Richer Than Sin

by March, Meghan

  I tug my hand out of her grip. “I just want something normal. Where I can stay out of the way and not be noticed.”

  She props her hand on a hip. “You mean you want to hide from the world and lick your wounds.”

  My aunt always knew me better than my own mom, so I may as well confess the truth.

  “Exactly.”

  “That’s gonna be tough . . . unless you want to work for the Riscoffs.”

  The memory of seeing Lincoln earlier today crashes through my system. Work for them? For him?

  “There’s got to be another option.”

  “Not one that pays as well. Think about it. If you want, I’ll talk to Ms. Riscoff.”

  “I’ll think about it,” I reply, but inside I’m swearing that there’s no way in hell I’ll ever go down that road.

  Before Jackie can push the subject any further, shrieks of “Lala!” come from the back of the house and two little blond girls who look like they could be Cricket and Karma clones come running out.

  Jackie turns around to scoop one up in each arm and spins them around. “My babies are home! Tell me all about everything.”

  Another wave of nostalgia washes over me. She used to say the same thing to Cricket and Karma and me when we’d get home from school.

  My own mom had never asked a single question. She was too busy out running around and keeping secrets, just like Jackie said.

  But that’s all in the past. It’s time to move forward.

  I swallow the lump in my throat and paste a smile on my face. It’s time to meet my little cousins.

  13

  Lincoln

  The unmistakable sound of someone cocking a shotgun is the last thing I want to hear when I open the door to Commodore’s house.

  “You piece of shit! That was my trout. I’ve been waiting to catch him for a goddamned year.” Magnus Gable’s voice is just as distinctive as the gun.

  “Not my fault you’re a piss-poor fisherman!”

  Another shotgun cocks.

  Jesus fucking Christ.

  “Hey! Lower the—”

  Boom. Boom.

  I shove the door open and rush into the house to see Commodore aiming for a second shot from his motorized chair. Blood drips down his face.

  “Missed me, you bastard!”

  “Sir, you’re bleeding!”

  Goose hops up off the boards of the deck and trots toward me. The damn dog is a hell of a lot less concerned by the guns being fired than I am.

  Commodore shakes his head, splattering blood on the leather armrest. “Shrapnel. Just a scratch. Gable’s buckshot took a chunk out of the goddamn house. Now I’m gonna break his windows.”

  “Cease fire or I’m calling the cops on both of you!” I yell loud enough so there’s no way Magnus can’t hear me, even being partially deaf.

  “You raised a pussy, Riscoff!” Magnus yells. “My kin would grab a gun and join in!”

  I pull out my cell phone, not in the mood to get shot this morning. “Last chance before I dial the sheriff.”

  Commodore shoots me a cutting look. “Put the damn phone away. You’re making me look bad.” Blood streams down the side of his face, turning his white beard red.

  “Here’s the deal—you put the feud on hold for first aid and business, and then you two can go back to shooting each other all you want after I’m gone.”

  Commodore’s glare would frighten the piss out of a lesser man, but I’ve had enough of this bullshit. I’m not about to let Magnus Gable put a bullet in him today, not when I’m still working out my strategy for going after his grand-niece.

  Commodore wipes the blood away from his face and looks down at his hand. “Superglue and duct tape are in the kitchen drawer. I don’t need no damn first-aid kit. And mind yourself when you’re talking to me. You don’t run me, son. I run you. Don’t forget it.”

  My jaw clenches at the reminder. “Maybe I should just let the two of you kill each other, and then I’d have a hell of a lot less problems to deal with.”

  Commodore sputters as I head for the kitchen.

  I respect the man and the sacrifices he made to get Riscoff Holdings to where it is today, but he’s living in the past, and by staying there, we’re not going to thrive. I spent last night reviewing information on the acquisition I want to make, not only because I was trying to keep my mind off Whitney, but also because we have to diversify again. Otherwise, we’re going to wither instead of flourish.

  Commodore isn’t going to like it. I already know it, but I need his sign-off to enter the auction process to get our hands on one of the most lucrative new tech companies that has the intellectual property we need to revolutionize the next generation of transportation.

  I grab a handful of paper towels and yank open drawers in the kitchen to find the old man’s supplies. What he needs is a keeper. The last drawer holds a bunch of papers and odds and ends. Superglue is at the front, and I grab and pull out the documents to dig for the duct tape.

  I still when my gaze catches on a letter falling out of a manila envelope—with my father’s name at the top.

  What the hell?

  I forget all about the two old men with shotguns pointed at each other and pull it out. Five words stand out in stark relief.

  Request for a paternity test

  What the fuck?

  I scan the rest of the document. It’s dated three months ago. The letterhead says it’s from a lawyer’s office in New York. They want a DNA sample . . . from my deceased father.

  Fuck the superglue and the duct tape. Commodore can bleed until he tells me what the hell this is about and why he hasn’t mentioned it. I grip the letter and stalk out to the deck, my back to Magnus Gable’s house.

  “What the fuck is this?” I hold up the paper. “Who wants a paternity test?”

  Commodore lowers his shotgun to rest on his lap and turns the chair to face me. “Put that back.”

