Crown and Anchor Series: Book 1-4

by Kerri Ann

  With a ‘I’ll see you in a few hours’ comment to Cassidy, and a quick avoidance of my mother as she stomps around the house since Dad’s death, I’m gone. Wearing jeans and a tee, strapping into my jacket, I head to the Valley.

  Starting up my bike, it hums its satisfaction. Tightening up my leathers, strapping on my favorite helmet, I hit the door opener, signaling the garage.

  My bike and I are one as the pavement looms ahead, urging us forward. Stretching out the kinks, I revel in the release as I crack the throttle. Setting out down the Malibu Hills, crossing into the center of La Brea, the familiar sights and sounds of illegal street racing revives my tired heart.

  Pulling up to the side street, there’s row after row of fast bikes and cars. There are scantily dressed girls wearing low slung jeans, heavy chains, massive necklaces, and the odd semi-rich kid looking to lose his ride to a professional con artist’s slicked out junker.

  Parking my ride near a row of sparkling clean Hayabusa’s, CBR’s, and XXR’s, I dismount and hang my helmet. Mine stands out. Dad would shit kittens knowing I was anywhere near illegal races.

  “No shit!” I hear close by as I unzip my jacket. Slinging it over the seat, I pocket the key and step back.

  “Hey, Charlie.” The ten-year-old scrawny street urchin that I see at these venues more than I should, smiles back at me. I quit asking if he should be home sleeping, or if there was family looking for him a few months ago. The poor kid is just looking for attention and a sense of belonging, of which he gets here with us. I’d met Charlie at one of the Crown and Anchor Progress Team meetings. He’s who told me about these illegal street races.

  “You racing tonight, D?”

  “Might. You staying in the program?” I ask, ruffling his nappy hair.

  Shrugging, he kicks the nonexistent dirt in front of his ratty Sketchers. “Nah. I don’t have a ride down to the meetings.” Giving him a fake scowl, Charlie rolls his eyes. “They kicked me out. It’s a great thing y’all are doin’, but they only make it for the rich inner city kind. I can’t afford it and lunch. Somethin’ had to give.” Poor kid. I wish I could do more for those like him. Maybe when I take over my trust fund, I’ll figure out something that could help. That’s if my strict, hard-lined, still dealing with grief mother would allow it. Honestly, I think she’s worried I’d give all my money away.

  As we walk along the rows, I acknowledge the riders I know. Receiving a few fist bumps and head nods, Charlie and I make it to the finish line where the illegal conveners stand.

  “Who’s in the lead tonight?”

  “Chance.” Squishing up his features, the little kid looks almost annoyed. Chance is an asshole any time after winning.

  “I thought you had a man crush for his style?”

  “No way. He’s got nothin’ on y’all’s riding style. He’s a pussy. Just showin’ up when you’re not here.” Gotta love this kid.

  Pulling out twenty bucks, I hand it to Charlie, trying to send him away. “Go hang out. I’ll catch up with you before the end of the night, kiddo.” Smiling wide, swinging off, his nappy hair can be seen heading into the crowd. In a bit, I’ll find him mooching food, trying to keep the twenty for food and bus rides to school. It’s better than what some of these kids do to forget their shit lifestyle. Yeah, I could give him more, but I know what happens when they have too much too.

  After he heads away, I search out Max and Manuel. They’re the main gearheads that arrange this illegal racing on weeknights. They recognized me right away, and they don’t look at me any different than the rest of the participants.

  “We runnin’ tonight, Doll?”

  “Yeah, I might. What’s the line?”

  Max pulls the folded sheets of paper out of his back pocket, mulls over the numbers, then turns. I know he’s contemplating his words. He’s hoping to talk me into the race that has the most bets in his favor. Thing is, I’m okay with that. I don’t mind others trying to get rich quick, as long as no one gets hurt in the process.

  “Fixer is runnin’ Jacob’s tonight. You in for it?” I think about it for a second, then agree. I need the adrenaline rush more than he needs the winnings. We have an unwritten understanding.

  “I’ll put four on Fixer then,” I tell them. Max and Manny run these back-ender bets where I bet on the other guy to win. The only clause I have is that my ride is never on the line, and I’ll never take theirs. Most of the racers don’t know that, though, so they still push it to the limits.

