Reveling in Sin Read online

  “What the fuck are you doing, Harrison?”

  My brother’s smile turns evil. “Getting what I deserve. I’ve waited long enough, and I’m done. If there’s one thing I learned from you and the old man, it’s that you have to go after what you want. You can’t sit around and wait for it to come to you.”

  “Call 911, right the fuck now. Commodore needs paramedics.”

  Harrison laughs. “Nah, he’s not dying. Not until he signs his brand-new will that leaves everything to the oldest surviving descendant.” Harrison’s gaze turns bright and shiny. “Which will be me, as soon as you’re out of the way. Sorry, brother, but this was never going to end well for you.”

  “Are you fucking insane? What the hell is wrong with you?” I snap out the questions, and I’m dead serious. There’s nothing about Harrison’s actions that include even a hint of sanity.

  “No, Lincoln. I’m fucking fed up. Some people come and shoot up their old office—well, I’m doing it a little different. I’m going to burn it all down and walk the fuck away from here with all the insurance money.”

  His comment catches me off guard. “You started the fire? On purpose?”

  Harrison’s proud smile makes me sick. “Ten out of ten for creative tactics, am I right? I inherit everything, and that everything isn’t a bunch of fucking trees in the ground in this shit-hole town. No, instead I get cash, and I can walk away and start over far away from anyone who has ever heard the name Riscoff.”

  I’m still trying to find words to respond when someone else speaks from beside me.

  “Not so fast, boy.”

  A shot rings out, and Harrison screams as he drops to his knees. “My hand!”

  Commodore’s head lolls to the side as what’s left of Harrison’s mangled hand spills blood onto the carpet. His pistol lies a foot away from him, his fingers still attached.

  “I’ll kill you, old man!”

  Harrison dives for his gun with his left hand, but I’m across the room quicker than he can move as he bleeds. I kick the gun away before he can reach it, and it slides across the carpet and spins on the wood floor. As soon as my fingers grasp the blood-slick metal, I whip around to face him.

  Before I have to make the choice of whether to shoot my brother, Magnus Gable walks into the room, his rifle raised and sighted in on Harrison’s head.

  “Now, what the fuck is going on here?”

  45

  Whitney

  When the gunshot rang out, Magnus was out of the chopper with impressive speed. I followed on his heels into the house, terror charging through my system.

  There was no way in hell I was going to get Lincoln back, and have his ring on my finger, just to lose him now.

  No. Fucking. Way.

  When we cleared the threshold and I heard Harrison’s yelling, the knot in my stomach twisted into something unrecognizable. I remembered how he destroyed everything he could touch on the way out. I remembered what a spoiled, entitled brat he was.

  And I knew he’d come back for revenge.

  Magnus acted before I could even begin to comprehend what I was seeing play out in front of me. Now he’s standing over Harrison, the rifle barrel inches from his head, while Lincoln holds a pistol dripping with blood. Commodore’s head hangs forward in his power chair, which is pushed in front of a table.

  “You little pussy prick,” Magnus says as he looms over Harrison. “You shot Goose! He was a good goddamn dog. What the hell is wrong with you, you sick fuck?”

  “He also started the fire,” Lincoln says.

  “What? Why?” I ask.

  “I’ll explain later. Call 911. They both need an ambulance.”

  “The chopper will be quicker,” Magnus says. “But I’d let that brother of yours burn in the fire of his own making. I call that poetic justice.”

  “You fucking—”

  “I will end you, boy. Don’t say another goddamn word.” Magnus pushes the barrel against Harrison’s forehead to shut him up. “I’ll make a hell of a mess at this range.”

  “Don’t kill the boy. Even if he isn’t my grandson . . . I don’t need that on my conscience.” Commodore’s words are slurred and slow, but clear enough for us all to understand.

  “What?” Lincoln snaps out the question, the gun in his hand wavering.

  “He’s not your father’s son.”