  “Not a chance. You need to tell me what the hell is going on. If there’s someone who’s trying to take a piece of the family holdings because they think it’s a get-rich-quick scheme, our lawyers need to shut it down as quick as possible.”

  Commodore’s expression tightens. “It’s nobody’s damn business but mine.”

  I study the old man who I’ve always known to be absolutely ruthless when it comes to his business adversaries, not to mention this stupid feud with the Gables, and something isn’t right.

  “You should be crushing this person. Why are you hiding it? Do you think there’s a chance this is legit?”

  His gaze flicks down to the deck. He stows the shotgun more securely and his chair buzzes as it rolls toward me. “We can talk about this inside. Don’t need to chance Gable overhearing about our dirty laundry.”

  I step out of the way as Commodore disappears into the living room. Once we’re both inside, I shut the door.

  “You do think it’s legit then.”

  He turns around to face me, but his expression is unreadable. He inhales and releases a long breath as one thumb taps on the wooden stock of the shotgun. My brain races faster with every passing moment that he doesn’t answer.

  “It wasn’t like Roosevelt was a saint. Wouldn’t be all that surprising if he spread a few bastards around.”

  Commodore might as well have shot me in the gut. Roosevelt is my father. Or rather, was.

  “Are you serious?” I’ve never thought of my father as a saint. Far from it, but the idea of him having other children isn’t something I ever thought I’d have to consider.

  What. The. Fuck?

  “It’s possible,” Commodore says simply.

  “And what are you doing about it? We need to know. We need to make decisions. Act. Have a strategy.”

  My mind flies along at a million miles an hour. The Riscoff family succession has never been questioned. From the day I was born, I’ve been the Riscoff heir. For over 170 years, the company and estate have been handed down to the oldest male descendant, and every other d
escendant is legally entitled to nothing.

  “I’ve been handling it. Quietly, because I don’t want the family name dragged through the dirt again.” His gaze narrows on me. “We don’t need that.”

  “You told them they can’t get a DNA sample, right?”

  Commodore nods slowly, suddenly looking like he’s aged twenty years. “They want to exhume the body. Latest letter gave me thirty days to agree before they file a petition with the court.”

  My head fills with static.

  They want to crack open my father’s casket. Remove his body. All to see if there’s another potential Riscoff heir who could claim the family’s assets.

  This is not happening.

  “Jesus fucking Christ.” My voice comes out rough as I shake my head. I meet the old man’s gaze. “What did they say when you told them no way in hell?”

  He lifts his chin. “I haven’t replied. I’m still thinking on it.”

  I blink twice, staring at him like I don’t understand the language he’s speaking. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

  “Don’t you take that tone with me, boy. I make the decisions.” He grips both arms of his chair. “We don’t need this in court. How do you think that would make us look? And your mother? She’d lose her goddamn mind.”

  The reality of the situation hits me. If they dig up my father, my mother is going to have a heart attack. Maybe not literally, but close enough. She could never handle this. But why would Commodore Riscoff, the man who refuses to be forced into anything, allow this?

  “They wanted a settlement and you said no, didn’t you?”

  He nods sharply. “That’s when they came back with the exhumation request.”

  “Fuck. They must think this person is truly my father’s son, and older than me. That’s the only way it makes financial sense to pursue it.” I meet the old man’s gaze. “You want to hand everything over to a complete stranger? Someone who hasn’t worked himself to the bone for the last decade to protect and preserve your legacy?”

  Commodore’s gaze turns flinty. “I don’t like any of it. And I haven’t kicked the bucket yet. I can change my will anytime I want. You’d do well to remember that, boy. I still get to decide who gets what. No family tradition binds me if I change my mind.”

  My head drops back and I stare up at the wood-plank ceiling, desperately trying to find control amidst the chaos that has just been unleashed on my life. When I’ve gathered myself, I meet the old man’s dark brown eyes.

  “What do you want me to do? Because we can make this go away. They need a court order for the exhumation.”

  His jaw clenches. “I haven’t decided what I want to do yet. But it’d make me feel a hell of a lot better if I knew the family line was going to continue.”

  I stare at him, unsure why I’m shocked, but I am. “That’s how you’re going to play this? You want me to knock up some woman and hope it’s a boy so you can feel good about the family line continuing?”

  His lips flatten and his stare turns hard. “Marry whoever that woman is before you knock her up.”

  “I’ve played your games for years.” I take a step toward him, my hands balled into fists. “I’ve done everything you’ve ever asked of me, but I draw the line here.”

  Heavy silence hangs between us before Commodore leans back in his chair.

  “You don’t want to see to making sure we have a new generation of Riscoffs? Then there’s no reason for me not to find out who this other heir might be.”

  My teeth threaten to shatter from the intensity of my jaw clenching. When I’ve got a grip on the rage coursing through my veins, I finally speak. “That’s how you’re going to play it?”

  Commodore smiles like he’s Niccolò Machiavelli himself. “You’ll fall in line. You always do. Just make sure it’s not that Gable girl.”

  14

  Lincoln

  The past

  “When can I see you again?” I asked.