  I’ve been coming out here for a few weeks now. Ever since…well, ever since Dad’s death. I need a bit of rule breaking to feel alive. How does a few weeks feel like a lifetime ago?

  Handing Manny my bills, forgetting my reasons for being here, I kit back up.

  Bringing my bike to the line, Fixer pops up beside me on the Jacob's new ride. Revving the engine once really hard, then settling back to wait, I sit calm and relaxed as he stews in his chinos. With a wide smirk, Fixer readies to take me on. He might win, but I might just kick his ass for being a punk. He’s not one of my favorites. He’s boisterous, cocky, a prick to those that lose against him, and he’s an asshole to the girls after a fast, lazy fuck.

  Kalyn, Jacob’s girl, is the starter tonight. She stands to the center, wearing nothing more than a table doily and a thong. It's barely covering her ample ass that even I’m envious of. We prep, set, and wait for the go. Just before Kalyn can give us the go, in the distance, sirens ring out, getting closer and closer. Races are over for the evening, it seems. As the crowd disperses like cockroaches in the light, peeling off the street as fast as lightning, I kick the gear, pin the throttle, and spin off to the side street I came down. Hoping it’s not jammed up or blocked by fleeing racers or spectators, I stop. At the end, a patrol car squeezes into the space, giving me no room to flee. I’m penned in. I’m in shit if I’m caught. This is my fifth charge since his death. Not a record I’ve tried for before, but I seem to be pretty good at it. And I definitely won’t be going anywhere near home if this cop has his way.

  Aiming for the sidewalk, I squeak around the back of the cruiser, narrowly missing another visit to the family lawyers. Dad would have been pissed about this, but he’s not here, and I don’t want my grieving mother to know. I’ll call Ben, Dad’s team leader and best friend, to save my ass, again.

  RISEN

  The pager squawks as Tiana—my favorite, yet most annoying and wickedly vindictive dispatcher—depresses the call button, accentuating her bitchiness tenfold.

  “You’re the one that enforces the law.” Bleep, it squawks effectively, telling me off in-between her snarky remarks. “Now, pick up your big girl panties and arrest her.” The worst goddamn part about all of this? Tiana’s fucking right. I won’t tell her that to her face, though. Fuck no. That would be stupid of me.

  “Fuck off, Tiana,” I say into the vacant patrol car, being careful to not express it on the pager system. Like I need another reason to be penalized.

  Tiana’s five foot five frame, perky smile, and bubbly attitude may seem sweet and adorably cute to those who don’t know her, but to someone like me who does, her interior could cut you like a knife if you cross her. She’s the ‘screw you’ friend that you expect bucket loads of honesty and candor from in every comment, which is what I like about her, if I’m being totally honest. She may be the bitch, but I’m the asshole. The bad weed. The fucker that no one wants to get too close to with the mental baggage and seedy past. The guy constantly screwing up without trying, and I have horrible fucking luck.

  Blowing out a heavy breath, running my hands through my slightly long hair, I give myself a personal pep talk. “Get your shit together, Risen.”

  Fuck. Like this traffic stop is going to help me get my shit together. It’ll pull me even deeper into hell’s ass.

  Peering out of my patrol car at the woman standing nonchalantly on the grass, waiting—no, begging—to be arrested, I’m scared shitless to be the one to do it. China Crown was a pinup on my walls th
roughout most of my senior university years. I was keeping paper towel companies in business as a hot and horny young twenty something. Thoughts of her kept me working out my cock. I’m only a few years older so it’s not creepy; at least, that’s what I told myself, even back then. Now as I adjust my pissed off dick, preparing to go back out to her and the awaiting bike, I have to calm the dirty thoughts that run rampant in my mind. I need to think of cross-dressing fat guys, catheters and enemas—anything just to quiet my rising blood. If it gets any louder, I’ll walk out there with a raging hard-on. That would most certainly show up on the car cam.

  Fuck, I’d never hear the end of that ribbing at the station.

