Page 53 of The Kingpin's Omega Lover
King hated every single, fucking second of this plan.
He despised not being in the room with Malori, able to clock his enemy and be by his lover’s side in an instant. Despised that Malori was basically unarmed, no gun, not even a Taser, because there was no point. They expected him to be searched. But King also knew, deep down, that Malori was far from helpless. He’d been practicing self-defense; he was strong; he was fucking smart.
And Malori would never underestimate his enemy.
Listening to their conversation in the backseat of his town car was a new lesson in restraint, too. He’d heard Yovenko’s voice on those DVDs, but hearing it live, so close to Malori’s mic, somehow both icy cold and hotly seductive, was infuriating. Hearing them make the sex trade tore at something deep inside King that had claimed Malori as his own. A part that knew Malori was the other half of his heart, and that his heart was in danger.
Trusting that heart to keep himself safe was one of the hardest things King had ever done.
Garvey was in the driver’s seat, a muscleman named Patch in the front passenger, and they were all listening and waiting, and watching Malori’s tracker signal on an open laptop. They were in the hotel’s underground visitor parking, unable to act until they had a location. Or a call from Malori via the hotel’s land line, telling them their target was subdued.
Two long minutes passed, the only sound in the car the distant din of whoever was speaking in that ballroom. Then the noise stopped. “Heading for the bathroom now,” Malori whispered. “He’ll probably find this mic.”
“I know,” King replied, even though Malori couldn’t hear him. He dreaded losing audio, but this part of the night had been anticipated. It’s why King had paid an exorbitant amount of money for a tracking bug Malori could safely swallow. He could not fathom the idea of Malori losing the mic, and then King sitting and waiting, wondering, until Malori called.
If Malori called.
At least this way, King would know where he was—even if he didn’t know what was being done to him.
He growled at his own thoughts.
A door squealed. Another creaking noise.
“Take your clothes off.” Yovenko, smarmy as ever.
“What? You wanna do it in the men’s room?” Malori asked. “I don’t think we can be in here for an hour without someone noticing.”
“Oh, no, dear one, I’m not fucking you here. This is a precaution. You’ve got a wire on you somewhere, and it’s not going upstairs with us.”
Damn it. Also, expected.
King clenched both upper thighs to try and keep a lid on his boiling temper over the soft sounds of clothing being removed. The mental image of Malori shedding his clothes, baring himself…rage. One of the many parts of this plan he despised.
“Thought so,” Yovenko said. “Say goodnight, King.”
The audio crackled loudly, and then went silent.
“Fuck,” King snarled. His hand was on the door before he thought twice, desperate to get out. To rush into that men’s room and rip Aleks Yovenko away from Malori. Rip him apart limb by limb, until he was begging for mercy.
Not yet, stick to the fucking plan!
King glared at the dot on the laptop. If it didn’t move soon, that meant Yovenko was doing something to Malori while he was vulnerable, and King would?—
“They’re moving,” Garvey said. “Hotel’s got twelve floors, and it looks like they’re going up.”
Be careful, Mal. Please.
FOURTEEN
Shedding everything except his shoes,socks, and underwear in front of Aleks hadn’t embarrassed Malori at all. Aleks had seen him in much more intimate places and positions, including squeezing a baby out of his asshole, so stripping in a hotel bathroom was nothing. He was more concerned with what King might be thinking, listening to this, knowing everything Aleks was seeing. Unable to stop it.
And then Aleks flushed the wire.
After a quick frisk of his clothing, Aleks confiscated his cell phone, determined he was clean, and then told him to get dressed. Malori did, fast, and then followed him out of the bathroom. Down the high, wide hallway to an elevator. Another couple was waiting, older, obviously intoxicated by the way the woman was clinging to the man’s right arm. The man wasn’t doing a great job at staying upright either.
Their quartet got on the elevator together. The man hit floor six; Aleks pressed floor three. Close to the ground. Smart. Malori ignored the other couple and stood close to Aleks, his insides trembling with anticipation. His son wasso closenow. The elevator doors slid open on the third floor. Aleks led him down along hallway lined with doors, past the little ice machine alcove, to a room directly across from the emergency stairwell.
Of course, he’s by the stairs.
