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

Rhea had been nervous about my plan given how close she’d come to being found out. However, she possessed an unwavering sense of loyalty to Pen and Sloane, more than she did to her employers, and she’d eventually agreed.

The look she gave Sloane now was that of family—soft, touched, and full of love.

Then the moment passed, and everyone broke eye contact before the fun outing turned into an emotional spiral.

“So where are we, exactly?” Sloane cleared her throat and took in the room, which was sparse save for the two couches, two tables, a media console, and a giant screen with a bunch of monitors and equipment hooked up to it. A smattering of artwork decorated the walls with primary colors.

“We’re at the best sports simulation center in Queens.” I opened one of the console drawers and took out four controllers. I held on to one and passed the others around. “You said Pen likes soccer, so we’re playing soccer.”

“I don’t like soccer. I love soccer,” Pen corrected. She was already flipping through the different games, searching for the perfect one.

“My apologies.” I suppressed a smile. Her sassiness reminded me of a certain other blond. “Who’s your favorite player?”

“Asher Donovan,” she answered without hesitation.

Typical. Girls of every age loved him, even if they weren’t into soccer the way Pen was, but I’d give credit where credit was due—the dude was talented.

It was just annoying as fuck that someone who looked like a Greek god could also play that well and, based on the few interactions I’d had with him, be that nice. It was even more annoying that he was Sloane’s client.

Whatever. As long as he wasn’t her favorite, I didn’t care.

Much.

After I playfully riled Pen up a bit by informing her that Vincent DuBois was, in fact, more talented than Asher, we settled on a Euro Cup simulation. Sloane and Rhea dropped out halfway through, leaving me and Pen to battle it out for victory.

I didn’t consider myself a kid person. I liked them fine, but I couldn’t relate to people more than half my age.

However, Pen was awesome. She was more mature than half the grown-ups I knew, and she was a kick-ass player. She scored three goals on me in the first half, when I wasn’t even letting her win on purpose.

For a kid who looked so sweet, she was also pretty damn scary, as I soon found out the hard way.

When Sloane excused herself to use the restroom, Pen paused the game, turned to me, and asked with absolutely no preamble, “So. What’s going on with you and my sister?”

I almost choked on my Coke while Rhea tried and failed to hide a smirk.

“We’re hanging out,” I said vaguely. I wasn’t sure how much detail I should share with a nine-year-old about my love life, but I had a feeling I should err on the side of caution.

“No, we’re hanging out.” Pen gestured between us. “You and Sloane are doing more.”

Jesus Christ.

I glanced at the door, willing Sloane to walk through it and put me out of my misery.

No such luck.

“We’re dating,” I clarified. I hoped like hell Pen wasn’t going to ask me what doing more entailed. I wasn’t going to touch that conversation with a fifty-foot pole.

“For how long?”

“Officially? A little over a week, but—” “Are you seeing other people?”

“No.”

“Are you in love with her?”

“I…” A bead of sweat trickled down my back. I couldn’t believe I was getting interrogated by someone who came up to my hip. “I care about her a lot.”

I care about her more than I’ve ever cared about anyone. But I didn’t know if it was love. I’d never been in love, so I didn’t know what it felt like, but I should recognize it when it showed up, right?

A surge of anticipation leaked into my bloodstream, tempered by uncertainty.

“That wasn’t my question.” Pen pierced me with deceptively innocent-looking blue eyes. Behind her, Rhea’s shoulders shook with mirth. She wasn’t even bothering to hide her laughter anymore. “Sloane has never even mentioned her ex-boyfriends, much less let me hang out with them, so she must really like you.” A jab to my chest killed the jolt of electricity her words elicited.

She must really like you.

“Don’t hurt her,” Pen warned, her little face fierce. “If you do, I’ll sic Mary on you.”

“I would never hurt her,” I said, and I meant it. The thought alone made my heart clench. After a short pause, I added, “Who’s Mary?”

“Show him, Rhea.”

Rhea, still laughing, pulled up something on her phone and handed it to me.

A Victorian doll stared up at me from the screen with unblinking blue eyes. She had black hair, a frilly white dress, and a smile made of pure evil.

It was the creepiest fucking toy I’d ever seen.

“My mother got her at an antiques shop,” Pen said. “She belonged to an English aristocrat’s daughter who was murdered by an unknown killer. Legend has it the girl’s spirit lives on in her favorite doll.”

“About ten years ago, someone tried to steal her from her old owner because she’s so valuable, but they died of mysterious stab wounds in their sleep,” Rhea added.