Page 51 of The Kingpin's Omega Lover
Malori tried not to fidget. He hadn’t been able to eat more than a peanut butter sandwich for dinner, he was so fucking nervous about this. But also, determined and excited and ready to stare his bogeyman in the face. To torment the man who’d lied, manipulated, used him, and then stolen his child.
King’s cell chimed. “Car’s out front.”
“This will work,” Malori whispered.
“It will.” King’s dark eyes burned with so many things. “Be careful.”
“See you soon.”I love you.
He swore King said it silently back.
Friday night rush hour meant it took about forty minutes to travel eight blocks to the hotel. The driver pulled up to the main entrance and got out to open Malori’s door. Malori handed him a cash tip, as King had instructed, then squared his shoulders and strode inside like he belonged there.
The lobby had high ceilings, wide glass windows, and a gold fountain in the middle, blocking the main check-in desk. A sign was set up, directing guests to several different events occurring that evening, which meant there was a lot of foot traffic in and out of the lobby. Perfect. Malori checked the ballroom name for his event, and then followed a trio of men about his age who appeared to be going in the same direction.
They went up a staircase and around a corner, to a wide corridor full of abstract paintings and hideously loud carpeting, where three sets of double-doors stood wide open. The first ballroom was an anniversary party. The next ballroom was the TDI chapter meeting. He followed the three men inside. No one asked for IDs, no one was handing out their names on stickers. Just a few dozen men of all ages, a bunch of round tables with chairs, and what looked like an open bar.
Perfect.
“Not a bad crowd,” he said softly. While the wire taped to his chest was a decoy, meant to be found, it did still work, and King was listening. “No familiar faces.”
Malori sucked at small talk, and he was terrible at walking up to strangers and starting conversations, so he approached the bar and ordered a cola. Mostly to have a prop in his hand. Somehow, people with drinks always seemed more approachable. At least, in movies they did. Malori had noexperience with this sort of semi-swanky party. Before today, he hadn’t worn a suit and tie since he was a boy.
But he’d acted for years on the Farm, perfecting whatever image the paying client wanted for those two hours. He could pretend he belonged here, among college graduates and fraternity boys who’d never grown up.
Malori strolled the perimeter of the ballroom, observing the men in attendance. Only a few had a woman on their arm, which made him glad he hadn’t brought a date. He would have stood out, instead of blending in. He sipped his cola and watched, studying faces, watchful for the one he expected to see.
At eight, a portly, white-haired man in a black suit approached a microphone and asked all attendees to be seated, so the meeting could begin. Disappointment soured Malori’s gut. He found an empty table farthest from the microphone on its small riser, and sat with his drink. He pulled his cell out and texted King that he hadn’t seen Aleks yet, waited for King to reply with an acknowledgement, and then deleted both texts.
The speaker began going over some sort of charter of morals and responsibilities, or whatever, and Malori tuned him out. None of it meant anything to him. The room darkened slightly as someone closed the main ballroom doors. Malori finished his soda and was debating another when a frosty glass landed in front of him. He followed the hand that had placed the fresh drink there, up a gray-suited arm to a familiar, grinning face.
His insides turned to jelly, and Malori swallowed a furious gasp.
Aleks Yovenko, or whatever his real name was, smiled down at him, another drink in his right hand. He was as handsome as Malori remembered, but that same coldness lingered in his dark eyes. Aleks bent slightly at the waist and asked, “Is this seat taken?”
The chair was obviously empty, as was the rest of the table. Aleks pulled it out and sat, angling toward Malori in a casual posture that reeked of arrogance and superiority. “You look remarkably well for someone I was told died in the Farm raid,” Aleks said softly, casually, not a hint of anger or surprise.
So Aleks hadn’t been certain Malori was alive? Had this entire exercise with the fake ID and DVDs been him fishing? Had Malori walked right into his trap with his eyes wide open? Possibly. “Who told you I died?”
Aleks smirked. “I found myself in the unwilling company of one of Marta’s bodyguards. He insisted you’d been executed before the raid. But you seem very much alive, dear one.”
“Not for lack of trying.” Malori was impressed by his own restraint, sitting here, having a casual conversation with a man he wanted to bash over the head with his old-fashioned glass. “If it makes you feel better, I was shot during the escape.”
“Bet that stung.”
“A little bit.” Malori leaned closer, hating his proximity to this man. “Where’s my son?”
“Our son? He’s safe. He’s with his nanny, obviously. Do you think I’d put him in his crib with an extra bottle, and go about my evening?”
“I don’t know what you’d do.” He hated the way his voice cracked. “I never expected you to lie to me, betray me, and steal my son.”
Aleks chuckled, the sound like razors against Malori’s skin, even though it was barely audible over the droning of the man at the microphone. “If it helps at all, dear one, I wasn’t sure of my own plan until the end. I did love you, Malori, for a little while. I did think we could have a happy ending. But after the baby came, you were just like my wife.” Aleks grimaced as if he’d tasted something sour.
Malori waited for more, but got nothing. This was the first he’d heard of Aleks being married. “What wife?”
“Oh, she was many years ago. We tried being a family. We tried having a baby. But after the baby was born, she didn’t have time for me. All she loved was that baby, and I couldn’t have that.”
Malori’s mouth went dry, and he desperately wanted a drink. He also didn’t trust that Aleks hadn’t tampered with the soda in front of him. He took a little bit of comfort knowing King was listening to all this, too. Hearing these dark confessions. “Where they now?”
