Guilty As Sin Read online

  Guilty As Sin

  Meghan March

  Contents

  Guilty as Sin

  Don’t Miss Out!

  Also by Meghan March

  About This Book

  1. Whitney

  2. Lincoln

  3. Whitney

  4. Whitney

  5. Lincoln

  6. Whitney

  7. Whitney

  8. Lincoln

  9. Whitney

  10. Whitney

  11. Lincoln

  12. Whitney

  13. Whitney

  14. Whitney

  15. Lincoln

  16. Lincoln

  17. Whitney

  18. Whitney

  19. Lincoln

  20. Whitney

  21. Lincoln

  22. Whitney

  23. Lincoln

  24. Whitney

  25. Lincoln

  26. Lincoln

  27. Whitney

  28. Lincoln

  29. Whitney

  30. Lincoln

  31. Whitney

  32. Whitney

  33. Lincoln

  34. Lincoln

  35. Lincoln

  36. Lincoln

  37. Whitney

  38. Lincoln

  39. Whitney

  40. Lincoln

  41. Whitney

  42. Lincoln

  43. Whitney

  44. Lincoln

  45. Whitney

  46. Lincoln

  47. Lincoln

  48. Whitney

  49. Lincoln

  50. Whitney

  51. Lincoln

  52. Whitney

  53. Whitney

  54. Lincoln

  55. Whitney

  Preview of Ruthless King

  Also by Meghan March

  About the Author

  Guilty as Sin

  Book Two of the Sin Trilogy

  Meghan March

  Copyright © 2018 by Meghan March LLC

  All rights reserved.

  Editor: Pam Berehulke

  Bulletproof Editing

  www.bulletproofediting.com

  Cover design: @ Letitia Hassar

  R.B.A. Designs

  www.rbadesigns.com

  Cover photo: @ Jovana Rikalo

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Visit my website at www.meghanmarch.com

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  Also by Meghan March

  Sin Trilogy:

  Richer Than Sin

  Guilty as Sin

  Reveling in Sin

  Mount Trilogy:

  Ruthless King

  Defiant Queen

  Sinful Empire

  Savage Trilogy:

  Savage Prince

  Iron Princess

  Rogue Royalty

  Beneath Series:

  Beneath This Mask

  Beneath This Ink

  Beneath These Chains

  Beneath These Scars

  Beneath These Lies

  Beneath These Shadows

  Beneath The Truth

  Dirty Billionaire Trilogy:

  Dirty Billionaire

  Dirty Pleasures

  Dirty Together

  Dirty Girl Duet:

  Dirty Girl

  Dirty Love

  Real Duet:

  Real Good Man

  Real Good Love

  Real Dirty Duet:

  Real Dirty

  Real Sexy

  Flash Bang Series:

  Flash Bang

  Hard Charger

  Standalones:

  Take Me Back

  Bad Judgment

  About This Book

  Guilty until proven innocent.

  That’s the way the world works, right?

  I’m tired of being convicted without evidence, all because my last name is Gable.

  The Riscoffs might own this town, but I’m done following their rules.

  If only I could forget just how easily Lincoln Riscoff can drag me under his spell.

  Guilty as Sin is the second book in the Sin Trilogy and should be read following Richer Than Sin.

  1

  Whitney

  Ten years ago

  I rode to the hospital with Aunt Jackie, shivering in my rain-soaked clothes as my stomach twisted into tighter and tighter knots. She wouldn’t tell me anything other than there had been an accident involving my parents and Lincoln’s father.

  I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Lincoln’s headlights shining behind us. As soon as Jackie had given us the news, part of me had wanted to run to him, to give and seek comfort, but what had happened earlier tonight had changed everything between us. Although, the closer we got to the hospital, the less some stupid fight and angry words seemed to matter.

  There’s nothing like a possible tragedy to force you to wake up and realize what matters. Life is precious. Tomorrow carries no guarantee.

  “What happened?” I felt like I’d asked the question a thousand times, but Jackie had only given me the bare minimum in details.

  My aunt glanced over at me for a second before training her eyes back on the road. The windshield wipers worked overtime on their highest setting, but she still had to squint to see through the downpour.

  “I don’t know. They wouldn’t tell me much over the phone.”

