Crown and Anchor Series: Book 1-4

by Kerri Ann

  I run my tongue along my teeth. My mouth still feels like it’s stuck with road tar. My eyes are weighty, and I feel like there are small cars attached to each lid.

  As I say nothing, she continues to speak, as if I gave her the answer she required. “I won’t keep you. We’ll be moving you from here to a new room in a bit. And don’t worry none, Circe. We’ll take good care of you.”

  Checking the readings on the incessant beeping machine, she pushes a few buttons to silence it. Turning back to me, she pulls the blanket back to look at my chest, lifting the bandages. “We fixed up your ribs, your wrist, the punctured lung, and the hole in your spleen. Plus, I sutured that nasty gouge on your head. After a little plastic surgery, you should be scar free.”

  Now I understand why it’s so difficult to breathe; I have a punctured lung. Great.

  Flicking a few switches, checking the wrappings on my incisions, Dr. Callie tucks the blanket up tight again.

  “I’ll check on you again in a bit, darlin’, so get some rest.” Smiling, she wanders away, leaving me curious. Where are the others? I want to ask. I want to know. But my body is sore, my mind is clouded, and my soul is exhausted.

  As I’m dragged back to lala-land almost immediately, I find myself closing my eyes and forgetting what’s so important. Memories blur, bringing pieces together haphazardly, reminding me of how fate decides our path without our intervention. I drift off, unable to stop it.

  My life was going in a better direction, right?

  Or was this just an intermission dragging me toward the evil plot maker’s finale?

  WYATT

  BEEP, BEEP, BEEP.

  That goddamn monitor sings, signalling I’m still alive. Thank fuck.

  My body doesn’t move, even as my mind screams at me to get up. I've been worse than this. I need to stop being such a pussy. Shove some dirt in it and get up, Crown, it says, but nothing happens. I’m trapped.

  Fucking perfect. Goddamn awesome. I can’t even fathom the words to express how fucking amazing this is. This sucks big hairy man nuts.

  It feels like I’m awake, but I know I’m not.

  Noticing the nurse, I watch as she flicks buttons on the monitor, switching lines on my arm, pulling bags hanging overhead, and neatly tucking me back into the blanket tightly. I feel like an infant. I wonder if this is how it is when we’re babies? Feeling everything, hearing all of it, but unable to react. I want to speak out. I want to fucking yell at the top of my lungs. But nothing happens.

  Do we understand it, but have no control? Seeing the world, unable to express motion and fear; if it’s like that, it must be daunting. For me, I know it is.

  Passing in front of my sight like an apparition, I attempt to yell out my frustration at the nurse. Nothing audibly happens.

  Fuck, that makes me laugh. To her, I’m just a body on the bed. I’m nobody of importance in her everyday life.

  Go figure. My nickname comes to fruition. I’m Casper the Fucking Ghost.

  How many more shitstick problems can I endure? You’d think I’d had enough in my lifetime. I guess not.

  The worst part about all of this; I don’t know about the others.

  How are they?

  Are they alive?

  I can’t even ask.

  CIRCE

  Days later, I’ve spent more hours asleep than awake.

  “Circe. How are we feeling, darlin’?” Dr. Callie’s musical accent is adorable. The way she says ‘darlin’ comes out without an r.

  “I feel like an army convoy of Humvee’s ran me down, with road spikes imbedded in the tires.” Pushing a breath out, my voice is scratchy, and it aches to talk. I guess it will be that way for a while. I’ve never punctured a lung before.

  Letting a carefree laugh escape, Dr. Callie pulls the blanket back, inspecting my hand. The cast is itchy as fuck, but I know it’s for the best. Even if I wanted to, I’d avoid smashing it to pieces, or running it under water, mainly because I’m afraid of the sweet Southern Belle. My feeling is that there’s more to her than the sweet and adorable lady she portrays.

  “Well, love. Don’t think you’ll be runnin’ out of here anytime soon. I’ll place bets it’ll be a while before we send you packin’. You still have to deal with a therapist and physio. You don’t leave until you can walk on your own power.”

