Whiskey's Redemption (Crown and Anchor)

by Kerri Ann

  Thinking on that dream isn’t calming me. That dream was so surreal. Having Carli remind me wasn’t necessary, but truthful. My subconscious is telling me that once more, I wasn’t there for a family member when they needed me. I’m such a fuck up for failing my sister. Hell, I’ve failed every family member I hold dear in some way.

  Smacking a hand against the glass, the sound reverberates through the room. What I need to do is man up and tell Wyatt why I wasn’t there for China yesterday, and I need to tell him what the lawyers have in mind. We need a plan to deal with this before they plan it for us, or before Crown Industries does.

  Then I’ll tell China. It will affect her, too, but less than it does Wyatt or myself it seems. And why was Carli mad at me in the dream? Why was she in my dream? Looking down at my stiff morning wood, I know who’s thinking of her still. That woman baffles me in her reactions to me, and there are so many things I think about doing with her. Then there’s that pink fucking vibrator. It causes me further sexual frustration as I think of her using it to give herself a release. Not that my own hand hasn’t received callouses from my own harsh workouts, but that woman is who seems to end up in every vision.

  Since I saw her beating out her own orgasm in her car after our kiss, I can’t get it out of my mind. And what a lovely look that was. Ecstasy suits her. The color that rushed her cheeks. The goosebumps that rose on her skin. The shivers of her aftershocks. It was beautiful. I want it to be me making her that flushed all the time. The thought of someone else deep in her at any point pulls on a jealousy bone I don’t own, but it’s there for her.

  Looking down, my morning wood is still standing proud at the thought of sinking deep into her pussy. Grasping it, thinking of Carli sucking it deep, the muscles in my arm strains as I pull it hard. In my mind, her cheeks are sucked in, holding me tight as her teeth lightly scrape along the length. Her tonsils riding the top edge of the head, and the curve of her throat closing off her air for a moment of time sends shivers down my spine and into my gut.

  I’ve never thought of just one woman, ever. They’re disposable. They use me, so I use them. Tits for cock, tease and please. We all get what we want, and I’m okay with it. Picturing Carli in those fuck me heels, bent down in front of me, arms strapped behind her with her jet-black hair wrapped around my knuckles, I can literally feel her smile around my cock as I yank her hair tighter. Watching her back bow and her eyes dance with joy, I feel the end coming forth. My legs become weak as the pressure builds in my balls, and I want the image to continue just a bit longer. What I want is her trussed up like a Christmas turkey as my cock pounds into her soft folds over and over. With that last vision burned into the back of my eyelids, I fall apart.

  When I open my eyes and the dream dissipates, my release coats the window.

  “Well shit.” Laughing to myself that I just did what countless others have in this room, I head off to gather a wet cloth. I may have made a mess, but I won’t make the cleaning lady deal with my spudge. I’m an asshole, not a fuck stick.

  After the remnants are gone, I toss the cloth in the towel bin and start the shower. How Carli has gotten this far under my skin is insane. Meeting her at my father’s funeral, then seeing her the other day, she’s ingrained in my thoughts. Yeah, I’ve had more than my share of one-nighters, but nothing that made an impression on me long-term. She does.

  Fuck it. I doubt I’ll see her again anyway. She was flying out to her job, so I bet she’ll be tied up for a while. The governor she works for seems like a handful, and that’s saying something coming from me. The man is a habitual cheater that she’s made out to be a dream boat. My PR is a nightmare, so his must be like trying to cover Al Capone’s true body count.

  Carli is a master manipulator.

  As the water pummels out of the shower head at skin peeling speed, I clean off my grime and the dirty thoughts of her. What I have planned for today will take every ounce of control I own, and she can’t be on my mind.

  I’m about to tell my brother how our lives are about to get considerably more fucked up.

  Carli

  Handling Chris is easy. Dealing with his boy toy having a hissy fit this morning, that was not what I had in mind when I woke up.

  What did I want? I wanted a double espresso, one pump of sugar free vanilla and a touch of steamed lactose free milk. What do I get, though?

  “You don’t appreciate me!”

