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

“Honestly, I don’t know how Vogue could’ve named him one of the best new chefs of the year…” The sound of her heels faded along with my father’s murmured response and the click of a door closing.

Neither one asked about Pen or acknowledged Rhea again.

My body sagged, light with relief, but when Rhea pulled back the drapes, I didn’t waste time loitering. George and Caroline could come back out any minute.

I squeezed Rhea’s hand in a silent goodbye and escaped out the front door. She smiled, her eyes worried, and I didn’t breathe properly until I hit the sidewalk outside the hotel.

The shock of unexpectedly being in the same room as my father again disoriented me for a few minutes, but the cool October air poured over me like an ice shower, and by the time I reached the corner, the buzz had vanished from my ears and the streetlights no longer blurred into an orange stream.

I’m fine. This is fine. I hadn’t been caught, I’d spent time with Pen on her birthday, and now I could—

My phone buzzed with a news alert.

I glanced at it, my stomach plummeting the minute I saw Perry Wilson’s distinctive blog logo.

I clicked into the article, and a crimson haze wiped away any lingering unease over my narrow escape from the hotel.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

Two hours. I left him alone for two hours and he still couldn’t follow simple instructions.

I shoved my phone into my bag and hailed a passing cab. “Neon.” I slammed the door shut, causing the driver to wince. “I’ll give you your biggest tip of the month if you get me there in ten minutes.”

Every second counted when I had a client to strangle.





CHAPTER 4





Sloane





The society papers called them The Modern Jet Set. The trashier gossip columns derided them as Heirs and Spares—the children of the rich who squandered their days drinking and partying instead of doing anything useful with their lives. I simply called them Xavier and Friends (derogatory).

Eight minutes after I left Pen’s hotel, I strong-armed my way into Neon, where Xavier and Friends had taken over the VIP room. The scene was almost a replica of the photos splashed across Perry Wilson’s latest blog post.

One of Xavier’s friends was snorting cocaine off a bottle girl’s stomach, another was giving someone a lap dance, and a half dressed couple was basically having sex in the corner.

Lounging amidst the hedonism like a king surveying his court was Xavier, one arm tossed over the back of a velvet banquette while the other held a bottle of tequila.

Xavier, who was supposed to be at the awards gala happening this very second.

Xavier, who desperately needed more of an image cleanup than usual after Perry Wilson’s hit piece about his birthday party gone wild in Miami a few months ago.

Xavier, who’d promised me he wouldn’t step foot in a nightclub until we fixed said image.

I barely felt the pain in my feet as I stalked toward the banquette and stopped directly in front of him, blocking his view of the crowd. The women fluttering around him must’ve picked up on my intent to kill because they scattered faster than falling leaves on a gusty day.

Xavier took a long swig of tequila before addressing me. “First Mykonos, now this.” A slow smile spread across his face. “You stalking me, Luna?”

“If I were, you make it easy.” I held up my phone, which displayed a lurid photo of Xavier tossing back a shot while a pretty blond straddled his lap. Castillo heir ditches gala honoring his dying father! “No clubs until we fix your image, and you were supposed to stay for the entirety of the gala. That was our deal.”

“No, our deal was that I stay for the entire ceremony, which I did. The ceremony and the gala are not the same. As for the club thing…” A casual shrug. “Maybe you should’ve put it in writing.”

I grabbed the bottle from his hand. What I really wanted was to grab him and shake him, but I was mindful of the cameras “secretly” trained on us. People were less discreet than they thought they were.

“Get up,” I said through gritted teeth. “We’re going back to the hotel.” Where I can knock some sense into you in peace.

“How was your date?” Xavier ignored my order and flicked his gaze over my face, down my dress, and to my feet. A tiny pinch formed between his brows.

“Fantastic.” I didn’t dispel his assumption of why I’d left the gala early. “Less fantastic was getting another Perry Wilson notification about you.”

A strange glow of satisfaction settled in his eyes. “Did it interrupt your evening?” he asked silkily. “My bad.”

I kept my expression neutral as I shifted my stance and carefully stepped on his foot with a razor-sharp stiletto. The table hid what I was doing from prying eyes, so from a distance, it looked like nothing was wrong.

Xavier’s cockiness instantly disappeared beneath a grimace. “You have thirty seconds to get up, or you’ll lose not only a toe but a much more important part of your anatomy.” I cocked my head and tapped a finger against the tequila bottle. “Did you know there are online tutorials for everything? Including how to castrate a home invader with common household items.”

To his credit, he didn’t flinch at the word castrate. “Let me guess. You’ve watched all of them, overachiever.” He slunk deeper in his seat and stared up at me with hooded nonchalance. “Relax, Luna. It’s Friday night. Take the stick out of your ass and have a little fun.”