Contents ( 300)
- The Sin Trilogy
- Meghan March
- Contents
- Note From The Author
- Richer Than Sin
- About Richer Than Sin
- Prologue
- Lincoln
- One
- Lincoln
- Two
- Lincoln
- Three
- Whitney
- Four
- Whitney
- Five
- Lincoln
- Six
- Whitney
- Seven
- Whitney
- Eight
- Lincoln
- Nine
- Whitney
- Ten
- Whitney
- Eleven
- Lincoln
- Twelve
- Whitney
- Thirteen
- Lincoln
- Fourteen
- Lincoln
- Fifteen
- Whitney
- Sixteen
- Whitney
- Seventeen
- Whitney
- Eighteen
- Whitney
- Nineteen
- Lincoln
- Twenty
- Whitney
- Twenty-One
- Whitney
- Twenty-Two
- Whitney
- Twenty-Three
- Lincoln
- Twenty-Four
- Whitney
- Twenty-Five
- Lincoln
- Twenty-Six
- Whitney
- Twenty-Seven
- Lincoln
- Twenty-Eight
- Lincoln
- Twenty-Nine
- Whitney
- Thirty
- Lincoln
- Thirty-One
- Lincoln
- Thirty-Two
- Whitney
- Thirty-Three
- Lincoln
- Thirty-Four
- Whitney
- Thirty-Five
- Whitney
- Thirty-Six
- Whitney
- Thirty-Seven
- Lincoln
- Thirty-Eight
- Lincoln
- Thirty-Nine
- Whitney
- Forty
- Whitney
- Forty-One
- Lincoln
- Forty-Two
- Whitney
- Forty-Three
- Whitney
- Forty-Four
- Whitney
- Forty-Five
- Lincoln
- Forty-Six
- Whitney
- Forty-Seven
- Lincoln
- Forty-Eight
- Whitney
- Forty-Nine
- Lincoln
- Fifty
- Whitney
- Fifty-One
- Lincoln
- Fifty-Two
- Whitney
- Fifty-Three
- Whitney
- Fifty-Four
- Lincoln
- Guilty As Sin
- About Guilty As Sin
- One
- Whitney
- Two
- Lincoln
- Three
- Whitney
- Four
- Whitney
- Five
- Lincoln
- Six
- Whitney
- Seven
- Whitney
- Eight
- Lincoln
- Nine
- Whitney
- Ten
- Whitney
- Eleven
- Lincoln
- Twelve
- Whitney
- Thirteen
- Whitney
- Fourteen
- Whitney
- Fifteen
- Lincoln
- Sixteen
- Lincoln
- Seventeen
- Whitney
- Eighteen
- Whitney
- Nineteen
- Lincoln
- Twenty
- Whitney
- Twenty-One
- Lincoln
- Twenty-Two
- Whitney
- Twenty-Three
- Lincoln
- Twenty-Four
- Whitney
- Twenty-Five
- Lincoln
- Twenty-Six
- Lincoln
- Twenty-Seven
- Whitney
- Twenty-Eight
- Lincoln
- Twenty-Nine
- Whitney
- Thirty
- Lincoln
- Thirty-One
- Whitney
- Thirty-Two
- Whitney
- Thirty-Three
- Lincoln
- Thirty-Four
- Lincoln
- Thirty-Five
- Lincoln
- Thirty-Six
- Lincoln
- Thirty-Seven
- Whitney
- Thirty-Eight
- Lincoln
- Thirty-Nine
- Whitney
- Forty
- Lincoln
- Forty-One
- Whitney
- Forty-Two
- Lincoln
- Forty-Three
- Whitney
- Forty-Four
- Lincoln
- Forty-Five
- Whitney
- Forty-Six
- Lincoln
- Forty-Seven
- Lincoln
- Forty-Eight
- Whitney
- Forty-Nine
- Lincoln
- Fifty
- Whitney
- Fifty-One
- Lincoln
- Fifty-Two
- Whitney
- Fifty-Three
- Whitney
- Fifty-Four
- Lincoln
- Fifty-Five
- Whitney
- Reveling In Sin
- About Reveling in Sin
- One
- Whitney
- Two
- Whitney
- Three
- Lincoln
- Four
- Whitney
- Five
- Lincoln
- Six
- Whitney
- Seven
- Lincoln
- Eight
- Whitney
- Nine
- Lincoln
- Ten
- Whitney
- Eleven
- Lincoln
- Twelve
- Whitney
- Thirteen
- Lincoln
- Fourteen
- Whitney
- Fifteen
- Lincoln
- Sixteen
- Whitney
- Seventeen
- Lincoln
- Eighteen
- Whitney
- Nineteen
- Lincoln
- Twenty
- Whitney
- Twenty-One
- Lincoln
- Twenty-Two
- Whitney
- Twenty-Three
- Lincoln
- Twenty-Four
- Whitney
- Twenty-Five
- Lincoln
- Twenty-Six
- Whitney
- Twenty-Seven
- Lincoln
- Twenty-Eight
- Whitney
- Twenty-Nine
- Whitney
- Thirty
- Lincoln
- Thirty-One
- Whitney
- Thirty-Two
- Lincoln
- Thirty-Three
- Whitney
- Thirty-Four
- Lincoln
- Thirty-Five
- Whitney
No woman had ever looked at me like that before. Normally when they found out my name, they were on me faster than I could fend off.
My chin went up. “Yeah. So?”
“Shit.” She reached down and grabbed her boots before ripping the door open.
She was already partway down the drive before I hit the front porch.
“Wait!”
She gave me a backward glance and stumbled, dropping one of her boots. She didn’t even stop to pick it up. She just bolted.
Fuck.
Three
Whitney
Present day
Ten years. That’s how long it’s been since I last saw the Welcome to Gable sign as I drove away as a newlywed in the back of a limo filled with regrets.
Since then, I can’t say how many times I’ve thought about making my return. A hundred? A thousand? Somewhere in between, most likely. I’ve pictured myself in a fancy sports car with my hair tucked into a scarf like I was Grace Kelly, or maybe in a chauffeur-driven SUV.
Not once in those ten years did I think I’d be coming back to town on a Greyhound bus.
The woman next to me snores so loudly, she wakes herself up. Her head jerks from side to side as she wipes drool from the corner of her mustache.
“What’d I miss?” She leans over me to look out the window as we approach the bus station.
“Nothing,” I reply as I pull my baseball cap over my eyes and readjust my sunglasses to hopefully cover my black eye where the makeup is wearing off. Thankfully, she hasn’t recognized me. I’m hoping my iffy luck will hold until I’m off this bus, and she won’t have a clue who she sat next to on this long ride from LA.
When I left in the back of that limo, only one of us was famous then—Ricky Rango, rising rock star who was destined to become a rock god. Now he’s six feet under, and I’m the famous one because I’m the Black Widow who killed him. Or so they say.
I know the truth, but no one else cares about anything so mundane as that. The fall from wife of a rock god to the most hated woman in America has been a rocky one, and to be honest, I’m lucky I made it out of LA alive.
The Greyhound’s brakes squeal as it slows to a stop, changing the direction of my thoughts. It’s time to stop thinking about what I’m running from and put it behind me, if that’s even possible. I’m ready to think about what I’m running toward.
I just never thought I’d be running toward Gable, the place I spent so many years desperate to leave. But now everything has changed. All I want is a simple, quiet life. Something normal. Away from the paparazzi and accusations. Away from the guilt and fear. I’m hoping Gable can be my safe haven, but I’m also not holding my breath.