King of Envy (Kings of Sin, #5)

by Ana Huang

“Dante and Vivian Russo are here. Stella Alonso is here. Go network. You’re engaged now—you’ll have plenty of time for couple activities later.”

Vuk Markovic was Jordan’s old college roommate and best man. I didn’t know him well, but our previous interactions hadn’t been the warmest. In fact, I was pretty sure he despised me.

But the little girl was wrong. They weren’t gross; they were simply a part of him. Some people had freckles and moles; he had scars.

My anxiety over flying wasn’t a secret, per se, but it seemed too intimate a detail to share with Vuk.

Vuk’s eyes narrowed. They bore a hole in the diamond before they slid up to meet mine.

I knew all this already. I’d watched every interview and read every article she’d ever been mentioned in.

Because they were getting married. Because I saw her first. Because she was his when she should be mine.

Petty of me, sure, but this way, I didn’t have to notice how irritatingly attractive he looked with a book in his hands.

Instead, I channeled all my pent-up frustrations into a punishing workout.

My pulse fluttered at the words scratched in bold black. I don’t hate you. But I wish I did.

Vuk ignored that last part and fixated on the last topic I would’ve expected from him. Memes. “Yes. Like the Kermit the Frog memes? Or the guy blinking nervously?” I spent a lot of time waiting and doom scrolling at casting calls, so I was well-versed in internet jokes.

I always pick up my own drinks. Less risk of them getting poisoned that way.

Blood rose to my neck and chest. “I am not obsessed. I’d hardly call one repeat question obsessed.” Whatever helps you sleep at night.

“Keep it up. I will take off my heels, and I will stab you with them,” I threatened. Vuk leaned back and stretched like I’d offered him a day at the spa.

Vuk watched me quietly. If you were my fiancée, I wouldn’t look at another woman. Entertainment or not.

I blinked away the mental image of the note and refocused on my computer screen. It was playing a video of Stella Alonso’s latest runway show. I’d already watched it, but I liked having it on while I worked. New York Fashion Week had just ended, and while I would never attend the shows in person, I kept up with select ones online.

A second later, Ayana appeared on the runway in an ethereal lavender dress. Her skin glowed effortlessly beneath the lights, and loose curls peeked out from an ornate headpiece. The headpiece shadowed half her face, but I’d watched her walk enough times to recognize her distinctive strut.

Waiting. Watching. Obsessing.

Rats are more likely to come out in the rain. Don’t be surprised if you run across a family of them in the station. I paused, then added, Have you seen a subway rat? They’re the size of cats. Ayana faltered. “I haven’t, but that’s not true. You made that up.”

She cleared her throat. “Are you dating anyone?” My gaze flew to her face. She appeared composed, but I detected a trace of nerves as she shifted beneath my scrutiny. Define dating. “You’re in your thirties, and you need me to define dating for you? Classic guy move.” I didn’t take the bait. I simply sat and waited. After a minute, she sighed and clarified. “I mean, is there someone you’re involved with romantically on a regular basis?” Define involved. Ayana scowled. “You know what I mean.”

Do you spend a lot of time researching me online? “Only when I’m bored. I also spend a lot of time researching knitting patterns and watching cat videos, so don’t feel too special. You’re less interesting than both those things.”

How dare my hormones miss the memo that I wasn’t supposed to ogle my fiancé’s best man?

He stared at the drink, which came in a smiling gray kitten mug. I had a brief vision of him throwing the poor ceramic kitty against the wall, enraged by its cuteness, but he picked it up without comment. It looked absurdly delicate in his hand.

“My advice: don’t listen to anyone who says you have to get along with your in-laws,” Dante said. “The less you see them, the better. In-laws are assholes.” “No,” Kai corrected. “Your in-laws are assholes. Mine are lovely.”