  “What? No.” How the hell am I gonna pay for that? Sure, my job pays for a bit, but what about the rest? I’m as poor as you can get. “I can’t afford. Staying here. Dr. Callie.” Being conked out, I didn’t think about the costs. I thought about him and sleeping as they drugged me over and over. The last time I had an accident of this magnitude, I had a trust fund family. Using all my savings to move back to the States, I have nothing to pay for a hospital stay like this.

  Dr. Callie turns, grinning, tucking the blanket back around my arm. “No worries at all. Your stay has been cared for. Just concentrate on getting better.”

  “How? Who?” I sound like I’m squeaking.

  “Your bills are cared for. I can’t tell you who, but it’s not somethin’ you need to worry about. Get rest, doctor’s orders. Your body won’t repair without sleep.”

  Great, more sleep, more bed rest, more physiotherapists. More learning to grip, pull, and hold. More learning my body all over again. This time, though, I’ll be indebted to someone.

  Fantastic. It wasn’t my intention to repeat my past failures. Seems my Fates are a sneaky set of bitches.

  Checking my monitors, adjusting some of the levels, Dr. Callie goes over my chart like she has every few hours today. Smiling that wide grin, showcasing her perfect teeth, Dr. Callie turns, about to leave me once more.

  As she’s about to close the curtains back up, I ask, “Doc. How—” She cuts me off. “I can’t say, Circe. I’m sorry.”

  “But. Who’s. Paying. My bills?” I know NASCAR will fit some of it, but who’s helping beyond that? Feeling out of breath, I pause, giving the doctor the time she needs to interject.

  “I can’t tell you.” Stopping my line of questioning with harshly spoken words, I feel myself fall a little inside.

  Pulling in a tight breath, I rush the words quickly past my tongue. “Can you. Tell me about them. At least?”

  Stopping before exiting the room, realizing her brashness, she spins around to answer me with an apologetic look. “I’m so sorry, Circe. I can’t tell you. Really, I wish I could. I can’t give you confidential patient information. You’re not related. You weren’t listed as family, and even though you were in the car with them, I can’t tell you their progress. I’m sorry.” Nodding my understanding, even though I’m on the verge of pouring my eyes out, the doctor pulls the door shut behind her.

  Feeling cut off from everything and everyone, I’m overwhelmed. Being left alone to my despair, I curl up as comfortably as I can on my wooden pallet. Tears stream down my face in heavy rivulets, even as the sobbing hurts my chest. It’s painful, but nothing compared to the loss my heart is enduring.

  Pulling the light cotton blankets close, drifting off to sleep, my body and mind are both utterly and hopelessly exhausted. How much more can I be expected to take in one lifetime? How much pain, suffering, solitude and loss can one soul endure?

  I can’t do this alone.

  Wyatt, where are you?

  WYATT

  “China, I’m going to give you the straight goods.” The doctor, a petite lady, no more than five foot five, maybe five-six at most, has pulled up a chair to sit across from my sister.

  Watching as Doll talks to her, I’m horribly sorry that she’s in this spot. She’s dealing with it so well, sure, but it’s not her place. Keeping a brave face and looking the part of a matriarch—like mother trained her to be—she’s stoic, poised, and harnessing her inner Marca Crown. Nothing would make mother prouder.

  “Your brother was in a bad way, and there’s no way to sugar coat it. He’s broken and beat. We’ve placed him in a medical coma for now.”

  Nodding mechan
ically, Doll accepts the information she’s being given. “How long will he need that?”

  “It’s hard to say, really.” Flicking her teeth with her tongue, the doctor grimaces. “I won’t lie. I think it’s going to be a long recovery. Everything is going to be touch and go for a bit. There was a lot of damage to his body, and the swelling on his brain will take time to come down.”

  Seeing the strain and stress of it landing in Doll’s lap sucks. I’m the big brother. I’m the one that’s supposed to take up the slack, giving her a boost in a crisis, not the other way around. “Well, I guess I should get things brought in. Is it okay that I stay here?”

  “Of course, sweets.” She hands Doll some paperwork. “We’ll be your only contact. No other team will bother you. If there’s anything you need from me or the staff, just ask.”

  Taking the thin sheets, she lays them on the bed, across my still body. “I’ll ask Jamieson, my other brother, to grab me some things from the house.”

