King of Sloth (Kings of Sin, 4)
King of Sloth: Chapter 39

He hadn’t meant it.

I knew he hadn’t meant it because at his core, Xavier wasn’t cruel or malicious. He’d been upset about the fire and lashed out. In hindsight, I shouldn’t have pushed him so hard about rebuilding the club after the fire. It’d been the wrong time, but when I saw him sitting there, looking like a shell of himself, I’d panicked and defaulted to what I did best—solving crises. I hadn’t known how to assuage his guilt, so I’d tackled the concrete issue of his club instead.

Logically, I understood all that, but emotionally, I couldn’t dig out the barbs of his words. They’d embedded themselves in old wounds, tearing through scabs and sutures to pour salt into raw flesh.

Not all of us can go through life pretending they don’t feel, Sloane!

If anyone else had said what Xavier said, it would’ve stung, but I would’ve brushed it off in short order. After all, I’d been accused of worse over the years.

But coming from him, the sentiment devastated me. He wasn’t entirely wrong, which was why it hurt so much. No one liked hearing the sting of truth from the person they cared about most, especially when it was delivered in anger.

Even a week later, even knowing he hadn’t meant it, it hurt so much I couldn’t breathe. That was what terrified me the most— the fact someone else had that much power over me.

“More popcorn?” Alessandra nudged the bowl into my lap.

I shook my head, watching our fourth holiday rom-com of the day without really seeing it. My review notebook lay empty in my lap; every time I tried to write something, I pictured Xavier playfully teasing me about it, and I lost my words.

“This movie is boring.” Isabella yawned. “Maybe we should switch genres. Watch a thriller instead.”

“That’s fine,” I said without enthusiasm. I wasn’t in the mood to see fictional couples get their happily ever afters anyway. The concept of a happily ever after was a total scam.

My friends exchanged glances. It was the day after Christmas and a full week after the fire. The accident had made headlines, but everyone had been distracted by the holidays, and it hadn’t generated the same media storm it would’ve had it happened any other week of the year.

I’d told my friends what happened and declined Alessandra’s offer to spend Christmas with her and Dominic. The only thing worse than being alone on Christmas was being a third wheel.

Isabella and Kai had been in London, and Vivian, Dante, and Josie had gone to Boston to visit Vivian’s mother, so the last thing I’d expected when my doorbell rang that afternoon was to see my three best friends crowded in the doorway, armed with enough popcorn and wine to fell an elephant.

It’d been the only bright spot of my week.

While Isabella searched for a new movie, Vivian regarded me with quiet concern. “Have you talked to Xavier since Saturday?” she asked gently.

The question scraped against exposed wounds, and I shook my head, refusing to meet her eyes.

“Do you want to talk to him?”

Again, I shook my head, this time with less conviction.

Xavier and I hadn’t talked or messaged since I walked away after the fire, not even to wish each other a merry Christmas. Part of me had been tempted to reach out first, make sure he was okay, and apologize for overstepping, but pride and self-preservation stopped me every time I picked up my phone.

Maybe our not talking was for the best. Obviously, I didn’t know how to comfort him properly, and my presence made things worse instead of better.

“You have to talk to him eventually.” This time, Alessandra was the one who spoke. “Your dating trial is expiring soon.”

Pain cleaved through me. “I know.”

I wouldn’t win awards for my eloquence today, but I was afraid that if I uttered more than a handful of words at a time, it would destroy my already-tenuous grip on my emotions.

I hadn’t allowed myself to fully feel the implications of what happened with Xavier and the silence that’d followed, and if I had my way, I never would. Some things were better left repressed.

Isabella paused her search for the perfect thriller, and there was another exchange of glances around the room.

“What are you going to do when the trial ends?” Isabella asked cautiously.

I set my jaw against the pressure swelling in my chest. “I don’t know.”

Except I did.

I just didn’t know if I had the strength to go through with it.

I could describe the week after the fire in one word: hell.

The paperwork? Hell. Visiting the hospital and seeing the workers’ burns up close? Hell. Speaking to the workers’ agonized families? Hell.

Not seeing or talking to Sloane while knowing how much I’d hurt her the last time we spoke? Hell times a fucking thousand.

I should’ve run after Sloane and apologized right after she left, but I’d been worried I’d make things worse. I hadn’t been in the right frame of mind to do anything except go home, pour myself a glass of whiskey, and pass the hell out.

The days after that had been filled with phone calls, meetings, paperwork, and a million other things I didn’t want to do. I’d tried to contact Vuk but couldn’t get through, and I’d spent Christmas at home, torn between calling Sloane and avoiding our inevitable confrontation like a coward.

The coward won out.

I wasn’t proud of it, but our trial dating period ended soon, and I didn’t need a genius-level IQ to know I’d blown it.

As long as we didn’t talk, I could live in denial and pretend we were going through a minor hiccup, which was how I ended up at Valhalla’s bar the Sunday after Christmas, drowning my sorrows with Lagavulin.

I finished my drink and motioned the bartender for another one. He slid a fresh glass of whisky across the counter as someone settled on the stool next to mine.

“Save it,” I said without turning my head.

“This is quite sad.” Kai ignored my preemptive dismissal, his tone mild. “Have you considered other methods of coping besides drinking by yourself at”—he checked his watch—“three in the afternoon?”

“I’m not in the mood for your judgment, and I’m not the only one sitting at the bar at three in the afternoon.” I cast a pointed glance in his direction. “Aren’t you supposed to be in London right now?”