“My advice is to listen, be patient, and never, ever rearrange your wife’s books without permission.” Kai frowned. “You would think alphabetical order by title makes sense, but apparently, it’s not ‘aesthetically pleasing.’” “Why would you rearrange her books?” Xavier looked appalled. “That’s rule number one of being in a relationship, married or not. Don’t touch their shit. If I tried to reorganize Sloane’s stuff, I wouldn’t be here right now. I’d be dead.”

“If you get divorced, you can get tips from Davenport on how to win her back. It worked for him.” “Where is he anyway?” Xavier asked. “He’s in town.” “It’s his old wedding anniversary.” Dante smirked. “You can bet he’s not missing that celebration again.”

In order to make the teams even, he’d recruited several of Sloane’s friends to join, which was how Vivian Russo, Isabella Young, and Sloane’s other client Maya ended up in the mix.

“Kada te konačno budem poljubio, nećeš više nositi njegov prsten na ruci.”

If Sean made it past Jeremiah, my butler and the ultimate authority over who got past the gates and who didn’t, it was important.

Roman Davenport. “Yes.” Sean accurately read my stunned silence. “That Davenport. He and Dominic were assigned to the same foster home in Ohio when they were in their teens. Dominic went off to college, and Roman disappeared off the grid. The details of his Brotherhood recruitment and training are unknown, but he resurfaced about six years ago in France. Rumor has it he was responsible for the hit on a local crime lord there. Decapitation. It made quite a statement.”

By the time the intruder spun to face me in my fucking chair, I’d already raised my gun and pointed it straight at him. He settled deeper into the chestnut leather with a smirk. “That’s not a very polite way to greet your guests.” I cocked the hammer.

“I prefer option one,” I growled. I hated wasting words on dead men walking, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to lower my weapon.

I am not your babe or your sweetie.

If I could shoot a winter campaign in Iceland wearing a backless gown and stilettos while I was on my period, I could do this.

I was so stunned by the abrupt turn of events that I could only stand, immobilized, while Wentworth Holt kissed me without consent. I should push him off. Scream, cry, something. But there was a part of my brain that couldn’t quite process what was happening.

Blood bloomed on the front of his shirt and dripped onto the leather armrest. Goddammit. That was my favorite chair.

Strong arms wrapped around me and held me close. I instinctively buried my face in his chest, taking solace in his warmth and faint, slightly smoky scent. His heart beat a steady rhythm beneath my cheek. I thought his walls and gates were what made me feel safe, but they weren’t. It was him.

Warmth trickled into my stomach. “And the peanut butter?” It was one of my guilty pleasures. You mentioned it in your sleep when we were in California. I figured you’d like it. “I was talking about peanut butter in my sleep?” I asked, mortified. “That’s so—just kill me now.”

Screw the calories. I was going to eat whatever I wanted today and worry about it later.

“Wait. You have your own rage room?” He lifted his shoulders. It comes in handy sometimes.

It was the hand he used to make her fucking cry.

I pictured Ayana’s tear-streaked face. Replayed the sounds of her sobs. Remembered the way she shook in my arms.

Wentworth had gotten off easy. I wanted to cut off his dick and make him choke on it, but that would’ve been too messy. So I left him with a bloody face, a shattered hand, and an unspoken warning never to go near or even think about Ayana again.

I had my suspicions about what—or rather who—caused Wentworth to vanish,

“Wow. The Serb is here. Now that’s a surprise.”

He was facing my way. This time, his eyes slid toward me when I turned. The corner of his mouth tipped up in a knowing smirk. Shit. Caught red-handed.

“You should be downstairs.” His rough voice pebbled my skin with goosebumps.

“Do you think he’s alive?” I asked cautiously. That was the one line I didn’t want to cross. Vuk shrugged. If he’s smart and takes care of himself.

Vuk’s voice was cool, but the fire in his eyes blazed hot enough to make my toes curl.

“Take off your ring.” Vuk’s harsh command was a shot of whiskey straight to my veins.