Page 12 of The Kingpin's Omega Lover
“We aren’t going to meditate or anything goofy like that, are we?” Malori asked.
King shook his head as he strode to the center of the mat-covered floor. “Nope. How much do you know about self-defense?”
Shame washed over him like ice water. “Not as much as I should. I can fight when I need to, but it’s all offensive fighting. Not defensive.”
“Okay.” King turned to face him again, shoulders relaxed, hands dangling by his thighs. But even beneath the calm instructor face he was wearing, Malori recognized the calculating predator who ran a criminal empire with an iron first—or so Kensley said.
For having such a rumored iron fist, King had always been incredibly gentle with him.
King said, “Try to punch me.”
Malori startled. “Are you crazy?”
“Maybe a little but not about this. I want to see how you’d attack if you had to, so try and punch me. Don’t worry, Mal, you won’t hurt me.”
The inflection in those final four words slid under Malori’s skin like a piece of glass, irritating and loud. Malori’s hands balled into fists and his temper roared as he stalked across the mats. His target was King’s square jaw, and he wasn’t thinking as he pulled his right arm back and then hurled it forward.
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 anadvantage. 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.”