  “Of course I do…”

  “Kyle! My name is Kyle!”

  And that’s when I woke up. I dressed quicker than a runway model, tossed on mascara, pulled back my hair into a messy ponytail, then stomped out to the kitchen to Chris and his teenager in the midst of a mood swing.

  “You know I’m bad with names. That’s why I’m in politics. I don’t have to remember names.”

  “That’s my job, Kurt,” I say. Yeah, I changed his name. Fuck him for waking me up after my jet lag.

  “Kyle!” he snaps back.

  Waving off his request to call him by his right name, the espresso bliss maker calls my name louder than his attitude.

  “She doesn’t care about you, Kurt. And honestly, all I cared about was the sex. Your name didn’t matter.” And that’s when Ken punches Chris in the jaw.

  I set the machine to brew before having to deal with this shit. Big Dick Rick walks to the door with his jacket and shoes in hand. Ignoring the outburst, and most definitely ignoring my boss, I concentrate on the consistent drip of my much-needed liquid. With the slam of the door, Chris’s toy leaves in a huff.

  Hearing Chris walking toward me, I speak without turning. “Don’t talk to me yet, manwhore. I’m not ready for your shit yet.”

  “I didn’t speak,” he says, almost cynically.

  “Yeah?” Turning, I finally look at him. He’s wearing that smirk that makes me want to hit him, again. “Asshole, you spoke. I heard it.”

  I laugh inside, because he’s afraid to laugh at me out loud. “What did I say then?”

  “You said this, in a whiny tone I might add. “Carli, what did I do wrong? I sucked his cock, he beat my ass for hours and I gave him my soul. Why didn’t he love me?’” Laughing, I shake my head at his silly neediness. Chris wants love. He wants a man that can accept his whoring ways, and he wants his political status to stay perfectly intact. He wants to announce he’s a goalie net, not the stick delivering the pucks. He wants this with acceptance, without suicide by media after he dumps his wife on the street corner, penniless. She’s been a great beard, but I feel bad she doesn’t even have a man on the side to fulfill her needs. How she’s lived without sex for twelve years is beyond me. I wouldn’t have lasted twelve days. Money aside, his political stature might take him further than Governor of Indiana, but with the shit I cover there’s no way he’s hitting the Oval Office.

  Would I gloat that I could take a closeted gay whore to the highest position in the free world? Fuck yeah, I would. But there’s no fucking hope of that ever happening. There’s a better chance of Aussie rule football becoming the American national sport.

  Reaching into the freezer, I pull out an ice pack—because we keep them in stock—and hand it to the idiot holding his jaw. “Here. Don’t be such a fuck up. At least write their name on your wrist or something.” He’ll never do it, so I’ll just keep ice readily available.

  Taking the offered pack, I hear Chris snapping it open.

  “You want a coffee?” I ask, feeling slightly sorry for him.

  “Yeah, you do those so well, Car. Thanks.” Pulling my drink off the machine, I set up one for Chris.

  “What’s the plan today?” he asks absently.

  “We have shaking babies and kissing monkeys at the zoo. Mark will pick us up in forty.”

  Huffing, he pulls at the tie and loosens his buttons. “Couldn’t think to tell me to wear a cheap shirt beforehand?”

  Turning with his drink, I scowl. “Why? You didn’t worry about waking the woman in charge of your affairs with moaning gorillas at t
hree-thirty this morning, or with diva hissy fits—”

  “Yeah, got it. We were loud.”

  “No,” I mock. “You were so quiet that Mrs. Mackle in penthouse five should be outside the door with a waving finger as we exit.”

  “Got it, Carli. So, next time—”

  “Muzzle the bitch.” Sipping my caffeine, I smirk into my cup.

  With me back and forth to see Circe, this is the usual banter between us in the wee hours after his sexual escapades. He doesn’t ask about mine because I won’t fucking tell him. You won’t find us sitting around, braiding each other’s pubes and talking about cock sizes. We have a clean, simple, and easy boss / employee relationship. I just happen to know more about his life than I feel I ever should, and that’s exactly why he pays me an exorbitant amount of money. Not to ignore that the governor pays for my flights back and forth to Cali, my apartment there, and my cars that are there and here...oh, and my clothing expenditures.