  “You fucking knew! She told me you didn’t!” Harrison ignores Magnus’s order. He holds his arm against his chest, blood pouring from what’s left of his hand. The color is already draining from his face, and I might not know shit about shit, but I’m guessing he’s going to bleed out if we don’t get him help, and fast.

  “Everyone to the chopper. The police can meet us at the hospital,” Lincoln says.

  Magnus lowers his rifle. “Piece of shit. Doesn’t surprise me you’re not a Riscoff. At least they’ve got balls.” He reaches for the handles on the back of Commodore’s power chair. “Let’s get the hell out of here before you’re even more useless than you are already in this damn chair.”

  With blood trickling down his forehead, Commodore half laughs, half groans. “You’re lucky you didn’t hit me with that shot, with how your hand shakes. Could’ve killed me.”

  “Then who would I hassle on a daily basis? Pissing you off is the only thing keeping me alive at this point.”

  46

  Lincoln

  When I dropped to my knees to lift Goose’s body and carry him out of the house, Commodore ordered me to leave him. His exact words were, “If the house burns, it’s a fitting funeral pyre for a damn good dog.”

  For the first time in years, a tear trickled down my grandfather’s face as Magnus wheeled him away.

  Harrison kept up his tirade until he lost consciousness, and the entire chopper flight was a blur of smoke and ash and disbelief.

  When we land at the hospital, cops and an emergency crew meet us on the front lawn. Commodore and Harrison are both wheeled inside on stretchers, with the cops beside Harrison’s, per my orders.

  A lone photographer snaps pictures as we make our way into the hospital. Thunder booms overhead, and the sky is black from ash and smoke.

  Whitney tilts her face skyward. “Please, let it rain.”

  I echo her plea silently, because the last thing we need is for the fire to make it all the way into town.

  The fire my brother set.

  My brother who isn’t my full brother. Yet another family secret that’s been kept from me my whole life.

  One more secret that doesn’t matter right now.

  As soon as we make it into the ER waiting room, the sheriff stops me. “You want to explain to me what the hell is going on, and why we’ve got a man on your brother like he’s some kind of criminal?”

  “Not here.” I glance around at the curious faces of the people in the waiting room. “Somewhere private. But yes, keep a man on him.”

  Whitney looks toward the elevator, and I know what she’s thinking. She needs to check on Jackie and Cricket and get an update on Karma’s surgery.

  I squeeze her hand. “Go on up. I’ll be here.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “We divide and conquer.”

  She wraps her arms around me and hugs me hard. “I’m so sorry about your brother. I—”

  “I know. We’ll handle it just like we handle everything else. As a team.” I kiss her forehead. “Now go. Your aunt and cousin need you.”

  “You’re my rock. Thank you for holding me together through all of this.”

  “That’s what I’m here for. I love you.”

  As soon as I release my hold on her and Whitney walks away, I feel the loss of her. She’s my rock as much as I am hers. She may not realize it, but she holds me together as effectively as I do her.

  This is what it’s supposed to be like, I think as she walks away. It’s not simply the crazy chemistry of our forbidden affair ten years ago. It’s something better. Something deeper. Something real enough to sustain a lifet
ime of hardships and allow us both to come out the other side whole, because we truly are stronger together than we are apart.

  And nothing will stop me from marrying her. Not even my brother, who planned to kill me.

  Bile rises in my throat, but I tap into my remaining reserves of strength and walk through the ER doors to find my brother and my grandfather and figure out what the fuck we’re going to do now.

  I still can’t believe he did all of this . . . just for money

  If I hadn’t experienced it myself, I wouldn’t believe it. And even now, I still don’t know how to comprehend it.

  I find Commodore in a private treatment room being fussed over by doctors, with Magnus Gable sitting in the corner. I always wondered if their constant fighting was really part of a friendship they didn’t want to admit to having, even to themselves. From the way Magnus watches him, concern lining his weathered face, I think it’s a safe conclusion to draw.

