Guilty as Sin

by Meghan March

  My teeth clenched and my entire body tensed as I accepted the truth.

  “If she didn’t want to come, she could’ve just ignored the letter. She didn’t need to send you in her place. I would’ve gotten the message either way.” I kept my tone flat, even though I felt like I was being shredded from the inside out.

  Gable shook his head like he thought I was a dumb motherfucker. “She never got your letter, asshole, and if it’s up to me, she’ll never know about it.”

  His admission rocked me back on my heels and my jaw went slack.

  Her fucking cousin . . .

  Rango stepped up, cracking his knuckles. “Bad move, motherfucker. Karma sold your ass out.”

  “Karma?” I looked from Rango to Gable.

  “Oh, you thought you gave it to Cricket?” Rango laughed. “Easy mistake since both those bitches look exactly alike.”

  “Ricky, don’t call my cousins bitches.” Gable stepped toward me. “I told you to leave my sister alone, and instead you try to draw her out here to the woods? You know what I have to say about that? Fuck no. Ain’t happening. Not on my watch.”

  His boots crunched in the gravel as he stepped forward, flexing and clenching his hands.

  I knew I was going to get my ass kicked tonight. It was on both their faces. They weren’t leaving until they delivered a beating. I wouldn’t go down without a fight, though.

  “Just so you know, Gable, nothing you do to me will stop me from trying to get to her. Nothing.”

  His grin carried no humor—only derision and violence. “I guess we’ll see about that.”

  His fist flew out and caught me in the gut before the other busted open my cheekbone. I struck back with a combination, and he grunted as I connected. The Green Beret sent two more punches flying, one to my solar plexus and one to my liver, but I stayed on my feet, more than willing to trade. Then Rango jumped in, catching me in the side of the head before I realized he was moving.

  Normally, two against one, I could hold my own . . . except when one of them was trained in hand-to-hand combat by Uncle Sam.

  Gable didn’t need Rango’s help. He delivered a beatdown unlike one I’d ever experienced before.

  I dropped to my knees as he landed punch after punch. I kept my guard up, swinging and missing over and over. He connected with a wicked uppercut to my jaw, and my body flew back onto the gravel. My fingers clawed the stones as I tried to push myself to my feet, but white spots dotted my vision. I couldn’t focus and find my balance.

  My ribs screamed as someone kicked me in the stomach.

  “Get the fuck back, Ricky.”

  I blinked up to see Gable shoving his friend behind him. Whitney’s brother stood over me, knuckles busted and blood dripping from his cut eyebrow.

  “You learn your lesson yet, rich boy?”

  “Go fuck yourself, Gable.” I spat out a mouthful of blood.

  He crouched beside me. “Watch your mouth or I’ll bury you out here.”

  Before I could reply, another pair of headlights cut through the darkness, and Rango squealed like a little bitch.

  “Someone’s coming! They’ll fucking arrest us. I can’t go to jail. My label will be pissed.”

  Gable looked around and spotted a two-track in the woods that led out to the field we hunted in. “Come on, we’re out of here.”

  I pushed myself to my knees as they slammed the doors. The tires spun as they hauled ass around the side of the cabin.

  The headlights of the newcomer stopped right in front of me, and I closed my eyes to avoid being blinded.

  “Lincoln, that you? What the hell happened? You get robbed?” It was Commodore’s voice. His footsteps crunched in the gravel as he came toward me. “Jesus fucking Christ. You got your ass kicked.”

  When I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was his hand. I took it, and he pulled me to my feet.

  Commodore looked over my shoulder in the direction Gable and Rango had gone. “Who was it? We’ll bury them.”

  “I don’t know, sir.”

  “Now, that’s a damn lie and we both know it.” My grandfather’s brows dipped into an angry V. “This is about that Gable girl, isn’t it?”

  I said nothing, but Commodore didn’t need me to tell him anything. He had it all figured out himself, just like he usually did.

  “You can cover for that brother of hers all you want, but I’ll still have him court-martialed for it.”

  As soon as he said court-martialed, my entire body tensed. Any retaliation by Commodore would only succeed in making Whitney hate me more, and I couldn’t let it happen. I straightened my shoulders and looked at my grandfather through the slit of my swollen left eye, since I couldn’t open the right one.

  “Sir, I respectfully request that you let me handle this myself.”

  My grandfather studied my busted face. “Give me one good reason.”

  I was silent for several moments while I thought of anything I could say that would persuade him. Finally, I went with the truth.

  “I brought this on myself. I’m going to fix it myself too.”

  Commodore’s eyes narrowed, and I could tell he wanted to argue. “Those Gable women are nothing but trouble. We know that. Don’t repeat your mistakes. You’re better off without her, boy.” He jerked his chin toward the cabin. “Go inside and clean yourself up. Get some peas from the freezer for the swelling. I don’t want to explain to your mother why you’re going to have two black eyes tomorrow, so you’d better stay here until you heal up.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Commodore took a deep breath and released it slowly. “If you change your mind, I’ve got the sheriff on speed dial. He’ll have Asa Gable in cuffs before he makes it back to his aunt’s house.”