  Yeah, I’m spoiled.

  Kato was wrong. I haven’t touched family money in close to five years. It’s still dropped into an account every month, but I will never touch a penny of that blood money. And he wants to threaten me with the lives of my sisters? It’s true, I haven’t seen them in years, but they don’t want or deserve the position thrust upon them any more than I want it. Will I accept it to save them? Sacrificing everything I’ve built to care for them? That’s the real question, I guess.

  “You ready to go, Car?” Chris asks, yanking me from musings about family.

  “Yeah, I’m good. What do you say we go get monkey shit and baby throw up on us?”

  “Sounds pleasant,” he quips.

  I give him a tight smile. “That’s my real charm, finding the direct happiness in disgusting endeavors.”

  Jamieson

  “Stop being a pussy.”

  “Yeah, of course that’s what you’d say, James!” Wyatt is taking this just how I’d expected him to. Leaning against the wall in his hospital room, we’re talking about the lawyer bullshit that I dealt with yesterday.

  “What’d you expect me to say, Wyatt? I didn’t really get a choice in this. The way they have this shit stacked up, that fucking clause will leave it in the hands of the lawyers and board members if we don’t do as it stipulates. How the hell would you respond?” I’m more pissed off that he thinks I want this. It’s being thrust upon me.

  Beside him in the adjacent bed, tucked in close is Circe. Touching his arm gently, stroking him in soothing movements, my little brother visibly pulls in breaths to bring down his temper. “Wyatt,” she says sweetly, “listen to what he’s saying and relax. I doubt you want Sali medicating you.”

  I’ve dealt with everything, taking it all in stride after my brother, Circe, and our mother were in that fatal wreck on the Intercoastal. I flew out here on a dime to be the head of the house. China’s meltdown, her arrest, Wyatt and his girlfriend Circe’s health, our Mother’s frozen body, Crown board bullshit, paparazzi, news crews, and losing out on the World’s team has happened as I became nursemaid. My life has been put on hold. Shit is totally fucked up. I’ll be the head of Crown goddamn Industries or we lose it all.

  “This wasn’t what I planned on either, Wyatt. We’ll figure it out, but—”

  “But nothing, James.” The strain of this pulls on his already tired psyche. Wyatt’s bipolar episodes have lessened with medication, but his frail situation still tears at him as he holds his volatile emotions in check. “Why did they do this? Is that why she wanted us all at the house for the reading of the will? Did she plan this all along?” Raking his good hand through his overgrown platinum hair, I can see that this is tearing him to shreds. Marca, our mother, had always given the impression that this was a position he was to be given—unwillingly, I might add—but he’d worked himself up to the idea that he’d have to start dealing with it on a daily basis. To tear it away is harder when you know it could be taken away from the family whose name it was built on.

  “Look, I understand the shock of it all. Do you think I’m happy about this?” I’m seriously frustrated.

  Speaking up, Circe asks, “What if you accepted it?” As Wyatt is about to pipe up, she cuts him off. “What if you accepted the paperwork as it stands? Is there any stipulations about you redirecting control once it’s yours? Did the paperwork state anything about the three of you holding the position? After it’s completed as your parents wished, of course.”

  Well fuck. I never thought of that. “Pretty bright lady you have here, brother.”

  “Tell me about it, James. Siren’s a fucking whip.” Seeing the frustrated edge of my brother’s anger escape slowly, he smiles. It’s a carefree grin that showcases the way she’s softening his moods without drugs. I’m glad. He’s still a swinging pendulum, but it’s better than I’ve ever seen, and that’s saying something.

  For the next hour, we look over the papers the lawyers left with me. Raking through them, combing every inch, looking for loopholes, we consider the options ahead of us. Not a lot of choices really, as they made it pretty airtight, but we have a plan. It’ll take all of us, but we should be good. There’s a few things we felt would be best left as is, but overall, it’s a good plan of attack.