  “Sir, do you have a preference on surgeons? We’ll need to make sure there’s no—”

  “Is surgery going to make me walk again?” Commodore asks, cutting the doctor off.

  Even pale from blood loss caused by the gunshot to his leg and being hit in the head, my grandfather still appears as strong as ever. This is the second time he’s been shot in a week, and to look at the stubborn set of his chin, you wouldn’t realize it.

  They don’t make men like my grandfather anymore. Men who can take hit after hit and laugh in the face of whoever thinks it’s possible to destroy them. Not even losing the ability to walk after having his legs crushed in a logging accident fazed him. He may be ruthless, but he loves his family fiercely and is the most ferociously loyal person I’ve ever met. The only time I’ve seen him come close to breaking was when my grandmother died. I remember what he said that day as clearly as if it were yesterday.

  “They don’t make women like her anymore.”

  He was wrong. They do. Whitney Gable is a woman just like that, and I will cherish her every day that we have together. My grandfather may not be a saint, but I could do worse than to follow his example in many ways.

  One of the doctors sputters a response to Commodore’s question. “Well, no. Sir, you know that we tried everything we could to make that happen, but—”

  Commodore waves him off. “Then there’s no reason I need to have surgery if it’s not going to work any miracles.”

  “We would still suggest, in the interest of ruling out any possible complications from the gunshot wound—”

  “No. You said the bullet went through. My knee is already busted. No point in wasting time or resources if it’s not gonna fix the damn thing.”

  I cross the room to stand at my grandfather’s bedside. “If you’ll excuse us, we’ll discuss this. I’m sure you have plenty of other patients to see, as long as my grandfather is stable for now.”

  The three doctors look at me, and I read relief on all their faces. One speaks up, taking the role of team leader.

  “Yes, sir. But surgery would still be his best option to rule out any possible complications. Gunshot wounds in that area can be very difficult. Although, he’s right . . . surgery isn’t going to enhance his mobility at all.”

  “Thank you for the information. We’ll discuss it and get back to you shortly.”

  They nod and leave the room. As soon as the door closes behind them, I sit in the chair next to my grandfather’s bedside.

  “What the fuck happened?”

  “That’s what I want to know,” Magnus says from the corner.

  Commodore’s gaze, a little glassy from the painkillers he’s no doubt been given, meets mine. “I always knew that entitled little prick would finally snap. Now the whole goddamn town’s at risk because he threw a temper tantrum. I gotta buy Magnus a bottle of his favorite Scotch to thank him for stopping the little asshole from shooting me.”

  “Damn right, you do. I’ll take some Glenlivet. The fifty-year-old single malt.”

  Commodore grunts out a laugh. “You’ll get your Scotch, old man. As soon as I’m not doped up on whatever the hell they gave me. Now, give us some goddamn privacy so I can talk to my grandson.”

  Magnus harrumphs from the corner. “I’m gonna find out all of it anyway, but I’ll go find you some tar they pass off as coffee in this place.”

  “Black. None of that Equal shit you like to put in yours.”

  “Like I don’t know how you take your coffee, Riscoff. You want anything, kid?” Magnus asks me.

  I shake my head, not only to say no, because it’s clear these two have been friends for longer than I could have guessed. “Thank you, Magnus.”

  As the most senior Gable walks out of the treatment room, I look at my grandfather. There are a hundred questions I want to ask him right now, but I start with the one that’s confusing me the most.

  “What did you mean when you said Harrison wasn’t a Riscoff?”

  Commodore’s lips press together. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I should’ve let it die with your mother.” His dark gaze turns sharp. “But blood always tells.”

  “You’re saying my mother had an affair . . . and Harrison was the product of that affair?”

  Lead settles in my gut when he nods. My brain spins with the confirmation, and I can’t help but think of how often I thought she showed her favoritism with my brother. How she protected him when my father would turn the nasty side of his temper on Harrison.

  Wait . . . “Did my father know?”

