Page 9 of The Kingpin’s Omega Lover (River City Omegas #2)

King sidestepped the blow without touching Malori, and Malori stumbled a few steps before regaining his balance.

King moved like a ghost, his hair barely shifting, while Malori felt like a bumbling idiot for being so fucking clumsy.

But he’d never trained his body to be a weapon like King had.

From the moment he presented as omega, Malori’s body had been nothing except a vessel to survive in.

“I made you angry, and you tried to hit me with anger,” King said. “If you attack with anger, you give your opponent an advantage. So, here’s my first lesson. Whenever possible, make your enemy come to you. Don’t go to him.”

“You told me to try and hit you!”

“I did, and thank you for indulging me.” King swept both arms out.

“I don’t want to embarrass you or hurt you, I promise.

But I do think learning to defend yourself, and learning ways to channel the emotions you feel, is going to help you.

Boxing is a great way to take out your aggression in a healthy manner, but you need to learn how to do it correctly, so you don’t hurt yourself. ”

“So, we’re doing self-defense and boxing?”

“Yup.”

Malori turned those things over in his mind.

Self-defense was a terrific objective, obviously, but he also loved the idea of learning to box.

Of having more control over his body and how he hit, and he was a little annoyed he hadn’t thought to ask for lessons sooner.

He’d have loved to know those things years ago, when he was living on the streets.

Maybe he’d have saved himself a few beatings.

Maybe he’d have been able to protect himself better at the Farm.

Probably not at the Farm, though. The single greatest fear he’d had while living there, the one they’d planted in his brain without ever explicitly making the threat, was that Malori’s bad behavior could negatively affect his daughter.

That if he hurt any of his “guests,” she could be punished.

His instinctive need to protect her at all costs had cost him everything, including his own self-respect.

The things he’d done and allowed to be done to him…

Black flashed in his vision and everything swayed. Malori became aware of a firm surface beneath his butt, his head bending between his knees. King’s soft, concerned voice was repeating, “I’ve got you, breathe,” over and over. Gentle and reassuring.

He focused on the sound of King’s voice, the smell of his cologne, the thump of his own racing heartbeat.

The moment passed, and Malori raised his head, face hot, furious at himself for showing this weakness to King.

But King’s face was as neutral as his tone was tender, his dark eyes searching Malori’s face for something.

But they reflected no pity, no censure, or Malori might have tried punching him again.

The one thing he’d never seen from King, not since the day they met, was pity.

Pity from King might break him in irreparable ways.

“Can you tell me what just happened?” King asked. “I’m sorry if anything I said about boxing triggered you.”

“It wasn’t you.” He was so close to King, their bodies inches apart, and Malori longed to lean over.

To press his shoulder against King’s broad chest and be held.

Or for King to reach out and squeeze Malori’s arm, a reassuring touch from a friend to prove Malori wasn’t as alone as he felt most days.

For the thousands of hours he’d spent despising the ways other people touched him, he longed for the kind touch of a person he trusted. For a genuine, human connection.

“I started thinking about my daughter when I shouldn’t,” Malori said. “I need to concentrate on right now.”

“I can’t possibly admonish you for thinking about your daughter, but I do have to agree with you. You need to concentrate on what we’re doing, or you could hurt yourself. Or worse, I could accidentally hurt you, and I’d never forgive myself if I did.”

That was not hyperbole. Malori knew King well enough to believe that King would take it incredibly personally if he accidentally hurt Malori during these lessons.

Malori only hoped it was because King genuinely cared about Malori, and not simply because he saw Malori as some abuse victim who needed to be coddled.

Stop, you know he doesn’t think that. He’s never once looked at you like you’re a pathetic victim.

King had never looked at him like that, and Malori didn’t want to give him a reason to start. Not ever.

“So, let’s work in a way that won’t get either of us hurt,” Malori said as he stood, proud he didn’t wobble or fall. He squared his shoulders and looked down at King, who was still seated. “How do we start?”