  With Doll and her current predicament of house arrest, we’ll have to wait for her jailor to bring her down here to go over it. We’ll wait, though. It’ll be better to do it after we’ve found new lawyers. The idea of pulling her into something like this without an airtight plan isn’t fair. It’s not really something you do over the phone. Even I’m not stupid enough to think that her fit will be exponentially worse than Wyatt’s emotional outbursts.

  “I’m tired, man. Think we can wrap this up with Doll later?” Wyatt asks as his sleepy eyes flutter for control.

  “Yeah, I’m good. I have things to do. Get some rest.” I’ve paced for a bit, sat and stood against the wall as we devised a course of action. Even I’m tired.

  As I’m opening the door, Wyatt says, “Hey, Jamieson?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Do you think they’ll be proud of what we’re doing?”

  I nod. “I truly think we’re doing the right thing, brother. Get some sleep. We’ll talk after we get new lawyers. This isn’t going to happen overnight.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  Hitting the hall, I mention to Sali, their nurse, that both of them are resting. Making my way to the elevators I press the button, and I’m reminded of the sexy woman in heels that held me hostage here not too long ago.

  I lied to Wyatt when I said I had things to do. I never do. For months I’ve escaped China, Wyatt, and everything else, hiding out at the hotel in my air-conditioned room. Bloody staff turn it down all the time, which quickly upon entering, I crank it way down. Buying and running Powder Kings has given me a slight distraction while I’ve been here, but even that hasn’t been enough.

  With the carriage arriving, I hop inside and click the button. The sound itself is a reminder of Carli’s sass. Counting down the floors, I arrive on the main level where the sun beams in, announcing how far away I want to be from here. I’m saddened by the weather. Others think the sunshine is a balm to their souls, but it makes me itchy. My skin crawls. Under my clothing, there’s a relief of it hiding in the shade, and gradually making my way to the doors, my breathing tightens. God, I hate it here.

  And my parents thought that after all these years away I’d accept the responsibility of running a race team in the sun? What the fuck were they thinking? This is the least happy place on earth for me. And as the sun touches me, I feel threatened.

  Nope, not at all where I want to be.

  Someone make this fucking nightmare end.

  Carli

  Wawawa, mahwa, wawah...

  The woman with the jungle print one piece jumpsuit holding the microphone, sounds like a Peanut’s teacher. My ears are fucking bleeding. Chris has tried to look entertained by her droning conversation about the Capuchin monkeys, but I personally ca
n’t feign interest. My resting bitch face is not so resting. This whole damn display is for her conservatory because they need funding dollars from the state. Give me a fucking break. The woman spent a fucking fortune on her clothing and it’s awful. Spend it on the monkeys instead, lady.

  I know the designer. I saw it at the spring show, and her wardrobe consultant needs to be fucking fired for dressing her like that. For her skin and hair color, it looks like something the monkey shit out.

  Two more hours of this and you’ll find me curled up in a corner, peeling peanuts for the fucking monkeys. This is the downside of my job—stupid moments, and appearances that I have zero bloody interest in. I’m actually hoping the monkey shits in her rat’s nest of a hairdo.

  Looking down at my cell, trying not to be caught doing it, I flick through Plenty of Fish, Twitter feeds, Instagram and Facebook. Not mine, though. I’m looking for pictures of Chris with his varied indiscretions. Kurt, Kyle, or rubber ducky—whatever the fuck his name was—ran out pretty pissed this morning. That screams nasty posts. So far, nothing has shown up. Color me surprised.

  Stopping on a Twitter post, there’s a Crown notation.

  Doll under house arrest. #IdHandCuffHer

  Is Casper and Marca Crown alive? #CrumblingKingdom

  Why so long without seeing any of the family? #FurtherDeath

  Over and over, feed after feed, likes, retweets and reposts of concerns for the family stack up. Then one in particular catches my attention. It’s associated with the Crowns’, but not a name I know.

  Outcast Son tweeted, #NoSnow #ToFuckingHot

  Well, not hard to figure out who that is. Checking out his previous posts, there are boards, girls, trees covered with snow, and two short posts from a few days ago. I catch myself before I laugh out loud.