  A vivid memory comes back, when I was ten and Harrison was still using training wheels on his bike. My father ridiculed him for it and said that a Riscoff would be able to ride a bike without them already.

  He had to have known.

  Commodore shrugged. “I think he assumed, but there wasn’t much he could say. He was off fucking around with God only knows who for most of his marriage to Sylvia.”

  Except his marriage to my mother wasn’t valid because he was already married to Renee Rango, and the lawyer never filed the damn divorce papers.

  Our family history will never be anything but muddy, but I keep slogging through it. “Who is Harrison’s father then?”

  My grandfather lays his head back against the white pillow. At least his color seems to be coming back. “Does it really matter?”

  “I think we’ve all kept enough secrets to last a lifetime at this point.”

  “Some lawyer that worked for the company for a while. He came out to the house a few times and caught your mother’s eye. He got fired shortly after for screwing something up, and went back to the city to find another job.”

  It’s almost impossible to imagine my mother having an affair, but like I just said to Commodore, we’ve all kept enough secrets to last a lifetime. At this point, there isn’t much that would surprise me.

  “How did you find out?”

  His gaze narrows. “I know everything, boy. People might pretend they’re good at keeping secrets, but something always slips. You just have to know the signs.”

  I glance toward the door that Whitney’s great-uncle walked out. “I saw the signs about you and Magnus Gable being friends, but the fact that you were bleeding because he shot at you threw me off.”

  Commodore grins. “It was all in good fun. Just another upside of moving out of the estate. Not getting poisoned, and I needed some entertainment in my life. Gable makes damn good coffee too.”

  Against all odds, my shoulders shake with laughter. “I’m glad you found something to keep you entertained.”

  “If our places get burned down, he and I are both rebuilding. We’re too old to start over anywhere else.”

  “I’ll make you a deal, Commodore. If you let the doctors take care of you, I’ll make sure there’s a path built for your chair between the two cabins.”

  “Maybe.”

  I decide to count that as a victory, and move on to the more important question of the day.

  “What the hell are we going to do about Harrison?”


  47

  Whitney

  I find my aunt, my brother, Cricket, and Hunter all upstairs in a private surgical waiting room. I’m not even sure how the hell I’m going to explain what happened, but when I walk in and see Jackie in a seat beside Asa, her arms wrapped around herself and Cricket’s head lying on her shoulder, I know they don’t care about Harrison Riscoff right now.

  “How is Karma doing? Did you get an update?”

  Jackie looks up and tears pool in her blue eyes. “They found more than they thought when they opened her up. They’re trying to get everything they can, but—” She breaks off into a sob.

  Cricket meets my gaze. “They have to do a full hysterectomy. Karma won’t be able to have any more kids.” Hunter reaches out to take her hand and squeeze.

  “But . . . but she’s going to make it? They’re going to be able to get all the cancer?”

  Tears roll down Jackie’s face. “They don’t know. It spread. She should’ve gone to the goddamn doctor instead of waiting. She could’ve gotten help sooner, and it wouldn’t have gotten so bad. Instead, it’s just been spreading.”

  That doesn’t sound good on any level.

  “But she’s going to be fine, right?” I ask again because I need to understand exactly what we’re dealing with here.

  “They’re trying.” Asa stands and comes toward me to wrap an arm around my shoulders. “They’re doing their best.”

  “When will we know?”

  “Soon. We hope,” Jackie says, and I walk over to give her a hug. My aunt’s strong and capable frame feels frailer than I’ve ever felt, and I hate that all of this is taking a massive toll on her.

  When Jackie retakes her seat, Asa pulls me away from them, his gaze locked on the blood on my shirt. “What the hell happened out there?”

  His tone screams protective older brother, and his stance says he’s ready to go to battle. I can only imagine how pissed he was when he found out we left in the chopper to stage a rescue effort without him. With his military training, I’m sure he would have appointed himself team leader of the operation.