King of Pride (Kings of Sin, #2)(36)

“An artist. A writer. Creative family.” Kai’s warmth brushed my side as he came up beside me.

Even in an ugly black smock, he looked aristocratic, like a prince among commoners.

He plucked a dart from the nearby tray and handed it to me.

I took it gingerly. Our hands didn’t touch, but my palm tingled like they had. “That’s only me and Felix,” I said. “The rest of my brothers aren’t into the arts. Gabriel, the oldest, runs our family business. Romero is an engineer, and Miguel teaches poli sci at Berkeley.” A wry smile. “A lot of Asian families push their children into law, medicine, or engineering, but my parents were big on us doing what we wanted as long as it’s not illegal or unethical. Habulin mo ang iyong mga pangarap.

Chase your dreams. Our family motto.”

I left out the part about us having to achieve said dreams by age thirty due to a certain written clause. It was my parents’ way of ensuring we didn’t jump from passion to passion because we couldn’t make up our minds. The way I had for the past oh, ten years.

If we didn’t settle into a career path by thirty, then…

I swallowed the lump of unease in my throat. It’ll be fine. I had time. If there was one thing that motivated me more than the prospect of money, fame, and success, it was the chance to prove my brother wrong.

“Are you?” Kai asked.

“What?”

“Chasing your dreams.”

Of course. The answer sat on the tip of my tongue, but something prevented me from saying it out loud.

My eyes met Kai’s for a single, knowing beat before I looked away. My heart rattled behind my ribcage, but I tried my best to ignore it. Instead, I focused on a balloon, aimed, and threw my dart as hard as I could. It glanced harmlessly off the wood.

I sighed. Typical. I’d been coming here for months, and I’d only hit my target twice.

“You pick.” I gestured at the jar of paper. “I’m too busy wallowing in my lack of hand-eye coordination.”

Miguel and Gabriel had gotten all the athletic genes in the family. It was so unfair.

Kai’s gaze sparked with amusement, but he didn’t argue. He plucked a slip from the jar and unfolded it. “What’s your biggest fear?”

It was a generic question with plenty of generic answers—clowns, losing more people I loved, being alone. All things that had kept me up late at night, especially after I watched It. But the answer that came out of my mouth had nothing to do with killer clowns or dying by myself on some stranded road.

“A life without purpose.” Embarrassment warmed my cheeks. The reply sounded so generic, like something a college freshman would spout in philosophy class, but that didn’t make it any less true.

“It’s not a concrete fear, like falling onto the subway tracks or having an air conditioner fall on my head,” I said, naming two of the most common worries New Yorkers had. A faint curve touched Kai’s lips. “But I don’t know. The thought of dying without achieving something is…” Depressing.

Suffocating. Terrifying. “Stressful. Especially in a city like New York, you know? Everyone here seems to know what they’re doing or at least what they want to be doing. They live for a purpose, not survival.”

I couldn’t articulate why that bothered me so much. I just knew that sometimes, I scrolled through social media, consumed with envy over all the engagement, promotion, and insert-other-big-life-change announcements. I didn’t begrudge my friends their happiness; I was truly thrilled when Vivian got married and when Sloane landed a big client. But I wished I had something of my own to share besides jokes and gossip. Something substantial that would consume my thoughts at night and drive away the restless, amorphous anxiety that plagued me whenever I was alone too long.

The curve on Kai’s mouth straightened. “You do have a purpose,” he said. Instead of sounding annoyed by my rambling, he spoke with a familiar certainty. You’ll finish it. “It’s to share your stories.”

It was what I wanted. But if that was my real purpose, wouldn’t I be better at it?

I bit back my uncertainty. I’d shared enough of my messy internal angst for the night. I didn’t want to spend my Saturday wallowing in self-pity.

“You’re right. Anyway.” I tore my eyes away and refocused on the canvases. “Enough boring existential crisis talk. Your turn.”

The warmth of Kai’s gaze touched my face for an extra second before he faced forward. I was dying to ask him a question, but of course, his dart flew straight and true. It punctured one of the balloons with the precision of a laser-guided missile, as did his next throw, and the one after that.

Half an hour later, I’d missed all of my shots while he’d missed none.

“There’s no way.” I gaped at the paint-splattered wall with disbelief. “You’re cheating!”

Kai quirked a dark brow. “How would one cheat at darts?”

I opened my mouth, then closed it, stumped. Damn him. Why did he have to look like that and be good at everything he did? God truly had favorites.

“If I knew, I would’ve hit the target myself,” I grumbled. “Fine. Let’s switch it up since you’re clearly some sort of inhuman dart-throwing machine.” I gestured at the balloons. “If I make this next throw, you have to answer a question. It’s unfair that you know all these things about me when I barely know anything about you.”