  “Not necessary, sir.”

  He shook his head. “Come on. I need a drink. Your mother’s wailing is driving me out of my goddamned mind.”

  I followed my grandfather into the cabin. Even though I was battered and bruised, body and pride, I still wasn’t giving up. I would find a way to get to Whitney.

  But I learned an important lesson tonight. Don’t trust anyone in the Gable family.

  35

  Lincoln

  Present day

  “Security just removed a reporter from the VIP floor,” McKinley says when I answer the phone.

  “What?”

  “You heard me. Whitney called it in. The woman was escorted off the premises.”

  I bolt from my chair and head for the door to my office. “Is she okay? Was she upset?”

  “I haven’t talked to her yet, brother dearest, only security. I imagine she wasn’t thrilled, and neither am I. I don’t know how the woman got through, but I’m going to find out.”

  “Fuck. I’m on my way over.”

  “Make sure you come in the back way; the front gates are a circus today. Before it was just press, but now there’s a mob of angry fans out there with signs about Whitney. Someone definitely leaked that she’s here.”

  “Shit. We’re going to have to call in more help. If angry fans are here now . . .”

  “They’ll be all over town before long. I’m worried they’ll try to vandalize Jackie Gable’s house, so I’m sending more people over there too.”

  “Good idea.”

  I hang up with my sister and use my private exit to leave the office. I don’t give a damn about the meetings and calls I’m going to miss this afternoon. They can be rescheduled. My only concern is Whitney—and the promise I broke.

  I told her she’d be safe. I promised her she wouldn’t have to worry because no one could get to her.

  The ten minutes it takes me to drive, get through security, and get up to her room is ten minutes too long.

  I knock on the door and wait, but there’s no answer. I knock again.

  “Blue, it’s me. I’m so sorry.”

  The bolt turns, and she opens the door. Her dark hair is wet, and she’s wrapped in a hotel robe.

  “Why didn’t
you call me?” I ask her as she steps away from the door so I can enter.

  “I handled it.”

  I want to shake her when she shrugs like it’s no big deal.

  “You shouldn’t have had to handle it. Someone got to you, after I promised you were safe here.”

  Whitney swings her hair over her shoulder, and droplets splatter my shirt. “I don’t think you get it. This isn’t something you can make go away. People will always hunt down a story, and right now, that’s me. You can’t promise me that no bad things are going to happen, Lincoln. That’s not how life works.”

  “How am I going to prove to you that you can trust me if I can’t even follow through on that?” I step toward her and wrap my hands around the terrycloth covering her upper arms.

  Whitney’s blue gaze meets mine. “I should probably take a page out of the Riscoff family playbook and not trust anyone. Blood included.”

  “Please don’t. You’re better than that. Better than us.”

  She laughs. “I can’t believe you said that with a straight face.”

  “It’s the truth. Don’t be like us. It’s a habit that’s fucking hard to break, and I’m working my ass off to prove to you that I have.”

  She’s quiet for a moment. “I don’t think I have a choice at this point. You know what my biggest worry is right now? Not that the press will get to me, but that my cousin is going to go to them.”

  It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who she’s talking about. Fucking Karma. I will never forget that she sold me out. I wouldn’t trust her as far as I could throw her.

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  Whitney shakes her head. “Pray, maybe. But wait, it gets even better. And by better . . . I mean worse.”

  “What?”

  “This reporter said Ricky had a mistress, and she dumped him at the same time I filed for divorce. She said that’s why he killed himself. She wants me to tell my side of the story and exonerate myself.”

  “A mistress?”

  She nods. “Apparently.”

  I search Whitney’s face, trying to decide how she feels about this, but all I see is resignation. “You never suspected?”

  “No. But I guess I should have. He fed me one pile of bullshit after another.”

  She looks up toward the ceiling, blinking back tears that make me wish Rango was alive so I could beat the hell out of him.

  Whitney shakes her head with a sniffle. “I shouldn’t even be surprised anymore. What kills me the most is that I’m trying so fucking hard to focus on the positive, but I know something worse is coming. I don’t know what, but I feel it. Karma hates me. She’s just waiting for her chance to do something awful, and I don’t know how much more I can handle. All I want is some goddamn peace in my life, and I can’t help feeling like that’s never going to happen, no matter how hard I try.”

  Her body shakes as tears trail down her face. I hate hearing her sound so defeated, especially after the sexy display of confidence she showed last night.

  I pull Whitney against me and wrap my arms around her. “You’re going to have your peace. I swear to Christ, you’ll have it, even if it’s the last thing I do.” I press my cheek to her hair.

  “Don’t say that. You can’t make that promise either.”

  Her statement proves that she doesn’t know me that well. “I can and I will. Starting with tomorrow night.”

  “What’s tomorrow night?”

  “You and me and Hunter and Cricket. We’re going to have that dinner. Away from everyone. No press. No pressure. Just . . . peace.” I tilt her chin up to meet my gaze. “Just say yes. I’ll take care of the rest.”

  She stares at my face as though she’s looking for answers, and I sure as hell hope she finds them. Because when I look into her eyes, I see everything I’ve ever wanted, and I’m not letting it slip away again.

