Webs We Weave Series by Krista Ritchie – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read

Webs We Weave Series by Krista Ritchie – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.ilovenovels.com Wed, 13 May 2026 18:50:13 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=6.9.4 http://www.ilovenovels.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/favicon.png Webs We Weave Series by Krista Ritchie – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.ilovenovels.com 32 32 Dangerously Ours (Webs We Weave #3) Read Online Krista Ritchie, Becca Ritchie http://www.ilovenovels.com/dangerously-ours-webs-we-weave-3-read-online-krista-ritchie-becca-ritchie Wed, 13 May 2026 18:50:13 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/dangerously-ours-webs-we-weave-3-read-online-krista-ritchie-becca-ritchie Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Dark Authors: Becca Ritchie, Krista Ritchie Series: Becca Ritchie
Series: Webs We Weave Series by Krista Ritchie
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Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 162520 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 813(@200wpm)___ 650(@250wpm)___ 542(@300wpm)

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In the thrilling conclusion to the Webs We Weave series, ex-con artist Phoebe Graves must pull off the biggest grift she’s ever devised to keep her friends and family safe.

Conning the rich and fleeing to new cities is all ex-grifter Phoebe Graves has ever known—until she started building real relationships in a small but wealthy Connecticut town. But she’s worried these new bonds won’t hold fast as more than one big bad wolf threatens to blow down those she loves most.

And now more than ever, she has a reason to stay in one place. Among them is Brayden “Rocky” Tinrock, her best friend’s older brother, who’s been a partner to Phoebe during every daring and exhilarating con. And then of course there’s Hailey Tinrock, her best friend, whose precious secret they’ll do anything to protect. . . .

As Phoebe and her family team up with the Tinrocks to fight for a chance at a home, they confront the demons of their pasts and must do the impossible . . . deceive the most cunning con artist they’ve ever known

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

We loved with a love that was more than love.

—Edgar Allan Poe

ONE

Hailey

“You’re saying it’s already noon?” I ask while I slip out of black rumpled bedsheets. I pat my arms and limbs to ensure I’m real.

This is real.

I’m not lost in my head. I’m not asleep. I don’t think.

I slip my fingers down my fair skin, brushing over my hip bones and a camo-green lacy thong, then up to a strappy neon-blue sports bra. My underwear choices are on-brand for my life right now.

Mismatched. Mixed-up. Disordered.

I bolt for the digital clock at my bedside and crouch down to inspect the numbers. It says 12:03 p.m.—and logically, I should believe my own eyes, but historically speaking, I’m having a little bit of a hard time with the concept. Two weeks ago, I experienced a hallucination so vivid, I ran barefoot through the grounds of the Koning estate and found myself locked in an old storm shelter. Where I believed I was being violently murdered.

Turns out, I locked myself in there. Alone.

Big, big whoops.

Reality washed away the delusion…eventually, and I found the answers about our births that I’d been searching sleeplessly for. But the aftereffects of being bamboozled, deceived, conned by the people we trusted most—the godmothers and godfather: the ones who raised me, my two brothers, and the Graves triplets—have seeped deeper into me than maybe they have for my best friend, Phoebe.

I question everything at every turn. I don’t want to. I want to believe the wall is a real fucking wall and my feet are truly planted on the floorboards. That I’m really in this cute little loft above Baubles & Bookends, a bookstore in Victoria, Connecticut.

My reality.

One I created. I asked Phebs to live honestly with me on the coast of New England last summer. I asked Phebs to join my Mystic Pizza dream, where we were supposed to have normal romances and normal jobs (we are still country club servers, at least). I advertised this version of us living our best Julia Roberts lives. Perfect, lush hair days. Romantic small-town entanglements worthy of the big screen.

No deception.

No cons.

But it’s been hard for me to stop what I was raised to do, and the only reason I wanted to retire this trade was for Phoebe. I would’ve done anything to get Phebs to quit the family business. Her role is damaging. I saw it damaging her…maybe before she even did, and I couldn’t watch anymore.

We’re grifters. We move. We run once our pockets are loaded and it’s time to choose a new rich mark, but I want to stay in this reality I’ve created for my best friend. I want it to be mine, too. So the ground has to be stable. This has to be real.

