Page 59 of The Kingpin's Omega Lover
King laughed. “Let me guess? You’re going to say you expected some sort of double-cross, so as insurance, you injected the baby with some sort of poison, and if you can’t be freed to provide the antidote in time, he’ll die?” He scoffed. “I had my doctor do a blood panel last night. The boy’s fine.”
Yovenko’s lip fell. He bought King’s bluff before he could sell his own bluff. King had years of experience dealing with angry, trapped men who’d say anything for a chance to escape. “If you want information about Marta’s organization, I don’t have it. I was a client who rented services from the Farm, nothing more. I can’t help you avenge your brother, Mr. Kingston.”
“I actually do believe you about that.” King ran a single finger down the handle of a shiny new scalpel. “But you must know that this isn’t about my brother. This is about Malori. This is his show. I’m only here for support.”
Malori slipped around King and approached Yovenko, each step slow and cautious. Yovenko didn’t lunge, didn’t try to intimidate; he watched. Cold and emotionless. “You lied to me during the most vulnerable time of my entire life,” Malori said, low and steady, each syllable coated with malice. “You stole my child. You left me to be tormented and killed. It’s too bad for you I escaped death, because you will beg for it long before death meets you.”
Yovenko’s chilling laughter sent goose bumps across King’s neck. “Big promises, little omega.”
King watched the slow, intense way the corners of Malori’s mouth turned up, putting a wicked, terrifying smile on his lovely face. “Where’s my daughter?” Malori asked.
“You’ll never find her.”
“That’s not what I asked you, Aleks.” Quick as a whip, Malori grabbed the plastic sheath around Yovenko’s wounded dick and twisted it sharply to the right.
Yovenko screamed.
Malori lasted twenty minutes, and then he banged on the door to be released from the room, which was thick with the odors of blood and piss. The shrieks and cries bothered him less than the sight of actual blood, and then watching a grown man piss himself. Malori would gladly be the one to aim the gun at Aleks’s heart and pull the trigger, but he wasnotthe man to torture information out of him.
Too much.
The door opened from the other side, and Malori rushed into the stuffy hallway. He bolted through the open doorway opposite, which was empty and dark, and he vomited onto the floor. Pancakes and juice and bile joined whatever mess had been left by the previous tenants. He choked and heaved, and then someone was taking him elsewhere. Outside into the sunshine and fresh air.
Hartford. “You’re okay, son, it’s okay,” he said quietly, over and over, as he led Malori to the SUV. The engine was running, the interior cool, and a bottle of water appeared in Malori’s hands. He sipped at it, stomach sore, hands trembling, sloshing drops of water onto his lap. He finally noticed he was in the backseat, Hartford on the bench beside him.
“I can’t,” Malori gasped. “I can’t.”
“It’s okay, the boss said earlier you might not. It’s fine. Breathe, okay?”
“I wanted to.”
“I know. Not everyone can.”
Malori growled, annoyed at how calm Hartford was about all this. Then again, for as long as he’d known the tall, quiet bodyguard, Hartford had exuded calm and competency. Not much fazed him. “I should have hurt him more.”
“You did enough. You did what you could handle, Mr. Cann. And this might not be my place to say, but do you know what this shows me about you?” When Malori shook his head no, Hartford smiled. “It shows that, despite the hell you survived, despite the men and women who tried to break you for years? You’re still a kind person. You hurt others when you must, but at heart, you aren’t cruel. And that’s a good thing.”
“Feels weak.”
“It’s a strength. Believe it or not, it’s easier to be a cruel person than to be a kind one. Kindness requires empathy and thought and deliberate action. All cruelty needs is opportunity.”
Malori appreciated the sentiments, even if he wasn’t sure he agreed. “He didn’t tell me about my daughter.”
“The boss will get it out of him. Eventually, Mr. Kingston will know if that guy stole a candy bar from a convenience store when he was eight. And if Yovenko truly doesn’t know where she is, the boss will learn that, too. And then we’ll go from there.”
“Will King kill him?”
“Not without your permission.”
“Then can I go home? I want my baby.”
“Of course. Sit tight.” Hartford had his phone to his ear as he slid out of the SUV. Shut the door and walked around to the driver’s side while he spoke.
Malori glared at the dilapidated building beside him, annoyed at his weakness, but also glad King had enough strength to support them both. They were simply built different. If Yovenko had been standing between Malori and his daughter, an actual barrier to her safety, Malori would have torn him topieces, one limb at a time, and he wouldn’t have been bothered by the bloody results. But he couldn’t stand there and torture someone who was tied down and helpless.
Malori was not that guy. But he loved a man who was.
I do love him. For all that he’s done, for all that he is.
