry. “Dah, rubbish food. Home cook is better for growing boy. I cook. Jar food for dogs.”

Malori laughed and shifted Junior from one hip to the other. “I appreciate everything, Davia, I mean it. We didn’t get a chance to talk last night. I’m Malori Cann.”

“Aye, Mr. Connor spoke of you. Said you were criminal. Outside of law. I do not care. You are parent. You belong with boy.”

“Mr. Connor?”

“The name Davia was given was Augustus Connor,” King said.

Malori huffed. “How many aliases did that fucker have?”

“Hard to say. I texted Ziggy last night, so he’s got the name Augustus Connor on his radar, too. But I’ll bet you twenty bucks that name is tied somehow to Theta Delta Iota.”

“No bet.”

They didn’t have a highchair, so King held him on his lap, while Davia showed Malori how to feed Junior the mashed carrots.

More seemed to end up on Malori’s hand and the baby’s bib than in his mouth, but those moments were beyond precious.

By the time their mess was cleaned up, Bishop and Kensley had joined them.

Kensley and Davia bickered over what to fix for breakfast and, in the end, Kensley relaxed at the counter while Davia made everyone pancakes.

King had never thought to hire a cook, but with Kensley so pregnant, and more people in the house…maybe. He had to look deeper into Davia’s background first, before he trusted her in his home and with the health of his family.

At nine-thirty, King got a text that their guest was awake.

Good. Bishop wasn’t happy about being asked to help babysit, but he acquiesced when King said Garvey and Hartford would accompany them.

King didn’t want Bishop involved in this task, in case things went south.

Bishop had his own family to worry about.

Malori gave Junior tons of hugs and kisses before finally handing the baby over to Kensley.

Davia remained nearby, fussing around the kitchen, with McFadden her permanent shadow.

King and Malori rode the elevator together, hand in hand, to the second level of the parking garage, where Garvey and Hartford waited with an SUV.

They drove to the outskirts of the city, near the docks, and Malori didn’t protest when King asked him to wear a blindfold for the last five minutes of the trip.

“Plausible deniability of location,” he said.

Not that he expected to get caught, but he hadn’t survived in this business for so long by being reckless. His precautions often had precautions.

Twenty years ago, this section of the docks had been popular with the younger crowd, full of underground clubs, bars, and cheap loft apartments.

A chemical fire had razed two whole blocks to the ground, and the contaminated river water had chased away most of the residents.

King’s people had located what had once been a hookah bar, with several private backrooms, that still had electricity.

Their quartet went in through the rear, into a building that smelled like smoke, mildew and something faintly sweet, to one of the backrooms.

King was impressed by what his people had done with the place overnight.

Three photography lights had been brought in and set up to face the middle of the room.

A free-standing air cooler kept the temperature from being too stifling.

A folding table was covered by a sheet, but the multitude of lumps beneath it hinted at the equipment King had requested.

And the center of attention was a St. Andrew’s cross, bolted to the floor, with Aleks Yovenko/Yovani Alexei/Augustus Connor strapped to it by his wrists, ankles, and neck.

Completely naked, except for the molded plastic cage around his flaccid dick.

Just one more collared monster whose expiration date was near.

One more devil to send back to hell.

Yovenko was awake, and he watched them with a steady glare, but didn’t demean himself by spewing profanities or empty threats. The only way he was getting off that cross was either as a corpse, or as a bargaining chip for a much greater prize. Like the location of Malori’s daughter.

Malori remained by King’s right arm, straight-backed, but he didn’t seem wholly convinced his enemy couldn’t leap out and attack him. The guards who’d been with Yovenko overnight left the room and shut the door with a solid thud.

“Four against one,” Yovenko said. “Those don’t seem like fair odds.”

“There are no odds here,” King replied. “No bets, no hedging, only a simple give and take. You give, or we take.”

“And what do I have to give? You’ve taken me, and I imagine you’ve also collected my son. You don’t want money. You must know I won’t beg.”

“You sound confident in that.” King pulled the sheet off the table, revealing a gleaming collection of knives, tools, medical instruments, and even a few sex toys. Not that King was into sexual torture, but he wanted the options open to Malori, if that’s the route he chose in enacting his revenge.

Yovenko’s upper lip curled back. Then he shifted his cold stare past King to Malori. “I have to admit, you’re better than I expected. I did underestimate you and your creativity. Don’t underestimate mine.”

King laughed. “Let me guess? You’re going to say you expected some sort of double-cross, so as insurance, you injected the baby with some sort of poison, and if you can’t be freed to provide the antidote in time, he’ll die?” He scoffed. “I had my doctor do a blood panel last night. The boy’s fine.”

Yovenko’s lip fell. He bought King’s bluff before he could sell his own bluff.

King had years of experience dealing with angry, trapped men who’d say anything for a chance to escape.

