Page 35 of The Kingpin's Omega Lover
“It wasn’t just killing Harley, but what he’d done to deserve it. The trauma of those two years started coming back. I was sixteen when I finally asked my father what he’d done about my abuse. Had he done anything in my name? Do you know what his response was?” King snorted hard. “He smacked me in the mouth and said to never bring it up again.”
Bishop inhaled a sharp breath.
“Father told me to shut up about it, that real men never admitted such things happened to them, and I needed to grow up and move on. Forget it ever happened, or else I’d never amount to more than a common street thug.”
“Fucking hell, King.” Bishop’s face was bright red, and his chest heaved with short, angry pants. “I always knew you hated your father, but fuck. No wonder you made it your life’s mission to destroy the evil fucker.”
King nodded, a slow up and down. “If my father did one thing for me with that little speech, it was give me the fuel I needed to take control of my life. I didn’t forget the pain, I used it. I put him in the ground with it.” His eyes burned again, but he wasn’t shedding any more tears today. “I wish my money could have saved my mother. Or saved Kensley’s mother from him.”
“But if you’d done that, you wouldn’t have a brother, and I wouldn’t have my charus.”
“True. And wishing changes nothing. It just keeps you up at night, wondering what might have been.”
“You know I get that.” Bishop ran his right hand through his hair, then scratched the back of his neck. “I don’t know what to say. I know what you don’t want me to say.”
King’s lips twitched; he hated pity.
“Have you told any of this to Kensley or Malori?” Bishop asked.
“I don’t want to tell Kensley about any of it,” King snapped. “He doesn’t need the additional stress right now. Maybe once the baby is born, and we’re all somewhere else, away from this life…maybe.”
“That’s fair. I’ll do my best not to slip in front of him.”
“Slip?”
Bishop glared at him. “My best friend in the world, a man I’ve known for almost twenty-five years, told me something horrific that happened to him when he was a defenseless kid. I’m going to need time to process that, pal.”
“You’re right. I didn’t consider that, and I’m sorry. I took a pretty big emotional dump on your lap just now.”
“It’s okay. I’m proud of you for talking about it. Thank you for sharing your pain with me. I mean it.”
“You’re welcome. I should have done it a long time ago, but it was easier to keep it all compartmentalized, in a place where it couldn’t affect my everyday judgment. But ever since the Farm, all that shit has gotten stirred back up. I see so much of my own pain in Malori’s eyes, and it eats me up inside.”
“I understand. Did you talk to Malori about it?”
“A little. I was vague, but he knows I was trafficked. If he asks more direct questions, I’ll answer them. But I haven’t asked him about his experiences. Sometimes you don’t have to talk about things.”
“I respect that.” Bishop leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, and steepled his fingers. “I have one request going forward.”
He expected nothing less. “Ask.”
“If you ever start to feel like your emotions on this subject are clouding your judgment, seriously clouding your judgment, come and talk to me. We’ll figure it out.”
“You’ve been by my side for years, Bishop, and I value your opinion, your trust, and your friendship. I also appreciate yourability to challenge me when you believe I’m off track, so yes, I agree to your request.”
Bishop nodded. “Thank you.”
“Of course. You, me, Kensley, and Malori? We’re family. I will protect my family.”
To the death, if necessary.
TEN
After the firing range,Malori had taken a long nap, and then gone up to the rooftop terrace to read. He loved the solitude there, high in the sky, surrounded by carefully tended plants and flowers. Kensley had texted him about an hour ago, saying that dinner was a fridge cleanout of leftovers, because he was expecting a grocery delivery tomorrow. Malori replied he wasn’t hungry yet, but he’d be down later.
He stayed on the roof to watch the sunset, which was his favorite part of the day. It rained often here, but on these rare clear nights, the lowering sun painted the sky in gorgeous streaks of blues and purples, shaded with fuchsia. He said goodnight to another day and hoped in his soul that he was one day closer to reuniting with his children. His daughter was three; his son was a year. Would they know him when they saw him again?
When. Not if. More than ever before, Malori believed in the when.
