King of Envy (Kings of Sin, #5)

by Ana Huang

To all the readers who like their fictional men a little unhinged. This one’s for you.

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.

“Do you get off on being difficult, or does it just come naturally to you?” Both.

Vuk’s mouth twitched. On anyone else, it might’ve passed for a hint of a smile, but the mere idea of Vuk Markovic smiling was so far-fetched, I was certain I was imagining things.

He didn’t even like me. So why did the thought of his hypothetical protectiveness send a tiny flutter through my chest?

His hand was rough. Strong. But his touch was surprisingly gentle as he rubbed the corner of my mouth.

She was my friend’s fiancée. I had no business noticing the lush curve of her lips, or fixating on the bead of water dripping down her neck.

Long legs, high cheekbones, rich brown skin, and dark eyes that gleamed with a mixture of intelligence and playfulness—even if she weren’t a well-known model, Ayana would turn heads walking down the street. But the majority of her allure for me didn’t rest on her physical looks. It was the way she moved, with a natural grace that couldn’t be taught; it was the way she laughed, so whole-heartedly and joyously that it could chase away the darkest shadows. And it was the way she glowed, like there was a fire inside her that was just waiting to be unleashed. Fame or not, Ayana Kidane was born to shine.

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

She was engaged. I was the best man. And though I’d crossed many lines and twisted many morals in my life, loyalty was the one value I held fast to.

Between the fire investigation and running a multibillion-dollar corporation, I had better things to do than obsess over my friend’s fiancée. But like I said, my good judgment paled when it came to her.

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

Ayana probably thought I was an asshole with mood swing issues. She wouldn’t be wrong, but the more she disliked me, the better. The only thing worse than having the woman you were obsessed with hate you was having her try to befriend you.

Some things stay with you no matter how much time has passed.

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

And when he looked at me, I felt like a living, breathing person. Not a mannequin. Not a cash cow. Not a role model for girls I’d never asked to be a role model for. Just a regular human with interests and a life outside the one my agency constructed for me.

Ayana’s laugh was what had grabbed my attention the very first time I saw her. It was infectious, joyful, and full of life—the antithesis of how I lived my own life.

I couldn’t stop thinking about her. And the more I watched her, the deeper my obsession grew, until its vines were so twisted up inside me, I couldn’t hack them off without killing myself too.

However, after thirteen years of stocks, mergers, and product launches, I was so bored I’d contemplated shooting someone just to liven things up.

My obsession with Ayana was a double-edged sword. I craved her presence even when it drove me mad; I fixated on her absence even when it consumed my thoughts. Whether she was near or far, I suffered.

The day Vuk willingly shared information about himself was the day I willingly wore Crocs in public (i.e. never).

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

The Ayana Kidane on the catwalk was a different person from the one who’d invited me for coffee and teased me about bingo. Her persona morphed with every show, oscillating from playful and flirty to haughty and regal. A goddess to suit every mood.

All the while, the impending storm gathered overhead in billowing dark clouds. And yet, neither of us moved to leave. I had a mile-long to-do list back at the office, but I could stay here with her forever. Just us, just like this.

Ayana crossed her arms. “Are you always this bossy?” Yes. “It’s not an endearing trait, you know.” I know.

I wanted to lean over and crush my mouth against hers until she didn’t remember her own name, much less his. I wanted to wrap her legs around my waist and make her scream for me and only me.

How dare my hormones miss the memo that I wasn’t supposed to ogle my fiancé’s best man? And how dare he walk into my apartment and take up so much space that I could scarcely breathe? It was downright rude.

Vuk glanced around the kitchen. Your apartment doesn’t look the way I’d imagined it would. “Do you spend a lot of time imagining my apartment?” I teased, echoing his earlier remark about me looking him up online. Perhaps it was the lighting, but I could’ve sworn the faintest wash of pink tipped his ears. When I blinked, the color was gone. I must’ve imagined it. Vuk Markovic didn’t blush. Ever.

I was used to being the object of scrutiny. But no crowd or camera made me feel the way Vuk did—like I was myself again. Like I was seen.

“Looks can be deceiving.” Sloane’s cheeks were flushed a deep pink. The margaritas had gotten to her. “According to one of my friends, it’s the quiet ones you have to watch out for.”

A month ago, being alone with Vuk Markovic on a dark street would’ve given me a panic attack. But somehow, somewhere, that had changed. If I could choose anyone to be with at that moment, I would choose him.

The tortured sound rang in my ears, and it was in that moment that the truth set in with painful, wrenching clarity. That wasn’t the command of a man who didn’t want me; it was the plea of someone who did.

Vuk Markovic wanted me, and it was killing him that he couldn’t have me, even when I offered myself to him. Especially when I offered myself to him.

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

“When I finally kiss you, you won’t wear his ring on your hand anymore.”

Perhaps “friend” was stretching it, but “his friend’s fiancée who tried kissing him after he almost accidentally choked her to death on the night of her bachelorette” didn’t have quite the same ring.

I thought his walls and gates were what made me feel safe, but they weren’t. It was him.

The world wasn’t kind to those who dared speak up. But that didn’t mean it was right.

I was the one she’d turned to first. I was the one who understood what she needed—not comfort, but vengeance. I was the one who would kill and die for her in the same breath. No other man could match that, ring or no ring.

I didn’t want a magic fix. I wanted… Him.

The scent of his cologne stole into my lungs, robbing me of words. I licked my lips again. My gaze touched his mouth, and a tortured noise rumbled past his throat.

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

“Careful, srce moje.” His voice rasped against my sensitized skin. “Or you’ll fucking kill me.”

MY HEART

If I hadn’t kissed her, I wouldn’t have known. I’d have suspected, but I wouldn’t have known that she wanted me the way I wanted her. I wouldn’t have tasted her desire or heard her fucking moans.

It was stupid, but I collected his words the way I collected perfumes and shoes. They glinted like precious stones in the sand, proof that he trusted me enough to communicate with me openly when he didn’t have to. He simply chose to.

Our physical attraction to each other wasn’t a question. It was the emotional part I craved. He’d been there for me during some of my worst days this year, and I wanted to offer the same shelter for him.

I’ve never told anyone the details of what happened before. Not Jordan. Not my staff. Vuk switched back to signing before he added in a low voice, “Just you.” Warmth unspooled in my chest. “Why me?” “Ayana.” My name sounded like a prayer and a curse on his lips. “You know why.”

It was just him and me. His presence filled every molecule of air and lit me up from the inside out. It was like I’d been in hibernation and his proximity was the switch I needed to come alive again.

I kept my eyes on his as I leaned in and slowly, gently kissed the corner of his mouth. My lips lingered on the scar, and I wished I could wipe away the pain and hurt that came with it. I didn’t have that power. This was all I had to give—the possibility of creating new memories to replace painful ones.

The evidence was in the way he looked at me—like it physically hurt him to lay eyes on me, but he couldn’t bear to look away because that would hurt even more.