  Not this time.

  Not ever again.

  I lean forward and brush my lips across hers. “Say yes, Blue.”

  Her mouth opens, and I take the opportunity to deepen the kiss, tasting and teasing her. She moans softly, pressing her lips harder against mine as she meets me stroke for stroke.

  When I pull back, her blue eyes are hazy with the same need that’s pumping through my blood.

  “Okay,” she whispers. “Dinner tomorrow.”

  36

  Lincoln

  I’m more anxious than ever to get back to The Gables now that I have a plan, but my meeting with Commodore and the lawyers, minus the one who has now been fired for leaking information, is going longer than I expected. A meeting where we’re talking about the easiest and quietest way to exhume my father’s body isn’t a conversation I ever expected to be having, but it’s happening anyway.

  “I think we should do it at night. No one will be the wiser.”

  Harrison rolls his eyes. “Like we’re grave robbers? That’s a respectful way to treat our father. Mother will never agree to it, anyway.”

  I don’t know why Harrison is here, but Commodore wouldn’t have invited him without a good reason. Keep your enemies close, I suppose. I hate that I have to view my own blood as a potential enemy, but Harrison doesn’t leave me an alternative. After he missed the deadline for the auction bid, it seems clear he’s deliberately sabotaging my efforts.

  Commodore assesses Harrison. “Your mother will do what she’s told to do.” He glances at the lawyer. “I don’t want to skulk around at night like we’ve got something to hide. It’s already out. The press can report whatever it wants, and as long as no one is sharing information from the inner circle, we shouldn’t have an issue.” He doesn’t look at Harrison when he says it, but we all know that’s who he’s talking to.

  “I vote we have security and a barricade. Keep the press as far away as possible in the event they find out, and we can use a tent to shield what happens from the entrance of the mausoleum to the vehicle,” Harrison says.

  Commodore nods. “That’s what we’ll do then. Harrison, you’re in charge of security and setup. Don’t fuck it up.”

  My brother sputters, but Commodore is already rolling out of the conference room with the lawyers behind him before he can respond.

  “Does he think I’m not capable of doing anything right?”

  I look at him. “How’d that bid go for our acquisition?”

  Harrison glares. “You think you’re so fucking perfect? That you never fuck anything up? You’re the one who turned this family into a joke ten years ago because of that Gable bitch, and now you’re so fucking wrapped up in her again that you don’t realize she’s playing you.”

  I rise and place both hands on the table. “I may not be able to fire you, but I can damn sure beat the shit out of you. You want to keep talking?”

  He goes silent, but the mutinous look never leaves his face. Harrison is up to something and I don’t know what it is, but I’m going to find out.

  But not right now. Right now, I have to finish arranging the most important date of my life, which is happening in a few hours.

  37

  Whitney

  Doubts about my sanity plague me as I stare at the clothes hanging in the closet of the suite.

  What was I thinking when I told him he could take me on a date? That’s right, I was riding that new wave of power and taking control of my life.

  Great plan, Whitney.

  I draw in a deep breath and exhale slowly.

  It doesn’t matter what I wear. I’m not going to make a big deal about this.

  Then again, worrying about what to wear helps me put the million other things I’ve been stressing about out of my head. Like the reporter’s number that Karma may have already used.

  Not thinking about that right now.

  Right now, I’m going to focus on the fact that I’m going on a normal double date. That’s it. That’s all.

  Except I used to be in love with the guy, and every sign points to the universe conspiring to keep us apart. I still have a hard t
ime believing that anything between us could possibly end well. Lincoln says it doesn’t have to end, though, and as much as I want to believe that, the events of the past make it difficult, even with my newfound positive attitude.

  His mother will never accept it.

  He’ll probably lose everything.

  Stop thinking about all the bad and focus on the good. I snap out the order to myself and grab my phone to call Cricket.

  “Hey, girl. I’m on a hike and I might lose you. Service is shit out here.”

  “What are you wearing tonight?” The question feels so normal and strangely good.

  “Are you seriously asking me what I’m wearing on the mystery date? Who are you, and what have you done with Whitney?”

  “It’s either worry about clothes or the fact that your sister is probably selling my story to the press at this very moment.”

  “Fucking whore. You see why I didn’t want her as my maid of honor? She’d probably try to nail Hunter in the closet and claim she was doing me a favor.”

  The sad part about this is that Cricket probably isn’t wrong. Great, a new worry to add to my list.

  “Clothes, Cricket. Let’s focus.”

  “I don’t know. A dress, maybe? You know if Lincoln’s picking the place, it’s going to be fancy as shit.”

  She’s probably right.

  “Can you make Hunter ask him where we’re going?”

  “What is this, middle school? Ask him yourself. He’s your boyfriend.”

  “Lincoln Riscoff is not my boyfriend.”

  “Oh, so this is middle school, because you’re denying the obvious. Have you not noticed that you’re staying in a fancy penthouse suite, and it’s all because of him? Oh, and then there’s the fact that he’s letting us get married at The Gables for free because of you.”

  Someone might have reached out of my closet and slapped me across the face for how shocked I am in that moment.

  “What?”