But…“It-it can’t be noon,” I stammer. “It was just nine in the morning.” I back up from the digital clock like it’s a mini explosive.

“Hailstorm.”

I freeze at the deep, comforting voice behind me. Familiar. Masculine. He’s a strong, soothing rush of cold water against my mind. I wake up to the sound of Oliver Graves.

His fingertips touch the top of my head, and I rotate with the movement of his fingers, like he’s twisting a tiny porcelain version of me in a music box.

I peer up at his twinkling caramel-flecked brown eyes. Ones I’ve stared into for so long that I can’t reliably count the exact years. Facts: I’m twenty-four, and I’ve known Oliver since I was born, but memory recollection is said to begin around three and a half to four years old and is typically tied to an emotional or unusual event.

I remember him when I believe I was four.

I remember his arm curving over my shoulders as he tried to comfort me. We were left on a windowsill nook in a fancy Newport estate. I can’t remember whose home it was. I can barely remember what we were doing there.

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Destructively Mine (Webs We Weave #2) Read Online Krista Ritchie, Becca Ritchie http://www.ilovenovels.com/destructively-mine-webs-we-weave-2-read-online-krista-ritchie-becca-ritchie Thu, 01 May 2025 18:18:50 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/destructively-mine-webs-we-weave-2-read-online-krista-ritchie-becca-ritchie Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, New Adult Authors: Becca Ritchie, Krista Ritchie Series: Becca Ritchie
Series: Webs We Weave Series by Krista Ritchie
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Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 145038 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)

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FROM THE AUTHORS OF THE TIKTOK SENSATION, ADDICTED TO YOU!

Ex-grifter Phoebe Graves’ new life threatens to come crashing down around her in the next unputdownable novel from the New York Times bestselling authors of the Addicted series.

As the daughter of a con artist, Phoebe Graves only knew a life of swindling the rich until her best friend and fellow grifter, Hailey Tinrock, proposed an idea to start a new, honest life in a wealthy college town of Connecticut. Once there, they decided to leave behind their deceitful tricks and be truthful for once. But you know what they say about best intentions. . . .

While Phoebe is fake-dating Jake Waterford, the third-born son to an uber-wealthy and influential family, she’s actually dating and falling deeper in love with Brayden “Rocky” Tinrock—Hailey’s older brother. To make matters more complicated, Phoebe’s mother shows up out of the blue with conniving match-making designs of her own.

Her mother’s arrival threatens to unravel Phoebe’s plans. To keep her love, her friends, and her newfound happiness, Phoebe will have to return to her old games . . . and win

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Believe nothing you hear, and only half of what you see.

—Edgar Allan Poe

PROLOGUE

Phoebe

Eight Years Ago

The Rip Deal

Malibu, California

I stare wide-eyed at a pink, a black, and a bright neon-green bikini splayed on the king-sized bed—a bed that I’ve called mine for four whopping whole days. “Why is this so hard for you?” I mutter to myself. “It’s an outfit, not a math problem. Get your shit together.”

Don’t talk to yourself out loud, bug. It’s a bad tell. Keep that up here. I hear my mom’s tip and imagine her tapping her temple with a wink. These four walls don’t need to know I’m an anxious, nervous mess. Lest I slip up in front of the things that do matter.

The four-poster bed!

The joke falls flat in my head, and I let out an audible wheezy laugh. Am I really this pathetic?

No.

I’m adept. Savvy. Confident.

I won’t slip up in front of any mark. Not for this job.

Seduce a self-absorbed, self-proclaimed “rich kid” from Malibu. In the ever-moving career of swindling the rich and handsy assholes of the world, I’ve been granted a new project. Hailey’s mom and my mom are trusting I can knock the pants off Kellan Fields while they handle more complicated threads to the larger Rip Deal, which involves screwing his father out of half a million via an under-the-table cash deal and sleight of hand. I know I have one of the easier roles.

It shouldn’t be that hard.

I’m sixteen.

This really isn’t my first rodeo. I’ve batted my lashes at boarding-school boys, and they’ve fallen for every trick in the temptress handbook. I’ve made out with an older guy in his Lambo, too, even if the actual act of being lip-locked with him is hazy in my head. I can’t remember what I did.

