Richer Than Sin

by Meghan March

  “Whitney’s there? With him?” I reach out a hand to brace on the window. “That fucking shack isn’t even safe. If that thing falls off the side of the mountain with her in it—”

  “Boy, you heard what I said about her. She’s bad news. Although, if she accidentally killed your mother, I wouldn’t exactly hold it against her.”

  There has never been any love lost between my grandfather and my mother. She was his pick for my father’s wife due to her connections and family, but she apparently hid her true nature until after the wedding. Then everything changed. At least, that’s the story Commodore tells. I have a feeling it’s a lot more complicated than that. My father never hid the fact that he wasn’t happy in his marriage, but he did hide everything else. Or at least, he tried to.

  “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t say that about my mother, sir.”

  “I know what she is. Sylvia and I agree on one thing and one thing only—no Gables are the best Gables.”

  I ignore his comment. “Did you tell Harrison about the paternity claim and possible exhumation of the body? Because he knows.”

  The call silences for a few beats. “I told two people. You and my lawyer. I’ve been wondering if that boy has informants, and I think we just got our answer.”

  Fuck. Commodore’s lawyer is one of Harrison’s sources of information.

  “What are we going to do about it? Mother can’t find out. It actually might kill her.”

  “Even better reason to let it go public.”

  “Commodore.” My tone is harsh.

  “Fine. I don’t want this shit public any more than you do. I’ll have to come up with a response that puts them off a while longer, but it won’t make it go away. And now I have to fire my goddamned lawyer.”

  “Offer them a settlement.”

  “Never.” The old man’s tone is adamant.

  “Why?”

  “Because that’ll invite every other bastard of your father’s to come for a piece of the action. If you’d just get down to producing the next generation, we wouldn’t even have to worry about this problem.”

  “And if I don’t and the heir is real and older than me? You’re really going to consider handing this company over to someone who knows nothing about it?”

  “I’ll do what I think is right.”

  “What about protecting and preserving the legacy?”

  Commodore doesn’t reply to that, and instead changes the subject. “That Gable girl looks like she might be leaving. Not that I should be telling you. Hope she didn’t drink any of Magnus’s ’shine. She might not make it down the mountain alive.”

  Fuck.

  I hang up the phone, not waiting to hear another word out of his mouth.

  28

  Lincoln

  The past

  My mother walking in on Whitney and me was basically my worst nightmare, and yet I’d taken the risk all the same. It had been a calculated one, but I’d calculated wrong. Since then, Whitney had refused to see me. I’d tried calling over and over again. The only thing I could do was track her down, because from what I was told, she rarely went out in public anymore.

  Because of me. Because I’m a fucking asshole. I had to make this right. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I didn’t.

  Which meant going to her house. Whitney hadn’t left me any other options, and I was done waiting. I wasn’t going to let this be the end.

  Who cared if my mother didn’t approve? When had I ever let that impact my life choices? I was my own man. I was a fucking Riscoff. We didn’t follow orders; we gave them.

  I climbed into my truck and turned in the direction of the bridge nearest Whitney’s parents’ house instead of the one that led into town.

  When I hit the railroad tracks, I took a left and followed the streets to the little house that Whitney’s dad bought after they were evicted from their family farm by the sheriff. The farm that Commodore bought at auction, and the house and barn burned down the next day. I doubted we’d ever find out the truth of what happened on that subject.

  When I turned in to the driveway, I had no idea whether she was home. Whitney didn’t have a car. She borrowed her mom’s on occasion, and sometimes her aunt’s. Most of the time, she walked or rode her bike.

  The one time I mentioned getting her a car, I almost blew my chance to see her ever again. Another thing I miscalculated badly. Pride was one thing my girl had in spades.

  Although, based on her behavior, she no longer wanted to be my girl.

  Which meant today might end with us being over, once and for all.

  Just letting that thought enter my head was like a punch to the gut. It almost doubled me over. But if she doesn’t feel the way I do about her . . . Was there a point to any of this?

  I parked, and the front door flew open as soon as I was out of the truck. Whitney’s father stepped out onto the crumbling concrete stoop. “You turn around and go right back the way you came, Riscoff. Your kind ain’t welcome here.”

  “Mr. Gable—”

  He pulled a shotgun out from behind the door. “Don’t make me shoot you, boy. Because I got no problem getting rid of a body. Especially a Riscoff’s.”

  I slid back into my truck slowly, wanting to say something else. Maybe ask him to tell Whitney I came. Ask him where she was. But there was no way he’d tell me anyway. He’d just as soon kill me.

  I gave him a nod and put the truck in reverse. I checked the rearview mirror before I pulled out into the road, and slammed on the brakes.

  Whitney stood in the street behind my truck wearing a tank top, cutoffs, and sneakers. Her black hair blew in the wind, and her blue eyes were filled with tears.

  The tears slayed me. I slammed the truck into park and ripped open the door. “Blue. Please.”

  “You get your ass inside, girl.” Her father cocked the shotgun.