King smiled and fluidly rose to his feet. “I’ll show you.”

Learning basic self-defense wasn’t as glamorous as the movie montages made it out to be.

Mostly, Malori spent it standing back up while glaring at King for various reasons.

After an hour, his ass hurt from falling, his shoulders were sore from learning to roll correctly, and he really wanted a chance to land a solid punch on King’s face, just to prove he could.

But King was fast, graceful, and in full control of his movements—which was both impressive and irritating as hell.

Malori wanted that kind of control, not only over his own body, but over his environment, his circumstances, and every other aspect of his uncontrollable life.

Mastering each small step, one at a time, in the correct order, made sense intellectually.

Malori needed to learn how to do it right the first time, so one day, blocking a punch or ducking a roundhouse kick came as naturally to him as breathing.

Patience had never been his best virtue.

And he was in new, physical pain for the first time in months, which left Malori grumpy when King ended their first session.

Malori hadn’t hurt like this since his shoulder finally healed, and even though he still got the occasional twinge when the weather changed, this sort of all-over soreness reminded Malori too much of his life at the Farm.

Aching and exhausted after an “appointment” with a “guest.”

Malori was sprawled on one of the mats, glaring up at the ceiling, and replaying some of the blocking motions in his mind when a bottle of water appeared in his vision. King smiled down at him, another bottle in his other hand. “Where did those come from?” Malori asked.

“There’s a mini-fridge by the wall where it looks like a media cabinet. Hiding it keeps the room’s aesthetic and makes it feel less college dorm-like.”

“Huh. Did you go to college?”

“No. I planned to, but life happened.”

‘Life happened’ sounded like code for getting caught up in the business he now operated, which was forbidden conversation, so Malori let that topic go.

He accepted the water and rolled onto his side so he could drink without choking.

The water was chilled but not freezing, which was how he preferred it.

He didn’t know how long it took his meals to get from the preparation area to his Farm apartment, but nothing was ever piping hot or well-chilled, and his drinks rarely came with ice.

Some of Kensley’s more adventurous meal offerings were still difficult for Malori to manage without bolting for the bathroom.

“When will we do this again?” Malori asked.

“You might want to wait and ask me tomorrow. You’ll be more sore and probably less eager.”

“Yeah, I remember the way impacts hurt more the next day.” Malori hated how he said such a thing so casually, but that had been his reality for a long time—many wounds needed time to fully develop before the true pain set in, especially punches. So, he didn’t understand why King’s face pinched.

King hid the expression quickly, though, and he squatted to Malori’s level.

“I do want to teach you, Malori, but I don’t want you to push yourself too hard, too fast. Practice what you learned today, and we’ll work together again soon, I promise.

Avoiding a blow and breaking someone’s hold is a start, but you need to learn to disarm someone, too. ”

“When will you teach me how to kill?”

Malori startled himself with the blunt question, but he didn’t stammer or retract it. He wanted to learn every possible way to defend himself, and he also needed to learn how to attack. As long as he lived in the periphery of King’s violent world, Malori was at risk.

King carefully shifted so he was sitting in front of Malori, legs crossed, bottled water held loosely in both hands. He adored the way King came down to Malori’s level, instead of towering over him. He communicated rather than dominated, and that was a rare trait in men.

“Why do you want to learn how to kill?” King asked.

“You kill.”

“When necessary, but it’s not a hobby I’m particularly fond of, and death is not something I ever take lightly. Yes, things can happen in the heat of the moment, which you know full well. But making a conscious choice to take a life will take a toll on you.”

“If you’re worried about my immortal soul, don’t. I don’t believe in that shit.”

“I’m not a priest, Malori, I’m not worried about your immortal soul.

I’m worried about your spirit here on earth.

I’m worried about the physical and mental well-being of you, right now, and going forward.

You’re twenty-three years old. You have so many choices left for your life, and I don’t want killing to be one of those choices. ”

Malori’s spine snapped straight, and he nearly squeezed his bottle in half. “You don’t want? You aren’t my father, King, you don’t get a say in where my life goes from here.”