  As I’m sitting in my cruiser, contemplating the circumstances, my personal phone rings. Relaxing the growing boner faster than that moment when your mom walks in on you having sex, I pull it from the clip on my belt. Finding Tiana’s perfected resting bitch face on the screen, I can feel this routine stop going even more sideways.

  Sliding the lock, I answer in my usual ‘go fuck yourself’ tone. “What the fuck, T?”

  “There’s nothing special about Miss China Crown, Risen.” Tiana doesn’t see what I see. She looks so pure and so sweet, which is a total one-eighty to the woman on the track. She doesn’t let anyone get the better of her, ever. China Doll Crown effectively crushes the competition with a perfected smile that wishes you better luck next time.

  Flipping her hair out of its hairband, shaking the chocolate length down her svelte frame, my cock strains against my chinos once more. She’s fucking beautiful. Seeing her mocha and midnight hair streaming in the breeze, sticking every so often to her blood red lipstick, I have the hardest time keeping myself under control.

  “You can’t let her off with a fucking warning.” Don’t I wish. “And don’t fucking lie to me anymore than you’re lying to yourself.”

  Trust me, I’m not. I know the truth. She’s dangerous to my career. Fuck, to my supply of conditioner.

  “Give me a break, Tiana,” I say crassly, pissed she’s schooling me about my fucking job.

  “Risen, life would be silently torturous, and verdantly fucked-up without you here to harass. Stop being such a pussy.”

  “That’s something I’ve never been accused of.”

  She laughs into the receiver. “Yeah, well, right now, I’m accusing you of being one. Man up.”

  Losing a bit of my steam in the argument, I say, “T, I’m just pissed to be the one to do it.”

  “Risen, you’re lying to yourself if you think she’ll appreciate you letting her off the hook. Be the bastard I know you are. Arrest the fucking princess.”

  To me, the idea of arresting her on lawful technicalities feels like a shit draw. Her life has been plastered on every news feed, every channel, and talked about on every fucking entertainment show for months. China Crown has had her ass handed to her on a Hollywood, gold-plated platter.

  “Get it done, Officer.” Without a goodbye—like I expected one—Tiana hangs up with a resounding click.

  Looking out the chipped windshield, huffing out my building frustration, I grab the last of what’s left of my man card. When I pulled up beside the two-wheeled devil on the highway exit, I knew what it was right away, a KRGT-1. What I wouldn’t give to ride that thing just once. On the curb sits a bike that’s worth more than someone like me could make in two years, idly and patiently waiting on its kickstand to be released. It’s streamlined, sexy as fuck, and dangerously enticing. The sleek, flat black titanium frame and single-eyed devil screams its need to speed in every nut and bolt. I don’t fault China for letting it off the chain either. I would’ve too.

  Sitting here like a pansy-ass fuckwit, looking at the heaven-sent beauty of China Crown, I curse my position. I’m the cop, and she’s the unlawful citizen that has a bench warrant out for her arrest. Both of us have no choice in this situation. As I resign myself to that fact, I hate it more and more as the seconds’ tick down. I can’t let her off with a warning without risking my job, and I’m almost sure that if I arrest her, I’ll be dealing with a full-blown princess fit.

  Fuckity fuck, fuck. “Fuck!” I grind out before picking up the receiver of my CB radio. I need to put an end to my internal misery. I know that Tiana is going to enjoy this way too fucking much. I’m never goin to hear the end of her I told you so’s.

  “Officer Scott,” I clip off. “I need a call in to Tracey’s to get the bike picked up. It’s a hundred thousand worth of naked metal on the side of Crenshaw."

  The pager squawks and squeals as she replies. “Ten four, Patrolman.” Tiana’s voice is malicious and gleeful. I know T’s enjoying this way too fucking much. I swear, I can see the grin from here as it creeps across her features. She relishes the position I’m in.

  Tossing the mic across the console, I cuss some more.

  Why did it have to be her? Of all the people to pull over, why did it have to be China Crown? It’s not like I’m a loser who can’t find a date, but she’s always been the unattainable one on a pedestal. Watching her like the voyeur I am, Doll texts away on her phone with no understanding of the shitstorm she’s about to be engulfed in. While her petite painted fingers move a mile a minute across the screen, I think about what I wouldn’t do to have those scrape down my arms. I want so badly to pull those full red lips through my teeth and punish them. Man, it’s gonna be hard to keep my shit together and do my job at the same time.

