King of Sloth (Kings of Sin #4) by Ana Huang

After my meeting with Christian, I swung by Silver & Klein’s offices to meet with Jules. She was their youngest senior associate, and she was handling all my legal paperwork, including licenses, permits, and contracts. She assured me she’d have a silent partner contract drawn up and ready to sign by early next week.

Instead of staying the night in DC, I took the train back to New York and spent the weekend devising methods to convince Vuk, ranging from aboveboard to, uh, ethically questionable.

The charges for temporary kidnapping couldn’t be that bad, right? It wasn’t like I was going to keep or kill the guy. He might kill me after, but once I made him a shit ton of money, perhaps he’d forget I hired someone to hold him hostage until he signed on the dotted line. Hypothetically.

The fact I was even considering that course of action, however jokingly, spoke to my desperation.

The weekend’s only bright spot winked into existence on Sunday. I’d convinced Sloane to meet me in Queens for a surprise, and the concrete weighing on my chest eased when I saw her at our designated meeting spot.

Queens was out of the way for both of us, but that was necessary given the circumstances.

She stood near the building entrance, resplendent in a white dress, coat, and boots. Her hair was back up in a bun, but a smile played on her lips as I approached.

“This better be good,” she said. “I’m missing brunch with the girls.”

I gave her a kiss hello, savoring her softness before I pulled back. “Consider this a Story Sunday.” At her questioning brow, I clarified, “A Sunday where you do something so exciting, you’ll have a story to tell at your next brunch.”

Her laugh unlocked a rush of dopamine, like a song I’d heard once and loved but never discovered the name of, only to stumble upon it again years later.

“That’s not a thing,” she said, following me inside. “But since we’re here, can you tell me what all the cloak-and-dagger stuff is about? Why are we in Queens on a Sunday morning?”

“You’ll see.” I took her down the hallway toward our reserved room. I’d checked in earlier, and I may have bribed the staff into letting us enter through the back entrance. “How’s Pen?”

Sloane sobered at the mention of her sister. “According to Rhea, she’s recovering quickly from her crash, which is good. And her injuries will heal in time. But…” She sighed. “I’m still worried, especially since Pen tries to brush these things off. She’s afraid it’ll make us coddle her more, which she hates.”

“And you can’t visit her again?”

“She’s been discharged from the hospital, and I can’t visit her at her house without alerting my father and Caroline.” Storm clouds rolled in, turning Sloane’s eyes blue gray. “Part of me is waiting for them to ship her off to a distant cousin in Europe. They’d do that just to spite me and make it harder for me to see her.”

I would say it was hard to imagine a parent doing that to their child, but as someone who’d practically been raised in boarding schools, I knew better.

I stopped in front of our room.

“But they won’t do that until they’re back from DC” I’d picked up some useful intel during my Friday meetings in the city: George and Caroline were both currently in DC for a big fundraiser.

Surprise rippled across Sloane’s face. “How did you know that?”

“I had to confirm their whereabouts before I did this.” I opened the door.

Sloane stepped inside, but she only made it two steps before her jaw dropped. “Pen?”

The brightest, most precious grin lit Pen’s face. “Surprise!”

She sat on the couch with Rhea, a bowl of complimentary snacks on her lap. Her nanny kept glancing at the open door like she expected George Kensington to storm through it at any second, but at least she was here. That was what mattered.

“What are you doing here?” Several long strides took Sloane to her sister. She hugged the tiny blond, her expression stunned. “How did you…?”

“It took some coordinating, but I had a friend pick up Rhea and Pen and drive them here.” The friend had actually been Harper Security personnel who could extract them from their penthouse without alerting the doorman, concierge, or anyone who might snitch on them to the Kensingtons.

We had a backup in case George and Caroline found out about Rhea and Pen leaving—specifically, movie tickets—but the plan was going smoothly, thank God.

“Before you worry, I also checked with Pen’s doctor,” I said, closing the door and taking a spot on the second couch. “He said it was okay for her to come, provided we keep physical exertion to a minimum.”

Sloane glanced at Pen, who affirmed my words with a solemn nod. “What he said.”

Apparently, her crash on Wednesday had been relatively mild. It’d seemed worse than it was due to her accident, and she’d recovered enough to make today feasible.

“Rhea?” Sloane turned her attention to the nanny. “Are you…?”

“I’m okay.” The other woman gave her a weak smile. “Mr. and Mrs. Kensington bought your excuse about Annie. Thank you for doing that.”

“You don’t have to thank me. You wouldn’t have been in that situation if it weren’t for me, and I should be the one thanking you.” Sloane’s voice caught. “For everything you’ve done for me and Pen over the years.”