“We flew back early at Isabella’s insistence.” A delicate pause. “Apparently, one of her friends needs ‘major cheering up.’ Her words.”

It was obvious who she’d meant.

My gut twisted at the indirect mention of Sloane, and it took everything in me not to interrogate Kai.

Has Isabella talked to Sloane already? What did she say? How is she doing? How much does she hate me right now?

“Her friend isn’t the only one.” Kai nodded his thanks when the bartender brought him a strawberry gin and tonic. He had a strange affinity for that particular cocktail. “I’m sorry about the fire. Truly.” He sounded sincere, which made it worse.

The past week hadn’t done much to ease my guilt, and I felt like I didn’t deserve people’s sympathy.

“Have you talked to Alex yet?” Kai asked.

I grimaced. “Not yet. We’re meeting tomorrow.”

I wasn’t looking forward to it. Alex’s assistant had scheduled the meeting, so I didn’t know his thoughts regarding the fire in his building, but I imagined they weren’t pleasant.

“I haven’t talked to Markovic since the fire either.” I flashed back to the wild look in Vuk’s eyes and the old burn scars around his neck. “He disappeared when we got out of the vault. Do you think…?”

“The Serb does what he does,” Kai said. Most people referred to Vuk as the Serb, per his preference, but I couldn’t shake the habit of calling people by their, well, actual name. “No one knows what goes through his head, but if he hasn’t dissolved your partnership yet, I assume everything’s fine.”

My shoulders tensed.

Kai’s eyes sharpened behind his glasses. “Is everything fine?” “Besides the small matter of the fire? Sure.” I tossed back my drink. “Because I’ll dissolve the partnership myself after the New Year. The club isn’t happening.” “Why not?”

Another headache set in behind my eyes. I was sick and tired of explaining the same thing over and over again.

I clipped out the same reasons I’d given Sloane; like Sloane, Kai seemed unimpressed.

“People make mistakes,” he said. “Entrepreneurs make even more. You can’t succeed in business without failing, Xavier.”

“Maybe not, but I bet most mistakes involve a disrupted cash flow or media mishap, not a fire that could’ve killed people.”

“Could’ve but didn’t.”

“By some miracle.”

“I don’t believe in miracles. Everything that happens, happens for a reason.” Kai turned to face me fully. “That list of names I gave you? Those are some of the sharpest people in business. They believed in you enough to invest their time, money, and resources into the club, and they wouldn’t have done that if they didn’t think you were capable of pulling it off. So stop using your martyr act as an excuse and figure out how to finish what you started.”

The heated reprimand was so out of character for Kai, it stunned me into silence. We weren’t friends, exactly, and maybe that was why his words successfully cut through me. There was nothing quite so humbling or clarifying as getting lambasted by an acquaintance.

I opened my mouth, closed it, then opened it again, but nothing came out because he was right. I was acting like a martyr. I’d taken the fire and made it all about me and my guilt, and I’d used that as an excuse to walk away from the club.

Despite my success in getting the process started and the best of the best onboard, I was afraid I’d still fail. The fire gave me an opportunity to walk away without admitting to that fear.

I’d downed three glasses of whisky before Kai arrived, but the realization sobered me up quickly.

First Sloane, now this. I really was a coward. To think I accused Bentley of being that very thing when I’m worse.

I swallowed the golf ball that’d lodged itself in my throat and tried to think logically.

Kai might’ve been right, but it didn’t change the fact that pulling off a grand club opening by early May was nearly impossible from a logistical perspective. I could throw together something smaller, but whatever I did needed to pass muster with the inheritance committee.

Basically, I could try harder, but my chances of failure had increased exponentially.

I rubbed my temple, wishing not for the first time that I’d been born into a simple, normal family with regular jobs and regular lives instead of this Succession-esque mess.

“Isabella put you up to this, didn’t she?” Even in my current state, I was clearheaded enough to recognize that Kai’s appearance in this particular place, on this particular day, wasn’t a coincidence. He didn’t respond, but the small twitch of his mouth said it all.

“How’d you know I’d be here today?” I asked.

“Educated guess. This bar has seen its fair share of comfort drinking.” He nodded at the glittering display of expensive bottles and crystal glasses. “I may have also asked security to alert me if and when you check in.”

I snorted. “I’m flattered you went to the trouble.”

“Don’t be. I didn’t do this for you,” Kai said dryly. “I did this for my reputation and for Isa. I was the one who connected you with the people on my list, and it’ll reflect poorly on me if the club doesn’t succeed. Plus…” His gaze flicked to his phone. “Isa would never let me hear the end of it if I didn’t get you to pull your head out of the sand.”

Sloane.

My hand flexed around my glass as another wave of regret crashed into me. She’d tried to help, and I’d driven her away. Then I couldn’t be bothered to say a simple I’m sorry, not even on Christmas, because I’d been too wrapped up in my own mental bullshit.

God, I was an idiot.

I stood abruptly and grabbed my coat from the hook beneath the counter. “Listen, this was a good talk, but—”

“Go.” Kai returned to his drink. “And if anyone other than Isa asks, this conversation never happened.”

I didn’t need him to tell me twice.

I sprinted out of the club and into one of Valhalla’s chauffeured town cars. I gave the driver Sloane’s address.

It’d been eight days, two hours, and thirty-six minutes since we last spoke.

I only hoped I wasn’t too late.