“Maybe I don’t get a say, but I can give a shit.

And I do. The whole point of today was helping you channel your anger into something more productive than thoughts of revenge.

I know I can’t take those thoughts away completely.

You’ve been through too much for that to ever happen.

But I see so much of me in you, Mal. I recognize the pain in your eyes. I don’t want you to have my life.”

Malori waved his hand around them. “You mean a two-story penthouse, more money than God, and the best security in the city?”

“Yes. Because all those things came with a price. This penthouse is twenty-one stories above the city, so far removed I can’t see individual people from my windows.

We’re too high up for most birds to bother landing on the roof.

The money buys security, because I have so many enemies I need to live up in the clouds.

I could afford to take a cruise around the world, but I’d have to buy out the entire ship to let my guard down enough to enjoy it, because I’d be worried about one of the other passengers trying to kill me. ”

“You have a private island. Go vacation there.”

King chuckled. “Well, I did have a private island. I don’t keep assets that are no longer secure.”

“Poor sad rich man.” Malori couldn’t believe the rude things popping out of his mouth, but he couldn’t seem to stop.

King wasn’t rising to the bait. He seemed amused that Malori was challenging him, which irritated Malori to his core.

King was sitting on both a mountain of wealth and a mountain of knowledge, hoarding resources like a dragon of myth, and Malori wanted in.

Not in on the money, but in on the knowledge. And if King wasn’t going to teach him what he wanted to know, Malori would find another source. “It’s not like I’ve never committed murder before.”

King’s smile faded, and his eyes narrowed. “You and Kensley both shot Decker.”

“Kens shot him once. I emptied the chamber into him.”

“You acted in an extremely heated moment. No one can blame you for what you did, much less call it murder. At the very least, it was self-defense. They were abandoning the Farm. Decker was going to kill you or leave you to die, and we both know it.”

“I killed before the Farm.”

King’s eyebrows rose for several long seconds before settling, his mouth flattening. “Why?”

Not who, when or how. Just why. Malori didn’t like thinking about his past, especially not those regrettable years when he sold misery to others to feed both his stomach and his own addiction. “He was trying to take what was mine. I wouldn’t let him.”

“So…in other words, it was self-defense.”

Malori growled. “Stop it.”

“Stop being honest? I promised you when we met that you could trust me. I’m trying to keep that promise by not lying about my perception of your actions.

You are not a murderer simply because you’ve taken lives.

You aren’t on a straight path to a criminal life where you have to kill to maintain what you’ve got. ”

“I still have choices, right?” Malori mocked him.

King sighed, a bit like an exhausted teacher losing patience with a disagreeable student. “Yes, you do, but I can’t force you to see them or accept them. Like I said before, I want to give you all the knowledge I possibly can. The choice you make in what to do with that knowledge is your own.”

“Then teach me to kill.”

King held his gaze for a long time before blinking. “I can arrange for us to visit a firing range. Get you acquainted with using a gun the right way.”

“What, more self-defense? Why can I only defend myself?” Something hot and painful and blinding slashed through Malori’s chest. “I’ve had so much taken from me, King, why can’t I take from people too?

I’m allowed to take, too!” That slashing thing shocked through his system so hard and fast he didn’t even register moving.

Malori didn’t understand what he’d done until he was crouching over King’s supine body, knees digging into the padded floor, both hands wrapped around King’s throat, holding pressure without choking.

He couldn’t comprehend what he’d done, could barely breathe, he was so angry—at King, at Decker, at the world at large for being so fucking ugly and unfair.

As their positions truly sank in, Malori pinning King to the floor, disrespecting his host in his own home in such an egregious manner, Malori waited for fear to overtake his fury.

But it didn’t. He didn’t back down. Not this time. He would not cower again, not even if it meant a beating for his actions.

Malori held King’s unblinking stare and braced for impact.