  Whitney squeezed her eyes shut, and a tear streaked down her cheek.

  “Just come with me. Please.”

  Her expression, so torn, it shred me to pieces.

  “We can fix this. I promise.”

  Whitney’s lips pressed together.

  “Get your ass inside, girl. Don’t make me tell you again.”

  Whitney whipped her head toward her dad as he stomped toward us, shotgun in hand. He was only thirty feet away and closing. I had no idea what he’d do to her when I left.

  That thought and the potential answers made my decision for me.

  “I’m not leaving you here with him. No way in hell.” I held out my hand. “All you have to do is put your hand in mine.”

  “Don’t you fucking dare, girl. I will beat you—”

  “Not on my watch.” I stepped between Mr. Gable and Whitney. “You’ll have to shoot me first.”

  He lifted the shotgun. “That can be arranged.”

  Whitney’s fingers slid against mine. “Hurry.”

  I grabbed her hand and we jumped in the truck before he started shooting.

  29

  Whitney

  Present day

  All I want to do is pretend like this day never happened. Rewind. Undo.

  But that’s not how life works. If I could do that, I’d be living like Groundhog Day, because my life has been one big mess of bad decisions. And most of them can be traced right back to Lincoln Riscoff.

  Why is it that we can’t stay away from each other when we know it always ends badly? And this time I didn’t even have to be near him to unleash chaos.

  Regardless of how horrible his mother is, I hope she’s okay. I hope her “episode” was a ploy to manipulate Lincoln, and that I didn’t actually cause her to have a heart attack.

  I park Jackie’s car in the driveway and walk around the house to the gate in the backyard. I can’t stomach the thought of dealing with Karma right now. I’ve got enough on my mind with Magnus’s cryptic words in my head. He thinks I should stay. I don’t know how to do anything but run. Where else could I go? Where else would I want to go? My
list is filled with a whole lot of blank spaces.

  Maybe Magnus is right, and it’s time I start making decisions based on what I want rather than what I feel like I’m forced to choose.

  I slip inside the backyard gate and walk toward the shed.

  “Look what the cat dragged in,” Karma drawls with a tone as catty as her comment.

  I whip around to see her reclining on a folding lawn chair while her girls play on the swings. “Save it. Please.”

  “You haven’t even been back a week, and you’re already the talk of the town—again. That’s impressive, even for you.”

  I look away as she sits up.

  “What? Upset you didn’t kill the old bat this time?”

  “How do you even know that already?” The question bursts from my lips.

  “Texts from one of my friends who works at the hospital. Small town. News travels fast.”

  “Isn’t that a legal violation or something?”

  Karma rolls her eyes. “Really? That’s what you were counting on to stop the gossip? You should’ve just gone somewhere else. Why the hell did you have to come back here?”

  “You know, I’ve never been able to figure out why you hate me so much.”

  She crosses her arms over her chest. “Does it matter?”

  I reply with a shake of my head. “I guess not. Just . . . leave me alone. Please.”

  “Then take your freeloading ass somewhere else. If you get Mom fired over this, then we’re screwed—and it’ll be all your fault. Just like when you got her fired from all her cleaning jobs. Why do you think she doesn’t work for herself anymore, Whitney? You think she wanted to work for the Riscoffs? No. She did that because she almost lost the house, and it was her last resort.”

  Guilt floods my system like poison, crippling me. “I . . . I . . .”

  “And then you just ran off and lived it up as a rock star’s wife.” Karma’s tone slices viciously. “Didn’t give a single damn about what you left behind. Didn’t send a single fucking penny back either. Great family loyalty there, cuz.”

  The bitterness that drips off her tongue is more than I can handle.

  “I’ll leave then. You’ll never fucking see me again. I’ll be gone by tomorrow.”

  “And break Cricket’s heart? As if we could get so lucky.” Karma pushes off the lounger and waves at her kids. “Come on, girls. Time to go inside.”

  30

  Lincoln

  “Thanks, man. I owe you,” I tell Hunter, thankful he answered the phone as quickly as he did. As soon as I made sure my mother was situated at the estate, I knew it was time to find Whitney.

  “You sure as hell will owe me if she goes running off again and my bride-to-be loses her maid of honor.”

  “I won’t let that happen.”

  “The way things have gone between you and Whitney, you need to treat this situation like a case of dynamite. Fucking delicately. The girl has been through hell. According to Cricket, all Whitney wanted to do was get out of LA and find a place to live a quiet life. Out of the public eye. Her life turned real bad after Rango died, and from the sound of it, wasn’t much better when he was alive.”

  “What did he do to her? What did Cricket tell you?”

  I never read or listened to anything that had to do with Ricky Rango, but maybe I should have.

  “Cricket doesn’t share much, but Rango’s last message to his fans was that his wife betrayed him and was trying to destroy his career. He said she broke him creatively, and he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to write music again. Then he OD’d, and everyone said she pushed him to it. They turned on her. Went completely rabid.”