  Rising, she pats Doll on the shoulder. “As I said, if you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask, Mrs. Crown.”

  Her slip of the formal greeting isn’t missed. Vehemently shaking her head, Doll informs her, “I’m Miss. Not Mrs. Crown.”

  “Of course. I’ll leave you to your family then.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Callie.”

  Closing the door behind her, my sister slinks down into the chair. She relaxes now that the doctor has left, her tired body taking in deep, calming breaths. I see it all crushing her.

  Pushing down her pain, Doll talks to me like I’ll answer. “Wyatt. There’s only so much I can take. You leaving me won’t be a part of that. Knowing the outcome of our family, knowing what will happen if you leave me...I won’t survive this if you leave me alone.” Laying her head on the side of the bed, draping an arm across my body, my sister collects her strength. “Tell me I’m selfish. Tell me I’m being a diva. Fuck, tell me anything. Just fight this. I’m going to stay strong, and you’re going to live through this. Then you’ll get your ass home and show me what it means to be the champion.” She taps on my leg, like she’s playing the piano. “No faking this just to get Jell-O. No staying in that head of yours any longer than you need to. And for fuck’s sake, no darkness! Stay with me, brother.”

  She’s baiting me. Good girl. Push as much as you want. I don’t want to be here either. Thinking to myself of what I’d answer her with if given the chance, I talk to her as if she can hear me. “I don’t want to be here either, Doll. The longer I’m in this turmoil, I’m not sure I’ll come out the same on the other side.”

  Checking her watch, looking at the numerous texts on her phone, she places it on the pillow beside me. “I’m fucking tired of this.” Laying it down, but leaving her hand on me, she says, “Come home, Wyatt.”

  CIRCE

  Day after day, every hour on the hour, a nurse passes through the room, waking me because of my head injury. She then leaves after checking all of my ridiculous monitors, quietly leaving as I ask about them. They give me the same answer each time. I hate this.

  She won’t say, which is worse for my psyche than knowing the horrible truth. Doctor Callie has checked on me daily. She doesn’t run. She shuts me down each time I ask with a definitive no. That only pisses me off more. I have a feeling they died, but in my bones, it doesn’t feel true.

  When I’m alert enough, and the cloud of drugs have worn off, I find myself animated and ready to take on anyone. Of course, anytime I become agitated or insistent of answers, they inject me with enough morphine to flatten a pachyderm. They tell me it’s “required” for my recovery.

  Bullshit, I say. But the worst part of it all is that I can’t disagree much. I have this aching feeling that my injuries will hurt like ass once they back off the good drugs. So it’s the same, daily. So much so, that I’m almost not inclined to look at the clock and it’s passing time.

  It’s been days, maybe weeks. Heck, it could’ve been a month to my heart, because all I think about is how this feels so much like before. I’m the one left to deal with the aftermath in my soul.

  Shocking myself into my past, my senses can almost taste it. When my sleeping mind drags me back to the past, it’s not to happier times. It takes me to times in my life that I’ve tried to forget quite insistently. Remembering the sights, the smells, and the sounds of the track where Wyatt ruled, I do all I can to think of those happier times with him. Feeling his touch, his soft whispers on my skin, with the dark taunting need of his body and mine together. All of it’s a constant reminder that he was becoming mine, and I was his. It pains me not knowing our fate.

  Memories can be more damaging than physical pain. When you realize that holding a bad memory at bay is like holding a cloud still, then I wish you good luck with the attempt. I’ve tried. I have the tears and scars to prove it.

  In a haze of mental smoke, everything blends, my family and his—my history and his past. All of those poignant milestones in my life create a jumbled and discombobulated slideshow.

  I find myself swimming dangerously in a history that sometimes I had hoped was long forgotten. The feel of the cool ice, the joy of it. It all brings to light harsh reminders of damages to my body and soul. I’m crushed just a touch more by that past and this present.

  WYATT

  Her back is bowed.

  The grip I have on her hair must be nearing a deep throbbing pain, but she moans harder as I pound my cock harshly within. My Siren has captivated me through sex, love, and understanding of my need to slake the ghosts in my mind with thrusts.

