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

Still, it was nice to have an animate being to talk to when I was home, even when they couldn’t talk back.

“He’s toast,” I told the oblivious goldfish. “I will not rest until that man’s career is reduced to writing cat-food copy for Fast and Furriness.”

The Fish stared at me for a second before swimming away, indifferent to my scheming.

My phone rang, and I was so distracted by visions of Perry sobbing over a bowl of wet cat food that I didn’t check the caller ID before I answered.

“Hello?”

“Sloane.”

The familiar voice dripped ice down my spine. Images of Perry’s bad highlights and signature pink bow tie vanished, replaced by floppy brown hair and blue eyes.

I straightened, my hand closing tight enough around my phone to elicit a small crack.

“Don’t hang up,” Bentley said. “I know I’m the last person you want to hear from right now, but we need to talk.”





CHAPTER 30





Sloane





I should’ve told Bentley to fuck off, but my curiosity won out over anger.

That Sunday, four days after his call, I got out of a cab and walked into a nondescript bar in a remote area of town. It was half past noon, and the bar was empty thanks to the early hour and holiday weekend.

Xavier and I had spent a quiet but cozy Thanksgiving at his place. I’d been nervous about celebrating the holiday together—I hadn’t spent any holiday with any man since Bentley—but thankfully, Xavier didn’t make a big deal out of it. We ate, drank, watched movies, and had sex. On one occasion, he convinced me to play strip poker, which ended with us naked on the floor in about two point five minutes (and it had nothing to do with the cards). Overall, it was exactly what I needed.

The only damper was my meetup with Bentley. I hadn’t told Xavier about it because there was nothing to tell until I figured out what my ex wanted.

So here I was, on a freezing Sunday in the middle of a bar that looked like it hadn’t been cleaned since Reagan was in office, just to meet the man who’d cheated on me and broken my heart.

I’m an idiot.

Bentley was already waiting for me in a corner booth, his blue polo and clean-shaven face a startling contrast against the grunge decor.

He rose when he saw me. “Thanks for coming. I appreciate it.”

“Get to the point.” I took the seat opposite his and kept my coat on. I wasn’t planning on staying long. “I’m busy.”

Bentley’s brow pinched as he sat down again. The son of a big-time financier, he possessed the preppy, all-American good looks of a Ralph Lauren model and the arrogance of someone who’d been rich, popular, and good-looking his entire life. He wasn’t used to being treated like an inconvenience, which was too fucking bad because that was what this was.

“It’s Georgia.” To his credit, Bentley recovered from my insult remarkably quickly. “She’s having…difficulties with her pregnancy.”

Of everything I’d expected him to say, that hadn’t been one of them.

I cocked an eyebrow, confusion mingling with a smidge of concern. I despised Georgia as much as one could despise their sister, but I wasn’t a monster.

I was, however, confused as to why her husband was telling me instead of literally anyone else in her orbit.

“Has she seen a doctor?” I asked.

Bentley blinked, then laughed. “No, not medical concerns,” he said. “She and the baby are fine. She’s just been so temperamental. You grew up with her. You know how she can be. She’s constantly screaming at me over the stupidest things, like the other day when I didn’t get her a frozen hot chocolate at three in the morning and she threw a Lalique vase at my head. A Lalique vase. Do you know how expensive that was?”

Any sympathy I had vanished, replaced by an urge to knock Bentley’s head against the wall until an iota of common sense rattled in that thick skull of his.

“Let me get this straight,” I said. “You called me out here on a holiday weekend to complain about being yelled at?”

“I could’ve died from that vase,” he said defensively. “She’s out of control.”

“She’s pregnant, Bentley, which means she’s growing an entire human inside her. It’s understandable if her hormones get a bit out of control.” Especially when her husband is a shithead.

I couldn’t believe I was defending Georgia, but Bentley had his head so far up his own ass, he could give himself a root canal— preferably without Novocain.

“Yes, well, I didn’t expect the pregnancy process to be so messy,” Bentley said, as if he were discussing a misbehaving pet instead of his wife and unborn child. “But that’s not all. Ever since we saw you at the hospital, she’s gotten more paranoid. She accused me of checking you out and said I still had feelings for you. She said she was my second choice and that I’m always comparing her to you. The thing is…” He leaned forward, his face earnest. “She’s not wrong.”

Pin-drop silence.

I gaped at him, sure I’d heard wrong. There was no way he was bold enough and stupid enough to say that to my face.

Our server approached before I could respond. Bentley ordered a beer, and after a small pause, I ordered a glass of red wine.