King of Wrath (Kings of Sin #1) by Ana Huang

“That makes more sense,” Kai said. “I should’ve known mergers and acquisitions would take over even your personal life.”

“Funny.”

His laugh faded when I hit him with an uppercut to the jaw, and he retaliated with a punch that knocked the air from my lungs.

Our conversation tapered off, replaced by grunts and curses as we pummeled the hell out of each other.

Kai was the most mild-mannered person I knew, but he had a vicious competitive streak. We’d started boxing together last year, and he’d become my go-to partner for blowing off steam because he never held back.

Who needed therapy when you could punch your friend in the face every week?

Hit, duck, dodge, hit. Over and over until we ended the night with a tie and significantly more bruises than when we’d entered.

But I’d finally worked off the edge of my anger, and when I met Kai in the locker room after my shower, I’d gained enough clarity not to lose my shit on my brother again.

I’d been this close to cutting him off after our conversation that afternoon, promises and conditions be damned. It would serve him right, but I didn’t have the energy to deal with his inevitable temper tantrum right now.

“Feel better?” Kai was already dressed when I entered.

Button-down shirt, blazer, thin black wire frames.

All traces of the lethal fighter from the ring had vanished, replaced with the epitome of scholarly sophistication.

“Marginally.” I got dressed and rubbed a hand over my sore jaw. “You pack a mean punch.”

“That’s why you called. You’d hate it if I took it easy on you.”

I snorted. “As much as you would hate losing.”

We exited the gym and took the elevator up to the first floor. The Valhalla Club was an exclusive global society for those with a certain net worth, and it had chapters all over the world. However, its New York headquarters were the largest and most opulent, spanning four stories and an entire city block in upper Manhattan.

“I’ve met Vivian a few times,” Kai said casually as the elevator doors dinged open. “She’s beautiful, smart, charming. You could’ve done a lot worse.”

Irritation flickered in my chest. “Perhaps you should marry her instead.”

I didn’t care if Vivian was a supermodel saint who saved puppies from burning buildings in her free time. She was simply someone I had to tolerate until I destroyed all the photos.

Unfortunately, Christian’s latest update confirmed Francis had stored the photos both digitally and physically.

Christian could easily take care of the digital evidence, but destroying physical evidence was trickier when we didn’t know how many backups Francis had. I couldn’t risk making a move until we were one hundred percent certain we’d tracked down his entire stash.

“If I could, I would.” The shadows in Kai’s eyes disappeared as quickly as they’d surfaced.

As the heir to the Young fortune, his future was even more etched in stone than mine.

“All I’m saying is, don’t be an asshole.” Kai nodded in greeting at a passing club member and waited until they were out of earshot before adding, “It’s not her fault she’s stuck with a brute like you.”

If he only knew.

“Worry less about my personal life and more about yours.” I raised an eyebrow at his cufflinks. Gold lions with amethyst eyes—part of the Young family crest. “Leonora Young won’t wait forever for a grandchild.”

“Luckily for her, she already has two, courtesy of my sister. And don’t try to deflect.” We crossed the gleaming black marble entryway to the exit. “I meant what I said about Vivian. Be nice.”

My back teeth clenched.

Whether I liked her or not, Vivian was my fiancée, and I was getting damn tired of hearing her name leave his mouth.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ll treat her exactly the way she deserves.”





CHAPTER 5





Vivian





“What do you mean, you haven’t talked to your fiancé since your engagement?” Isabella crossed her arms and leveled me with a reproving stare. “What type of ridiculous relationship is that?”

“An arranged one.” The bar tilted before righting itself. Perhaps I shouldn’t have had two and a half mai tais in a row, but my weekly happy hour with Isabella and Sloane was the one time I could let loose.

No judging eyes, no need to be perfect and “proper.”

So what if I was a little tipsy? The bar was called The Tipsy Goat. It was expected.

“It’s better that we haven’t spoken,” I added. “He’s not the most pleasant conversationalist.”

Even now, the memory of my first and so far only meeting with Dante sent a rush of indignation down my spine.

He’d shown no remorse over skipping out on half our introductory dinner to smoke cigars in my father’s office, and he’d left without so much as a thank you or good night.

Dante was a billionaire, but he had the manners of an ill-bred troll.

“Then why are you marrying him?” Sloane raised a perfectly groomed brow. “Tell your parents to find you a better match.”

“That’s the problem. There is no better match in their eyes. They think he’s perfect.”