  Blowing out heavy breaths, I pop the door of my cruiser and step into the heat of day. The sound of the closing door has Doll turning my way with surprise lighting her features. I swear to all that’s holy, her wide-eyed surprised gaze is even more stunning than I could’ve imagined. I’m going to need a few cold showers to wrestle this hard-on, and soon.

  “Officer Mason.” Before I have a chance to move away from the car, Captain Scott chirps across my chest walkie with a derisive and harsh tone.

  Now the real shitstorm starts.

  Turning away, I depress the receiver and respond coolly. “Yes, sir?”

  “Tiana has informed me of your progress with Miss Crown. I expect to see the report on my desk within the hour. No exceptions.” Tiana threw me to the wolves. She probably thinks she’s doing me a favor by telling her father. Well, regardless, no more fucking butterscotch candies for her.

  “Yes, sir. Of course.” Answering him, I rub my thumb knuckles into my eye sockets, causing stars to swim in my vision. I wish it would make me temporarily blind.

  “I expect this will be cared for with professionalism,” Captain Scott chimes in tautly, as I cuss the fucking uniform I wear. Tiana’s father, and my boss, are holding my nuts in a noose right now, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I never thought of being anything other than a cop after the mess of my teenage years. To fight my past, and to swamp out the specters that wander in my soul, that’s all I could’ve hoped for when taking this position.

  Calmly, I answer, “Ten-four, sir.” And without a further reply from the captain, I huff. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

  This.

  Is.

  Shit.

  Hardening the shield around my soul and bucking up my courage, I turn back to China. I need to seem stern, professional, to the point and contrite, even though I feel like a fucktard and a pussy for wanting her autograph.

  Clearing my throat, I approach her. “Miss—”

  “Yes, Officer,” she says sweetly.

  “There are outstanding tickets that haven’t been processed and paid out. I’m going to have to ask you to come with me to the station.”

  “The fuck?” Crap. Princess, meet fit. Stay on point, Risen.

  “Miss, I’m going to have your bike impounded, and you’ll have to come with me.”

  “The fuck you are!” The look on her face could stop anyone in their tracks. This is not going to go well.

  Being the asshole I know I can be, I pull up to my full height and stare her down. “There are four outstanding violations that you’re wanted for,
and it seems you didn’t appear in court last week. The judge has sent an order of detainment. I’m sorry to do this, but you’ll have to come with me.”

  Stepping up beside her, taking in her honeysuckle and vanilla fragrance as it clouds my mind, I pull out my cuffs. Flicking them apart, I concentrate on the task at hand. I swear, I hear the wheels in her head spinning with retorts that are probably—no, most definitely, not ladylike.

  “You have got to be shitting me, right? I mean, this isn’t real. Who put you up to this, ’cause it’s not fucking funny.”

  “I wish I was joking, Miss Crown.” Crap on a cracker, do I wish.

  Tossing her arms in the air as I unlatch the first cuff, China takes a step back. Flicking it against her upraised petite wrist, I turn her around gently before adding the second bracelet. My mind reels as I imagine using these cuffs for something else.

  Pressing the links to her wrists, I feel her soft, supple body up against mine where we touch, ever so slightly. I’m a big guy at six-six, making Doll’s five-ten or eleven seem petite. And where her little body is long, contained, and tight, mine is bulky and overshadowing hers in the best possible way. The blood rushes in a torrent back to my already straining cock, reminding me that I’m a full-blooded man in my prime. The slightest touch makes it rise to the occasion. On the best of days, I have to concentrate on keeping a chubby down, and this is really trying my resolve.

  “I’m being arrested?” she asks. “You know this will be on the news at five, Officer. I hope you wore your best dress for the pictures.” Acting indignant and pissed, but calm about the whole fiasco, China scans the surrounding sky and streets, looking for the paparazzi that linger on every street corner like cockroaches, just waiting for their next scavenged roadkill. This must be hard for her.

  “This has got to be the worst fucking joke, ever.” Deflating slightly, China resigns herself to the fact that she has no choice in this. Me, I wish I could rewind this day too.