  The knot in my stomach yanked tighter again, and I wrapped my arms around my middle as I shivered. “Why did they call you and not me?”

  “I called you the entire way to your house, and it went straight to voice mail every time. They probably couldn’t get through to you either.”

  “Oh my God. My phone was off,” I whispered. “Because . . .”

  Jackie’s gaze cut to me again, but she didn’t say anything.

  Guilt savaged me. I turned my phone off, and my parents were . . .

  I shook harder. “I would know if something really, really bad happened, wouldn’t I? Shouldn’t I feel something? Know something? They have to be okay, don’t they?”

  “Keep it together, Whit. We’re almost there.” Jackie’s voice, normally so strong and confident, sounded as ragged as mine.

  I checked the sideview mirror again because it gave me something to do. Anything was better than dwelling on the horrible possibilities flipping through my brain.

  I forced myself to focus on the headlights behind us. Lincoln’s headlights. He’d come to my house, even after he’d thrown me out of the cabin, and I didn’t know why. I thought he’d said everything he needed to say.

  Not that any of it matters now. Because my parents and his father were in some kind of
accident. Together.

  Jackie guided the car into the parking lot of the Riscoff Memorial Hospital and took a spot about a hundred yards from the emergency entrance. Lincoln drove right up to the ER doors and jumped out. He stood beside his truck, staring in my direction.

  As soon as Jackie shifted into park, I bolted out of the car and ran. Rain drenched my clothes, but I didn’t care.

  I need to know.

  “Whit, wait!” Jackie yelled, but I didn’t listen.

  My brain buzzed with static and only one thought—find out what’s going on as quickly as possible.

  Lincoln met me as the automatic doors slid open. He reached out and grabbed my hand, interlacing his fingers with mine. “I don’t give a shit what happened earlier. I’m not letting you face this alone. I don’t give a damn what anyone says, including you.”

  All the anger I’d been harboring from our fight had already been obliterated by fear. My head bobbed a few times, but I couldn’t find any words to reply.

  He squeezed my hand, and I found a tiny measure of calm in the riot of emotions pummeling me.

  Together, we walked through the doors and into the emergency room lobby. Everything was so white and bright, at complete odds with the storm raging outside.

  As soon as the woman at the triage desk saw us, her face paled. “Mr. Riscoff, your family just arrived. They’re waiting for you in a private room, sir.” Her gaze shifted to me, but it was clear she had no idea who I was.

  “My parents were in the accident too. The Gables.”

  Lincoln squeezed my hand again as Jackie slid to a halt behind me, her shoes squeaking on the wet floor.

  The woman’s gaze cut from my face to Lincoln’s and back to mine. “Oh. Okay. Ah, if you would just have a seat—”

  “My brother and his wife, Clayton and Shelly Gable,” Jackie snapped at her. “Where are they? I got a call that they were here.”

  The woman nodded before reaching for her phone. “One moment, please. I’ll get someone to come help you right away.”

  “Lincoln Bates Rutherford Riscoff. How dare you come in here with her? She’s not allowed to set foot in this place! I want her gone!” Lincoln’s mother shrieked from a doorway near the entrance to the emergency area. His brother, Harrison, clung to her arm.

  “Mother, please calm down. You’re going to—”

  Mrs. Riscoff’s face crumpled and she burst into sobs, and Harrison pulled her against his side.

  Lincoln looked at me, torn. “I’m sorry, I have to—”

  “Go.” My voice shook as I released his hand, hating that I immediately missed his strength.

  Jackie slipped her arm around me.

  “I’m sorry,” he said again before he strode toward his family.

  The triage woman finally made her phone call. I tried to look at her instead of watching Lincoln, but of course, I failed.

  Lincoln’s mother reached out and wrapped a hand around his arm, like she was securing him and making sure he wouldn’t come back to me. She tugged on him as Harrison led her into a room beside the emergency sign, and the door closed behind them.

  “If you could please come with me. There’s a private room over here where—”

  “Where are my parents? What happened to them?” I blurted out the questions because I couldn’t wait another second without knowing something.

  “It’ll be a moment before the doctor can speak to you. Please come with me.” She led us to a doorway opposite the room where Lincoln and his family went.

  Jackie and I waited, huddled together on a teal vinyl couch for what felt like countless hours. Finally, someone opened the door. A man in a white coat appeared. A doctor, I assumed.

