Guilty As Sin (Sin Trilogy#2)

Karma laughed from the kitchen doorway. “Didn’t you hear, cuz? Gable women love the Riscoff dick. Just ask your sister who she’s been sneaking around with.”

I wanted to punch Karma in the face. She’d been hovering nonstop since Aunt Jackie brought me back to their house from the hospital, like she wanted a front-row seat to my grief. How could anyone be so cruel?



“Karma, get out of here. Give them some space,” Aunt Jackie snapped, shooing her out of the room as Asa stared at me with disbelief.

“What is she talking about?”

I swallowed, not wanting to admit it, but I couldn’t lie to my big brother. I’d never been able to lie to him.

“Lincoln Riscoff and I . . . we . . .”

Shock crossed Asa’s face as he took a step back from me. “Fucking hell. This is my fault. I should’ve taken you with me and gotten you out of this town. You deserve better than this. What the fuck did I think was going to happen without anyone to watch out for you?” He shook his head, and I was stunned that he was blaming himself. “You’re not staying here, Whit. We’ll get through the funeral, then you’re leaving with me.”

Before I could respond, Ricky came up behind me, having entered the house through the front door so quietly I didn’t hear him.

He threw an arm over my shoulder. “Not necessary, man. She’s coming with me. I fucked up, and I know it. I’m going to take care of her from now on. I promise.”

I twisted out from under Ricky’s arm, suffocated by the weight of their combined smothering. Why can’t anyone let me decide what I want? Why is everyone always trying to control me?

I looked from my brother’s face to his best friend’s. They meant well, but it was too much. I just needed space so I could breathe.

“I can’t talk about this right now.” I took a step toward the kitchen, but Ricky caught my wrist and pulled me against his chest.

“I’ll take care of you, Whit. No one will ever be able to hurt you again, especially not those fucking Riscoff assholes.”

My brother watched us both. “Yeah, you fucked up, Ricky. And when you say no one will ever hurt her again, you better mean you too, jackass, or I’ll take you out back and shoot you myself.”

“I’m sorry, man. Shit got crazy for a little bit. It’s the rock-star way. But Whit and I, we’re a forever thing.”

I tugged my wrist from his grip and stepped away before he could pull me back. “I’m not having this conversation. Not here. Not now. And not ever, if I have my way.” Ricky and I hadn’t talked about what he’d done, and I’d been too shattered to bring it up until now.

“Baby, I hurt you and I’m sorry. I know what I have with you is worth so much more. Please, just give me a second chance.”

I felt like I was being pulled in too many different directions, and it was going to tear my soul to shreds before I found my way.

“Just stop. Both of you. Let me have some peace!” My tears flowed again, and this time Aunt Jackie rescued me.

“You boys back off. Asa, I need your help finalizing funeral arrangements. We didn’t want to make decisions without you here.”

I didn’t wait to hear any more. I ran upstairs to Cricket’s room, where I’d been staying.

My phone showed a missed call. Lincoln.

I stared at his name. What could he possibly have to say to me?

Nothing I wanted to hear.





7





WHITNEY





Present day

COMMODORE’S QUESTIONS become more pointed as Martin guides the Escalade up the mountain roads. I shouldn’t be surprised that the old man waited until we’re out in the middle of nowhere to really begin the inquisition.

“Did he ever say anything about his father?”

“Ricky never wanted to talk about his dad. Ever,” I say with complete honesty.

“Did he say if his parents were married?”

I shake my head, wishing Commodore would quit with the questions. “He didn’t talk about any of it.”

“Where is his mother now?”

At least that’s one question I can answer easily. “San Diego. She left Gable and moved down there after Ricky bought her a condo.”

“But why wait so long to push for a paternity test?” The old man seems lost in thought, and I have no idea how to answer his question. His attention snaps to my face. “How old was Rango when he died?”

“Thirty-seven.”

The old man’s tanned face loses a few shades of color. “Which means he was born before Roosevelt married Sylvia.” Commodore curses under his breath. “If my son married and divorced that woman without me knowing, her son could’ve been a legitimate Riscoff heir.”

My stomach twists as he says the words. Oh Jesus. This can’t be—

Commodore’s heavy hand wraps around my arm, his fingers gripping tightly.

“What?” I jerk my chin toward him.

“Are you pregnant?”



My head flies back at the unexpected question. “No.”

His gaze drills into me with enough intensity to frighten a hardened killer. “If you lie about this, I’ll make your life a living hell. Do you understand me?”

I keep my voice as even as possible. “I’m not pregnant. I’ll go pee on a stick right now and prove it if you really want.” I yank my arm out of his grip. “But don’t ever touch me again, old man.”

He gives me a curt nod and looks out the window on his side of the Escalade.

The wheels in my brain spin out of control. Commodore’s right. The only reason for Ricky’s mother to try to have him legally declared a Riscoff after he died would be to get a cut of their fortune for a child. Ricky’s child. Her grandchild.

But that child doesn’t exist. Does it?

Ricky was cheating on me . . .

This can’t be happening.

My mind races as question after question flies through my brain until one finally sticks.

Why would Renee Rango wait until after Ricky died to file a paternity suit?

The answer seems so blindly obvious, I’m shocked it didn’t occur to me sooner. Ricky was her golden ticket to Easy Street—and now he’s gone, and he left her nothing. She didn’t even have enough money to battle the bank when it went after his future royalties. Royalties for songs I wrote.

That fact burns now more than ever before.

“All because of the money . . .” I whisper the words to myself, but Commodore’s hearing is sharp, and his attention turns back to me.

“Why else would someone cause this big of a mess if they weren’t after money? It always comes back to money.”

“Not always,” I say. “Some people don’t give a shit about how much money your family has.”

The old man’s gaze narrows. “You may be the only person who could say that and I might actually believe you.”

“Believe whatever you want, but if Lincoln’s last name weren’t Riscoff and he didn’t come with a billion-dollar inheritance, things would’ve been a whole lot different ten years ago.”

“I haven’t settled my will quite yet, girl, so it’s a good thing you’re not attached to him for the money.”

“I’m not attached to him at all,” I say, my tone full of false confidence.

“I’d tell you you’re lying, but you already know that.”

I hate that Commodore calls me out so effectively, but even more, I hate that I’m this affected by Lincoln. I need to exorcise him from my soul. But if I couldn’t do it over the last ten years, how in the hell am I going to do it now?

“You don’t know shit, old man.”

“Watch your mouth, girl. That temper of yours will be your downfall. If you let someone make you angry, you give them control over you.”

“I don’t need your advice on how to live my life. I’m doing just fine on my own.”

He crosses his arms over his chest as the Escalade rumbles over a bridge, and one of his bushy white eyebrows disappears into his hairline. “You’re a terrible liar, Ms. Gable.” I turn away, but he keeps speaking. “You’d do well to learn that not everyone shares that quality. Be careful who you trust. Most people will never deserve it.”



“So that’s the Riscoff way? Don’t trust anyone?” I say the words to taunt him, but Commodore nods.