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

He knew it as well as I did, which was why he didn’t say a word when I dropped him on the ground like a sack of potatoes.

“Pass the message along to your wife,” I said, my face hardening. “The same goes for her.”

I wouldn’t touch Georgia. Sloane’s relationship with her sister was her domain, but that didn’t mean I had to stand by and watch while Georgia tried to tear down the woman I loved.

Loved.

It was a strange concept, and not one I’d had experience with in the past. But now that I’d identified it, I couldn’t believe it had taken me so long to recognize it.

The way my mind mapped every detail about Sloane, both consciously and unconsciously, like I would drown if I didn’t inhale enough of her. The comfort I had in sharing my secrets with her, and the spike in my pulse whenever she was near. The warmth; the jealousy; the fierce, overwhelming protectiveness.

I loved her, totally and completely, and I’d be damned if I let anyone hurt her.

Bentley must’ve heard the vicious resolve edging my voice because he didn’t attempt to save face in front of his peers. The others’ shouts had died down to grumbles of disappointment at how quickly the fight had ended, but I hadn’t expected it to drag on.

At the end of the day, people like Bentley Harris were cowards. Cowards never lasted long in the face of those willing to call their bluff and I knew, with bone-deep certainty, that he and Georgia would never bother Sloane again.

I stepped over Bentley’s sprawled legs and walked out, leaving him bleeding and humiliated on the floor.

I didn’t bother acknowledging the other club members or taking advantage of the empty courts on my way out.

My business here was done.





CHAPTER 36





Sloane





I should’ve been embarrassed about breaking down over a goldfish, of all things, but it’d been surprisingly cathartic, at least with Xavier. I suspected I would’ve felt differently had I opened the door and seen anyone else.

But I hadn’t, and he’d been here, and he’d stayed. Overnight.

That was already a big deal for me because I didn’t let random men in my personal space. But he wasn’t a random man; he was him, and the house felt so much more vibrant when he was there that I’d thrown caution to the wind and invited him over for the weekend.

That was right. I, Sloane Kensington, had willingly invited someone to stay—count them—one, two, three nights with me, and I didn’t dread it.

Who even am I?

In keeping with the mushy-sentimental-aliens-abducted-my-body theme, I also tried to play Martha Stewart on Friday night. The results were…mixed.

“Have you ever baked before?” Xavier leaned against the doorframe and arched an eyebrow at my attempt to make chocolate chip cookies while a batch of cupcakes baked in the oven. Amusement played in his gaze, along with a hint of concern.

I’d barely used my appliances before tonight. I usually ate out or ordered in; the kitchen was there for show and the occasional cup of coffee.

“No, but I’m a fast learner.” I frowned at the recipe I’d printed out.

Cream together butter and sugars. What the hell did that mean? Was I supposed to stir the ingredients so they were mixed? If so, why didn’t the writer say stir instead of the maddeningly vague cream?

“Are you?” Xavier sounded skeptical, which I didn’t appreciate.

“Yes.” Fuck it. I was stirring. You couldn’t go wrong with a good stir.

“Not that I don’t believe you, darling, but your cupcakes are burning.”

The wail of the smoke alarm drowned out the last piece of his sentence, and an acrid smell filled my nostrils.

“Shit!” I spun in time to see smoke billowing from the oven. I opened the door and coughed as a cloud of pale gray fumes enveloped me.

One burned hand, one opened window, and several fans of a magazine later, the alarm cut off, plunging us into silence.

We stared at the tray of blackened cupcakes on the table.

Xavier dropped the magazine he’d used to fan the smoke into the recycling bin. “Crumble & Bake delivers,” he said carefully. “Perhaps we should order in.”

My shoulders slumped. “I guess we should.”

Half an hour later, we curled up on my couch with a Nate Reynolds movie and a box of Crumble & Bake’s cupcakes. I’d abandoned my cookie batter in the kitchen, which was for the best, though I wasn’t happy about it.

“I wanted to try something new,” I grumbled. “Baking is an essential life skill.”

I was too embarrassed to admit I’d been trying to impress him. It was so stupid and backward, the notion that a woman had to be good in the kitchen. Hello, wasn’t that what food delivery was for? But I liked Xavier so much, and baking had seemed like a nice, domestic activity to add some life into the apartment.

I tried not to look at the side table where The Fish used to reside. I’d tossed the aquarium days ago, but I still felt its absence. “You know what else is an essential life skill? Living,” Xavier teased. “I’m concerned any future baking attempts will result in your kitchen burning down.”

“Very funny.” I tossed a balled-up napkin at him. “Next time, you try to bake.”

“I’m good. I know where my talents lie, and it’s not in the kitchen.” His arm rested on the back of the couch, his fingertips grazing my shoulder. “But you don’t need to cook for me, Luna. I’m happy ordering in.”