  The thin bead of sweat that trickles down her backside only drives me deeper, which makes me kick her knees out further. It entices me to hold her that much tighter, and prods me to give her every last drop of my release.

  Her folds plump as her orgasm crests, just before sending her over the edge, with me alongside her. I love this, the knowledge that I caused her to be this wanton and desperate for release. Feeling my balls tighten, and my cock swelling to the point of release, I tell her, “You’re such a good girl, Siren.” Toying with the beads in her ass, pulling them lightly, her muffled sounds increase in pitch. “It’s time, love. Don’t hold back. Let it take you.”

  Bending her back further, even with her hands and feet restrained, Circe looks over her shoulder at me. The ball gag stopping her from screaming is neatly in place as she clamps her jaw tight. The look on her face is of pure ecstasy, and is euphoric to me. She takes everything I offer. It’s not one-sided either, as that tight cunt of hers owns me. It feels as if a vice is holding me in place, squeezing me, but keeping me tightly within.

  I hold out as long as I can, riding her orgasm all the way. The pressure and the tightness—all of it accentuates my pleasure that much more.

  She bucks her hips back and forth, as far as the restraints and my knees will allow her. Circe is wild in her insatiable need to extend her enjoyment as long as she can. And I’ll let her. I’ll give her the room to push the envelope further every time.

  Over the past few weeks, during our ‘let’s try this’, the vivacious redhead under me has become bolder. Even something I’d never tried, namely tonight, with tying up our feet together in the bonds has been intriguing. If she moved, I moved. Even where she wanted the clamps placed, I’d have never expected. Placing them on her sensitive folds, the soft sounds of her anticipating each placement as I dragged them across her drenched pussy was tantalizing.

  As she slows, my will to hold out crests. After a few long thrusts later in that exquisite heat, I’m come undone. Bending forward, lying across her back, I reach around and remove the clamps from her swollen cunt first. Groaning gently, Circe feels every nerve alight as she comes down, which makes me adore her more.

  Lifting myself up to a kneeling position, I remove the anal beads, slowly. Dragging them one by one until the last is free. When she groans, I smile down at her. Unlatching our feet, I allow her to fold forward before flipping onto her back. Peeling the final clamp
s off her breasts, I smile as she stares at me with desperate eyes. She loved what we did. She wants to tell me, but her arms and mouth are still under my control.

  “What if I licked you for a while?” Dragging a finger through her arousal, her back arches. Her eyes tell me her answer is yes.

  Peeling back her neatly trimmed lips, I hold her sex hostage. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous everywhere, Siren.” Muddling my fingers across her clit, Circe is ready for another round of bliss within seconds, and so am I. Arousing her is so easy. I’ve figured out what makes her tick. Wetting my lips in anticipation, I delve straight away to that peaked bud calling me. Taunting her for a moment, circling it, but not touching it, my own need arises again. Flicking, sucking, and pulling on it, laying my tongue flat, I relish her taste. Coursing across her sex from top to bottom, the shudder is felt in her legs when I reach a particularly sensitive spot. There won’t be a drop left behind. She’ll be dry when I’m done. Honestly, I can’t get enough of her.

  Seeing each other in person has been hard with our schedules, but when we’re together, it’s fireworks from minute one. Clothes are stripped and torn, bodies are entwined, and sleep is no longer a necessity.

  “Love, I need more from you.” Rising up, I unleash one of her hands from the manacles. Allowing her enough freedom to do what I want, she pulls the gag off faster than I thought she could one-handed before she sits up. Lying sideways along the bed, her head is hanging off the edge. A grin dances across those fabulous lips. She knows what I want.

  Moving off the bed so that I’m standing, I inspect my handiwork. I look at the red marks on her pert buds, the clamp indents, and the soft russet glow that appears on her cheeks. “So sweet. You know you have me addicted to you, Circe.”

  “Feeling is mutual, Wyatt.”

  Standing in front of her, leaning across her body, I flick her clit. “Take a deep breath, Siren.” With her eyes dancing in anticipation, Circe wiggles her eyebrows at me. Placing my hardened cock into her open and inviting mouth, she draws in a sharp intake of air as her teeth lightly scrape the sides. Widening out, her open throat accepts my length gladly, tonguing the length of it.