  Whitney Gable lay wrapped in my arms in the bedroom of the cabin, and I didn’t want to let her go. Her body stiffened. She was already drawing back, and I didn’t like it.

  “We can’t keep doing this. If someone finds out—”

  “No one is going to find out.”

  Her blue eyes narrowed as her expression turned mulish. She was way too fucking cute for her own good. My dick, which should have been permanently out of commission after how many rounds we’d already gone, came back to life.

  “Looking at me like that doesn’t make me want to see you any less.”

  “You can’t say that no one will find out. My aunt already saw you. She knows something’s up.”

  “And is she going to tell anyone?”

  Whitney shook her head. “Aunt Jackie wouldn’t do that, but that’s not my point. My point is that we already got caught. It’s bound to happen again. This town is too small.”

  I rolled her onto her back and settled between her legs.

  “So you’re saying you don’t want any more of this?” I nudged my cock against her opening, and she was already wet for me.

  Whitney arched in the bed, teasing me until I pushed inside. Immediately, she shoved at my shoulders.

  “Condom. We need a condom.”

  I groaned because she felt so fucking good without one. But she was right. We did need one. All it would take was once . . . and that would be something we couldn’t hide. Which would almost be a relief.

  I rolled off her and reached for the last one on the nightstand. I had never gone through this many rubbers in a night, but with Whitney, I couldn’t get enough. She was the most addictive drug ever to hit my system. When I thought about her, it was a constant push for more, more, more.

  After sliding on the condom, I settled back between her legs and pushed inside. It was still fucking amazing, but I knew damn well nothing could compare to going bare with her.

  Something I’d never done before.

  Commodore and my dad had drilled it into my head—women will try anything to get knocked up with a potential Riscoff heir, and I’d seen enough evidence to believe it. Whitney making me use a condom once again told me she was different.

  She wanted nothing from me except maybe my dick and the orgasms I gave her, and even those might be in jeopardy.

  “You know we’d figure it out if something happened. I’d take care of you.”

  Whitney’s blue eyes widened. “Don’t say that. Do you know what would happen if something . . . happened? My family would disown me. And then your family? I don’t even want to think about it. They’d run me out of town on a rail. Probably take out a hit. Taint the Riscoff line with Gable blood? Your mother would hack me into pieces, after she ran me over with a car and shot me a dozen times.”

  Whitney was right. My mother would go ballistic if she knew about this. She would lose her goddamned mind. I would never hear the end of it. Ever.

  A smile curled my lips.

  It wouldn’t be the end of the world, though.

  “I’d protect you from her. I wouldn’t let any of them touch you.”

  Whitney placed a finger over my lips to stop me from saying anything else. “We’re not talking about this. Stop putting shit like that out into the universe. If you mention it again, I will refuse to see you again.”

  “Fine.” I kissed her finger before I thrust inside her. We both let out harsh groans.

  “How is it always so good?” she said, moaning and arching her back.

  I shifted so I was on my knees, never losing contact. “Because we’re fucking perfect together.”

  Her blue gaze collided with mine before she rolled her eyes. “You say that to all the girls.”

  “It’s never been like this before. Never,” I told her with a shake of my head. “I’m not lying. No bullshit.”

  Her skeptical look faded when I started to move, and I could already feel her muscles fluttering around me. I’d only had two nights with her, but I’d made a study of her body like I was going t
o be tested on it. Learning what she liked. What made her go off like the Fourth of July. It was my most favorite subject of all time.

  By the time she’d come twice, I unloaded into the condom, and Whitney dozed off for a few minutes after we cleaned up. I wrapped myself around her naked body again, and I couldn’t help but think about keeping her. Making her mine. Saying fuck the feud. My family. Her family.

  She’s different.

  She wanted me despite who I was. That meant something to me, and I didn’t want to lose it.

  That was when I decided exactly how I’d prevent it from happening.

  I’m going to make her fall in love with me.

  15

  Whitney

  Present day

  My first night in the she-shed turned into a sleepover with Cricket, and that was totally fine by me. At least, until she had to leave at the ass crack of dawn to lead a hike up into the mountains, and I couldn’t fall back to sleep.

  Being home unsettles me.

  With Cricket’s bright chatter around, it’s easy to block out thoughts of Lincoln, but as soon as I’m left with silence, everything about him and our history comes rushing back.

  For ten years, I’ve been telling myself my memory made too much of it. That it wasn’t as good as I remember. That’s what I needed to tell myself to get through the days of being Ricky Rango’s wife.

  I never should have married him.

  But at the time, there was no other choice. I’d only agreed to marry him if he stayed true to his promise to be faithful. And shockingly, he did.

  At least until I went in for my annual physical earlier this year, and my doctor delivered the bad news that I had an STD. Antibiotics might have fixed the medical part of it . . . but absolutely nothing could change the fact that my marriage was over.

  When I confronted Ricky, he blamed me. Said I must have gotten it from cheating on him. That accusation caught me completely off guard, and I knew it had to be coming from the guilt. Monogamy was the one thing he promised me in return for everything I did for him. The only thing.