King of Greed (Kings of Sin #3) by Ana Huang

The bright beam of headlights slashed through the rain. I squinted, my heart tripping in both anticipation and wariness as I weighed the odds of whether the car belonged to my ride or a potential psycho. This part of Maryland was pretty safe, but you never knew.

When my eyes adjusted to the light, I slumped with relief, only to stiffen again two seconds later.

Good news? I recognized the sleek, black Aston Martin pulling up toward me. It belonged to one of Josh’s friends, which meant I wouldn’t end up a local news item tonight.

Bad news? The person driving said Aston Martin was the an I’ll do my buddy a favor and rescue his stranded little sister kinda guy. He was a look at me wrong and I’ll destroy you and everyone you care about kinda guy, and he’d do it looking so calm and gorgeous you wouldn’t notice your world burning down around you until you were already a heap of ashes at his Tom Ford-clad feet.

I swiped the tip of my tongue over my dry lips as the car stopped in front of me and the passenger window rolled down.

“Get in.”

He didn’t raise his voice—he never raised his voice—but I still heard him loud and clear over the rain.

Alex Volkov was a force of nature unto himself, and I imag‐ ined even the weather bowed to him.

“I hope you’re not waiting for me to open the door for you,” he said when I didn’t move. He sounded as happy as I was about the situation.

What a gentleman.

I pressed my lips together and bit back a sarcastic reply as I roused myself from the bench and ducked into the car. It smelled cool and expensive, like spicy cologne and fine Italian leather. I didn’t have a towel or anything to place on the seat beneath me, so all I could do was pray I didn’t damage the expensive interior.

“Thanks for picking me up. I appreciate it,” I said in an attempt to break the icy silence.

I failed. Miserably.

Alex didn’t respond or even look at me as he navigated the twists and curves of the slick roads leading back to campus. He drove the same way he walked, talked, and breathed—steady and controlled, with an undercurrent of danger warning those foolish enough to contemplate crossing him that doing so would be their death sentence.

He was the exact opposite of Josh, and I still marveled at the fact that they were best friends. Personally, I thought Alex was an asshole. I was sure he had his reasons, some kind of psychological trauma which shaped him into the unfeeling robot he was today. Based on the snippets I’d gleaned from Josh, Alex’s childhood had been even worse than ours, though I’d never managed to pull the details out of my brother. All I knew was, Alex’s parents had died when he was young and left him a pile of money he’d quadrupled the value of when he came into his inheritance at age eighteen. Not that he’d needed it because he’d invented a new financial modeling software in high school that made him a multimillionaire before he could vote.

With an IQ of 160, Alex Volkov was a genius, or close to it. He was the only person in Thayer’s history to complete its fiveyear joint undergrad/MBA program in three years, and at age twenty-six, he was the COO of one of the most successful real estate development companies in the country. He was a legend, and he knew it.

Meanwhile, I thought I was doing well if I remembered to eat while juggling my classes, extracurriculars, and two jobs—front desk duty at the McCann Gallery, and my side hustle as a photographer for anyone who would hire me. Graduations, engagements, dogs’ birthday parties, I did them all.

“Are you going to Josh’s party?” I tried again to make small talk. The silence was killing me.

Alex and Josh had been best friends since they roomed together at Thayer eight years ago, and Alex had joined my family for Thanksgiving and assorted holidays every year since, but I still didn’t know him. Alex and I didn’t talk unless it had to do with Josh or passing the potatoes at dinner or something.

“Yes.”

Okay, then. Guess small talk was out.

My mind wandered toward the million things I had to do that weekend. Edit the photos from the Graysons’ shoot and, work on my application for the World Youth Photography fellowship, help Josh finish packing after—

Crap! I’d forgotten all about Josh’s cake.

I’d ordered it two weeks ago because that was the max lead time for something from Crumble & Bake. It was Josh’s favorite dessert, a three-layer dark chocolate frosted with fudge and filled with chocolate pudding. He only indulged on his birth‐ day, but since he was leaving the country for a year, I figured he could break his once-a-year rule.

“So…” I pasted the biggest, brightest smile on my face. “Don’t kill me, but we need to make a detour to Crumble & Bake.”

“No. We’re already late.” Alex stopped at a red light. We’d made it back to civilization, and I spotted the blurred outlines of a Starbucks and a Panera through the rain-splattered glass.

My smile didn’t budge. “It’s a small detour. It’ll take fifteen minutes, max. I just need to run in and pick up Josh’s cake. You know, the Death by Chocolate he likes so much? He’ll be in Central America for a year, they don’t have C&B down there, and he leaves in two days so— ”

“Stop.” Alex’s fingers curled around the steering wheel, and my crazy, hormonal mind latched onto how beautiful they were. That might sound crazy because who has beautiful ngers? But he did. Physically, everything about him was beau‐ tiful. The jade-green eyes that glared out from beneath dark brows like chips hewn from a glacier; the sharp jawline and elegant, sculpted cheekbones; the lean frame and thick, light brown hair that somehow looked both tousled and perfectly coiffed. He resembled a statue in an Italian museum come to life.