  “Where are my parents? Why won’t anyone tell me anything?” Whatever measure of calm I’d gained from Lincoln’s presence had dissipated, and now I needed answers before I lost my shit and started screaming like Mrs. Riscoff.

  “You’re the Gable family? I’m Dr. Frances.”

  “Please tell us something,” Jackie replied. “We’re both going out of our minds.”

  He nodded solemnly. “Mr. and Mrs. Gable were involved in a car accident earlier this evening. We don’t have all the details about the incident, but—”

  Static ramped up in my ears. I could see it on his face. I knew what he was going to say.

  “Oh my God.” My voice broke on a sob. “No. No.”

  His expression turned grim. “We did everything we could, but we were unable to resuscitate either of them. I am so very sorry for your losses.”

  Pain and disbelief tore through me as tears blinded me. They can’t be gone. It’s not possible. My lungs seized, and I couldn’t breathe.

  “No. No. No.”

  Jackie’s arms wrapped tighter around me as she rocked me from side to side.

  “This can’t be happening. This isn’t real. They’re not—”

  “I’m so sorry, Whit.” Jackie’s voice cracked. “So sorry.”

  “I’ll give you both some time, and when you’re ready, if you would like, I can take you back to say your good-byes.”

  Good-byes? No.

  Visions of their sheet-covered bodies invaded my brain, and I bolted for the trash can and dropped to my knees, dry heaving.

  “I can’t do this.”

  Jackie pulled my hair away from my face. “I’m so sorry, sweet girl. I’m so sorry.”

  I stayed on my knees, watching my tears drip onto the black plastic trash bag, and wondered if anything would ever be right in my world again.

  Then I thought of my brother. “Oh my God. We have to tell Asa.” My entire body trembled. “God, how do I tell him? What do I tell him?” My tears came harder and faster, and Jackie helped me to my feet.

  As soon as I was upright, another realization slapped me in the face. I don’t know what happened to Lincoln’s father.

  “Oh my God. I didn’t ask about Lincoln’s dad. I have to know if he’s—”

  I rushed toward the door and tried to yank it open, but Jackie slammed it shut.

  “You need to listen to me, Whitney. We’ve got our own mess of problems to deal with right now. You need to let the Riscoffs handle their own. I think it’d be best if you stay far away from that boy and his family. Nothing good can ever come of it.”

  2

  Lincoln

  I stared down at the white sheet that covered my father.

  No, not my father. My father’s body.

  My father was gone. He wasn’t under that sheet.

  I turned away to look at anything else. The wall. The silent machines. My mother’s hunched form as she cried on my brother’s shoulder. She’d pushed me away moments after I arrived and continued clinging to him.

  Somehow, I couldn’t stop myself from looking back at the sheet.

  How can my father be gone? I’d seen him today. Hours ago. He’d been laughing with one of the interns, clapping him on the back for something the kid had done, and I’d been struck with a sharp stab of envy.

  My father had never laughed and joked around with me when I was that age. I would have given anything to see that kind of approval on his face. Instead, I rarely saw his face at all. He was constantly traveling for business or working long hours.

  He didn’t teach me to play catch. My tutor did. He never saw me score a touchdown in boarding school because he could never fit my games into his schedule. He wasn’t around to tell me about girls and sex and using condoms. My friends did, and then Commodore hammered it home when I was older. My father . . . was conspicuously absent from the memories of most of the important moments in my life.

  I remembered the week before I’d found out I had to come back to Gable a couple of months ago. My father had flown out to New York City for a meeting, and we’d had dinner at one of my favorite places. He’d complimented my wine selection.

  And then immediately hit on the waitress.

  I pushed that memory away too, and stared at the sheet with silent regret until Commodore walked
into the room. I didn’t know where he’d been, but water dripped from his rain jacket.

  He looked at the sheet. Then at me. My mother. My brother. He crossed the room and sank into the chair beside my father’s covered body. I watched as he braced himself to lift the sheet. It was the first time I’d ever seen the old man’s hand tremble like that.

  As soon as he saw my father’s face, Commodore’s eyes snapped shut and he dropped the fabric.

  “How did this happen?” His voice was rough and quiet but grew stronger and more demanding. “How the hell did this happen?” The question echoed in the room and down the hall.