My short time here in Malibu has been going…okay. Day one, I “accidentally” bumped into Kellan on the pier. Day two, I went on the most boring coffee date where he name-dropped A-listers and spent a solid hour listing off the specs of his Ferrari and yammering on about his father’s yacht.

It’d been fine.

Until the end of the date when we kissed, and he reacted…strange. It caught me off guard. He thinks I’m eighteen like him, and I’m afraid my mere persona screamed adolescent! at some point. This con can’t unravel because of me.

Now he’s invited me to a beach bonfire with his friends, and I’d like to open the sliding glass doors to my new bedroom, step onto the porch, fling all three bikinis at the million-dollar ocean view, and hope the wind carries them into the Pacific.

Then my decision would be made for me.

I could just go naked.

Problem solved. The fact that I’m a second from Googling whether this is a nude beach means I’ve really lost it.

A knock sounds before my door creaks open. A second opinion. Thank God. I exhale. “Hailey,” I say without turning. “I need your help. Please, please rank these from classy slut to trashy slut. I can’t figure out what I should be wearing tonight.” I pick up the black bikini with the low-cut top and G-string bottoms and whirl around to…

My face flames. “Not Hailey.” So much for keeping my inner thoughts to myself.

Rocky raises his brows. “Not Hailey.”

My entire body roasts on a spit at being caught in a distraught state about an absurdly dumb thing like clothes in front of my best friend’s older brother.

After shutting the door, he strides farther into my room. My heart flip-flops as the space between us depletes.

His gaze falls to the bikini I’m holding. “That one is fucking trashy.”

“You haven’t even seen it,” I combat. It’s balled in my fist.

He extends a hand. “Pass it then.”

Heat bathes my face ten times more, and it’s not like I haven’t worked a con with Rocky. I’ve worked most cons right alongside him, but I would greatly like to default to his sister’s advice right now because A) Hailey is a beautiful genius and B) she’s not the one I have a crush on!

Except, the idea of not giving him the bikini, of not reeling him closer and finding out what happens next—that sounds boring. My pulse speeds as I place the bikini in Rocky’s hand, and I bask in the adrenaline rush.

It’s me, deciding my fate, my next move.

It’s him, his eyes on mine for an extended beat. Like he sees who I am before he sees the shape of my body.

Our fingers brush as I retract, and a weird sensation pulsates inside me and tickles my skin. I try not to wobble at his closeness or how he’s touching the string that might go between my legs tonight. You don’t like him. He’s annoying. He’s ugly.

Yeah. Right.

He needs to do something supremely aggravating right fucking now, so I can ignore the Jupiter-sized crush I have on him.

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Dishonestly Yours (Webs We Weave #1) Read Online Krista Ritchie, Becca Ritchie http://www.ilovenovels.com/dishonestly-yours-webs-we-weave-1-read-online-krista-ritchie-becca-ritchie Wed, 07 Aug 2024 09:50:50 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/dishonestly-yours-webs-we-weave-1-read-online-krista-ritchie-becca-ritchie Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary Authors: Becca Ritchie, Krista Ritchie Series: Becca Ritchie
Series: Webs We Weave Series by Krista Ritchie
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Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 126927 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 635(@200wpm)___ 508(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)

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Starting fresh is the only way Phoebe can escape a life of crime, but her best friend's older brother complicates honest dreams in this gripping new series from the authors of the Addicted series.

Phoebe Graves grew up in a family where deception and seduction are as commonplace as breathing. The Graves and her best friend Hailey’s family have been on the run their whole lives, but after a high-stakes con job goes south, Phoebe and Hailey decide to run away and start over. The small Connecticut town they settle in seems too good to be true.

The biggest flaw in their plan is Hailey’s frustratingly handsome brother, Rocky, who insists on coming with them. Living honestly isn’t in his DNA, and his past with Phoebe is downright messy. He’s everything she wants, but nothing she can have.

Phoebe worries that Rocky will tempt them back into their old ways, where lying is second nature. She doesn’t want Rocky to mess up the new life she’s begun for herself. The longer she stays in town, the more she realizes what it means to have a reputation—and what a normal life with the man she loves could look like.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

One

Phoebe

People say you choose your friends, but my friendship with Hailey Tinrock never felt like a choice. We clung to each other because we were told to, and then it became survival. And now—together—we’re leaving our families behind.

