Page 26 of The Kingpin's Omega Lover
Voice mail from Remington. “I heard about your accident last night. Checking in. A mutual friend of ours is concerned you didn’t get the gift she sent.”
The diamonds from Lynn as a down-payment for their future business arrangement. King was lucky they hadn’t fallen out of Bishop’s pocket during the crash, and no one at the hospital had gone snooping through their things. They were carefully tucked away in a small safe beneath King’s bed. He’d put them there last night after Malori had fallen asleep.
King replied with a brief text that he’d received the gift and all was well. So far, he’d never had a problem with Remington as a go-between, but the timing of the “accident” with his first bit of business with Lynn irked him—especially with how important her information could be to his future plans.
He didn’t like coincidences, not even after the vague warning through his broken car window to “let sleeping dogs lie before you get bit.” Too many dogs, too many enemies, and assuming everything was related or on-purpose had kept him alive in a business that loved to kill people young.
It was after ten by the time King wandered into the kitchen. Someone had brewed coffee, so he poured himself a mug and took it into the living room to sip while checking the news on his tablet. He glanced at the sofa, which had a new stain on the center cushion. Not a big one and probably not noticeable on the dark fabric unless you were looking for it.
King flipped the cushion over anyway, and he made a mental note to mention it to his housekeeper when she came.
He settled in an armchair. The accident was mentioned in the police blotter report of the Tribune, the city’s largest circulation paper, but not the names of those involved, only that it was a hit and run, and police were investigating. King and Bishop had answered as many questions as possible at the hospital, but local police knew who King wassupposedto be. Sometime in the near future, he and “Drew” would likely be called into the precinct to answer more specific questions.
Thankfully, this was easy to cover up. King had no idea who the other driver could possibly be—other than an associate of Marta, or possibly Yovenko, who both knew King was looking for them—but he’d spun a good story for why he and Bishop had been on that road in the first place, especially that time of night.
After a quick perusal of the other news articles, King called the shooting range he preferred and set up an appointment for that afternoon. Malori had insisted on learning to fire a gun, and King was keeping his promise to teach him. His stomach gurgled for more than coffee at about the same time as Bishop and Kensley passed through the living room. They were intent on the kitchen, because neither looked at him, and Bishop leanedagainst Kensley like a human crutch. Not that Kensley could do much to hold Bishop up, considering their size difference.
They’d almost passed when Kensley glanced to the side and released a sharp yelp. “Geez, King, scare me to death, why don’t you?”
“I was just reading,” King replied. “I’m sorry I startled you.”
Kensley glared. “Well, at least your face doesn’t look as bad as Bishop’s arm.”
“Hey,” Bishop said softly to Kensley.
“It’s okay,” King said. His best friend had a sprained wrist, which was a lot worse than King’s few cuts and bruises. “How does your wrist feel?”
Bishop shrugged with his eyebrows. “It hurts but it’ll heal. Kens is worried, and I don’t blame him. It’s not you, King, it’s the situation.”
“I get it, believe me.” King put his coffee down and stood. “Kensley, I’m sorry this happened, and I’m even sorrier we worried you last night.” He bit back his instinct to add, “but this is the life Bishop leads, and you chose him,” because he would sound like an asshole. Kensley had already gone through worrying Bishop had been killed by an enemy’s bullet six months ago. And even though Kensley had chosen to have sex with Bishop, neither of them had expected to be fated charum, something they simply could not control.
The last thing any of them needed was to put more stress on Kensley’s heavily-pregnant shoulders.
“I knew this could happen,” Kensley grumped. “Sort of. I’m not mad at you, King, and Bishop is right. It’s the situation. And since I didn’t see you last night.” Kensley untucked himself from Bishop’s side, waddled over, and wrapped his arms around King’s waist.
King wasn’t much of a hugger, in general, but he’d gotten used to casual hugs from Kensley over the last few months. Andthis hug meant a lot, because it showed him Kensley wasn’t angry with King over the car wreck. King returned the easy hug and kissed the top of Kensley’s head. “I love you, brother,” King whispered.
“Love you, too.” Kensley flashed him a bright smile, then he returned to Bishop’s side. “Want apple pancakes with us?” he asked King.
“Definitely.”
“Awesome.”
King followed the pair into the kitchen, where he observed the amusing dance between Kensley making the pancake batter and Bishop attempting to help with one arm. King tried to superimpose himself and Malori on the performance, but he couldn’t. He could not imagine Malori as the same domestic, nurturing type as Kensley…and that was okay. King adored his half-brother, but Kensley was not the personality that King desired. King needed someone who challenged him, who demanded an equal spot at the table.
Not that Kensley didn’t deserve an equal spot; of course, he did. But Kensley didn’t scratch for it. Malori scratched and bit and fought for his place.
“Have you seen Malori this morning?” Kensley asked, completely derailing King’s train of thought. And King had no idea how to answer that. Fortunately, Kensley kept going. “I should text him. He’d probably like pancakes.”
King and Malori hadn’t discussed who to tell what, and while King had no reason to lie, he didn’t want to betray Malori’s privacy if he didn’t want anyone to know they had been intimate. He also wanted to shout to the rooftops that he was involved with an incredible, gorgeous, strong, brave young man. Thankfully, Kensley quit collecting his ingredients to send a text—he assumed—to Malori, inviting him to breakfast. Then Kensley went right back to the pancake assembly.
Bishop was leveling King with a curious stare that King did his best to ignore. The stare-fest was interrupted by King’s cell ringing with Ziggy’s tone. “Yeah, what’s going on?” King asked, grateful for the interruption.
“Got an update I’m not sure how to feel about, boss,” Ziggy replied. “We’ve been cross-referencing all our resources on the image you got of Aleks Yovenko, and we finally got a positive identification on a subject who matches the face on a work ID I dug up, similar name but not identical.”
“You did? What’s the name?”
“Yovani Alexie.”