“If you want information about Marta’s organization, I don’t have it.

I was a client who rented services from the Farm, nothing more.

I can’t help you avenge your brother, Mr. Kingston. ”

“I actually do believe you about that.” King ran a single finger down the handle of a shiny new scalpel. “But you must know that this isn’t about my brother. This is about Malori. This is his show. I’m only here for support.”

Malori slipped around King and approached Yovenko, each step slow and cautious.

Yovenko didn’t lunge, didn’t try to intimidate; he watched.

Cold and emotionless. “You lied to me during the most vulnerable time of my entire life,” Malori said, low and steady, each syllable coated with malice.

“You stole my child. You left me to be tormented and killed. It’s too bad for you I escaped death, because you will beg for it long before death meets you. ”

Yovenko’s chilling laughter sent goose bumps across King’s neck. “Big promises, little omega.”

King watched the slow, intense way the corners of Malori’s mouth turned up, putting a wicked, terrifying smile on his lovely face. “Where’s my daughter?” Malori asked.

“You’ll never find her.”

“That’s not what I asked you, Aleks.” Quick as a whip, Malori grabbed the plastic sheath around Yovenko’s wounded dick and twisted it sharply to the right.

Yovenko screamed.

Malori lasted twenty minutes, and then he banged on the door to be released from the room, which was thick with the odors of blood and piss.

The shrieks and cries bothered him less than the sight of actual blood, and then watching a grown man piss himself.

Malori would gladly be the one to aim the gun at Aleks’s heart and pull the trigger, but he was not the man to torture information out of him.

Too much.

The door opened from the other side, and Malori rushed into the stuffy hallway.

He bolted through the open doorway opposite, which was empty and dark, and he vomited onto the floor.

Pancakes and juice and bile joined whatever mess had been left by the previous tenants.

He choked and heaved, and then someone was taking him elsewhere.

Outside into the sunshine and fresh air.

Hartford. “You’re okay, son, it’s okay,” he said quietly, over and over, as he led Malori to the SUV.

The engine was running, the interior cool, and a bottle of water appeared in Malori’s hands.

He sipped at it, stomach sore, hands trembling, sloshing drops of water onto his lap.

He finally noticed he was in the backseat, Hartford on the bench beside him.

“I can’t,” Malori gasped. “I can’t.”

“It’s okay, the boss said earlier you might not. It’s fine. Breathe, okay?”

“I wanted to.”

“I know. Not everyone can.”

Malori growled, annoyed at how calm Hartford was about all this. Then again, for as long as he’d known the tall, quiet bodyguard, Hartford had exuded calm and competency. Not much fazed him. “I should have hurt him more.”

“You did enough. You did what you could handle, Mr. Cann. And this might not be my place to say, but do you know what this shows me about you?” When Malori shook his head no, Hartford smiled.

“It shows that, despite the hell you survived, despite the men and women who tried to break you for years? You’re still a kind person.

You hurt others when you must, but at heart, you aren’t cruel. And that’s a good thing.”

“Feels weak.”

“It’s a strength. Believe it or not, it’s easier to be a cruel person than to be a kind one. Kindness requires empathy and thought and deliberate action. All cruelty needs is opportunity.”

Malori appreciated the sentiments, even if he wasn’t sure he agreed. “He didn’t tell me about my daughter.”

“The boss will get it out of him. Eventually, Mr. Kingston will know if that guy stole a candy bar from a convenience store when he was eight. And if Yovenko truly doesn’t know where she is, the boss will learn that, too. And then we’ll go from there.”

“Will King kill him?”

“Not without your permission.”

“Then can I go home? I want my baby.”

“Of course. Sit tight.” Hartford had his phone to his ear as he slid out of the SUV. Shut the door and walked around to the driver’s side while he spoke.

Malori glared at the dilapidated building beside him, annoyed at his weakness, but also glad King had enough strength to support them both.

They were simply built different. If Yovenko had been standing between Malori and his daughter, an actual barrier to her safety, Malori would have torn him to pieces, one limb at a time, and he wouldn’t have been bothered by the bloody results.

But he couldn’t stand there and torture someone who was tied down and helpless.

Malori was not that guy. But he loved a man who was.

I do love him. For all that he’s done, for all that he is.

Hartford climbed into the driver’s seat and shut the door. “We’re good to head home. The boss said he might be a while, but he’ll call with updates.”

“Okay. Thank you, Hartford. For the pep talk.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Cann. And I didn’t say it before, but I’m really happy you got your son back. No one deserves to get their kid taken away.” Hartford briefly met his gaze in the rearview and nodded.

Malori nodded back then put the blindfold on without being asked.

He settled into the backseat with his water, still sweaty and upset, but also confident he hadn’t failed.

He’d simply tried doing a job that wasn’t his.

King would get the answers they needed out of Yovenko.

Malori would be reunited with both of his children.

One way or another.