At midnight, the motel room stinks of stale cigarettes and a microwaved burrito from its previous resident. Yellowed stains bleed into the cement walls and ceiling tiles. Five-star accommodations right here. Luxurious.

It’s definitely not the Ritz-Carlton, and I’ve already become a roach murderer. I’ve counted four cockroaches so far, killed three with a rolled Forbes magazine that Hailey had been flipping through. She ripped off the cover with the roach juice to keep reading. I watch as the last one skitters into an air vent. It was smart to run away from us.

He knew what was coming.

As I plop down on the lumpy mattress, it lets out a warning screech but supports my weight enough. I appraise a box of poison—sorry, I mean hair dye. My scalp burns like I scrubbed it with sriracha and chile flakes.

“It says to wait thirty minutes,” Hailey tells me, sitting cross-legged on the disgusting plaid chair in the corner. Her wet hair hides underneath a plastic cap, the color processing. She’s wearing only an oversized black tee that says hexes on my exes, knee-high socks, and jet-black lipstick.

I’m not shocked she’s painting her nails the same inky color.

Hailey dresses like she’s someone who could stab you while she’s sucking on a cigarette, but her favorite movie is about sisters working at a small-town pizza joint and falling in love so, so slowly. I can’t sit through ten minutes of Mystic Pizza, and Hailey watches it every weekend like it’s her bible.

She also has zero exes to hex. Just a laundry list of one-night stands and short-term flings. Our lifestyles aren’t compatible with long-term relationships.

At least not real ones.

Hailey doesn’t recheck the instructions on the hair dye box. I trust that she remembered the info on the first read through. Photographic memory and all.

I’d be envious if she weren’t my best friend and didn’t use her beautiful brain to bail me out of a million and one tragic scenarios.

“Are we sure they didn’t make this stuff out of jalapeño paste?” I force myself not to itch, but yeah, I kinda scratch and wince. No self-control. “It feels like fire ants are exploding on my head. I’ve never even heard of this brand.” I rotate the box to stare at the front. “Vivid Value Color. What’s our plan B if our hair starts falling out again?”

“We shave our heads,” Hailey says, like it’s the obvious solution. She blows on her wet nails, and I try not to mourn my hair. Would I actually shave it?

Yes, I’m all-in with her.

Would I tear up?

One hundred percent.

Would she?

Probably not, considering she shaved her head when she was sixteen. Now that she’s twenty-four, it’s regularly chopped at her shoulders in an edgy cut.

At the moment, I’m restraining myself from doing a full-fingernailed scalp massage. Do not.

She can see my struggle. “We didn’t have much to choose from at the gas station, Phebs.”

“I know.” I sigh, trying not to complain. We might be the same age and she might be the one figuratively behind the wheel, but I’m the one dead set on protecting us and keeping us from struggling.

When Hailey came up with this idea in Carlsbad, we had just trekked away from a multimillion-dollar beach house in the pouring rain. All façades dropped—we didn’t call for our personal driver in his Bentley to take us “home.”

We just slipped out. Without splendor or attention.

Almost like we never arrived.

It’d been a little past one a.m.—you don’t forget things like time when it’s one of those days that stay with you. Or in this case, one of those nights. After a long, barefoot trek with our heels in our hands, we sat at a bus stop, thinking we could escape the rain while we waited.

We didn’t.

Carlsbad’s bus stops have fancy white pergolas as roofs. So rain slipped through the slats of wood and wet our hair and our flowery Oscar de la Renta dresses we just purchased this summer. Her dress was embroidered with poisonous white oleanders. Mine was threaded with delicate pink tulips.

Hailey was silently crying. I could tell, even in the storm. She’s an ugly crier when it’s not faked. Her whole face was scrunched, and her reddened eyes looked touched by the salt of her emotion, not the sky.

Dark mascara streamed down her cheeks, and I clasped her hand tighter while my knees jostled. From the cold, I wanted to believe.

I was just cold from the rain.

“Phoebe,” Hailey choked out. “I-I don’t think we should do this again.” She tried to catch my gaze.

But I stared at my lap. My dress was riding up, and a trickle of blood on my thigh became exposed to the elements. The rain washed away the crimson streak in a blink.

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