  I remember her black eye, and it makes sense now. “Jesus Christ. What a dumb fuck.” It lines up with everything I thought about Ricky Rango before. “Selfish little prick.”

  “You can say that again. And it sounds like she doesn’t know anything different. Might want to take that into consideration when you see her.”

  “Hunt, are you trying to give me relationship advice?”

  He coughs. “At this point, I think it’s just advice, because you two don’t have a relationship.”

  “Yet. I’m working on it. I’m not going to let her run. Not when everyone she needs is right here in Gable.”

  “Then maybe you should show her what it’s like when someone actually gives a damn about her and what she wants. I hear the ladies like that.”

  I think about how Hunter and Cricket, the perfect example of opposites attract, ended up together. “I can tell you want to say something else, so you might as well just spit it out, Hunt.”

  “This is the one time in your life when being Lincoln Riscoff might actually hurt your chances of getting what you want.”

  “You think I don’t know that? She made that clear ten years ago.”

  “I think you need to consider how the hell to turn it to your advantage. Show her what it’s like to matter to someone. Show her you can put her first the way Rango never did. She must’ve seen something in you before. You’re not that big of a prick that it’s completely gone by now. Show her that again.”

  I remember that night in the bar, and how shocked Whitney was to have someone stand up for her. To fight for her.

  Hunter’s right. This has to be about her. It’s not about me and my fucked-up family.

  “Thanks, man.”

  “Good luck.”

  I hang up with Hunter and drive toward Whitney’s aunt’s house, relieved that I won’t have to knock on the front door. Thanks to Hunter, I now know she’s living in a shed out back.

  She deserves a palace. Not a shed.

  Hunter had more than one valid point, but the most important one was that Whitney Gable hasn’t been treated right by any man in her life. Including me. It’s time to change that. And this time, I’m not going to fuck it up.

  I’m older. Arguably wiser. I finally understand the value of a good woman in a way I didn’t before. Even more, I realize that I was right to think Whitney was special then. She’s unlike any woman before or since.

  I park my Range Rover in the alley behind the house and spot the peaked roof of the shed in the back corner.

  Hoping Hunter was right, I open the gate and close it behind me. There’s only one window in the back of the shed, and it’s frosted.

  Or steamed up?

  The sound of water running comes through the thin walls of the shed, and I see movement inside. I’m not about to spy on Whitney if she’s in the shower, but then something presses against the glass. A palm. It squeezes into a fist, and another one joins it.

  The only thing I can picture is Whitney’s head hanging, her hair dripping wet as she sobs in the shower, and the vision guts me just like her tears did ten years ago.

  Except last time, she cried in my arms.

  31

  Lincoln

  The past

  “I almost killed your mom.” Whitney’s voice broke as I tucked her head under my chin. We were holed up in my truck out in the woods, far from where anyone would ever find us.

  “You didn’t. It was my fault. I shouldn’t have pushed it.”

  “But I went along with it.”

  I wiped away the tears that spilled over her lids. “Please, Blue. Stop crying. I can’t stand it.”

  “I can’t help it. I have to get out of here. This town. It’s . . . I can’t stay.”

  Even though I didn’t say it, we both knew I couldn’t go. Not if I wanted to take my place at the head of the Riscoff empire. Gable was where we’d been based for over 170 years, and this was where my family would always reign.

  “We’ll figure something out.”

  She shook her head. “There’s nothing to figure out. This is impossible. We tried. We failed.”

  I held her tighter because I refused to let her go. I refused to quit.

  “Do you love me?” I wasn’t going to ask the question. I didn’t want to hear the answer if it was no, but I’d run out of time. I had to k
now.

  Whitney turned her face toward the window instead of toward me. My heart clenched in my chest, like it was preparing to be shredded.

  “Look at me, Blue. Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t love me.”

  With tears streaming down her face, she lifted her gaze to mine.

  Fuck. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe . . .

  Finally, she spoke, her voice hoarse from crying. “I shouldn’t love you. It would be so much easier if I didn’t.”

  I pulled her tighter against me and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

  “Thank God,” I whispered. “Because I fucking love you more than I knew was possible. We’ll figure this out. We can make it work.”

  Even as I said the words, with this beautiful girl in my arms, I wondered if I was lying about that last part.

  32

  Whitney

  Present day

  Someone knocks on the door of the cabin, and I snuffle back my tears in the shower.

  Fucking Karma. She just can’t leave me be.

  “I already know you want me to leave! I get it. You don’t have to tell me again!”

  The door opens, and I curse the fact that it doesn’t have a lock. I shut the water off and grab for my towel . . . which I left on the futon. I poke my head around the shower curtain, expecting to see my cousin’s gloating face. But I’m absolutely and completely wrong.

  “That’s not what I want. Not at all.”

  Lincoln.

  The shock of seeing him standing there sends a jolt through my system. I stumble backward and my feet slide out from under me. I grab the shower curtain, and it tears off the clips as I fall. Before I hit the floor, strong arms wrap around my body.