Crown and Anchor Series: Book 1-4

by Kerri Ann

  “Not a joke, Miss. Though I wish it were.”

  Seeing China in posters for years, I always thought she was spectacular, but up close, she’s even more stunning. Turning her to face me, sucking in a deep breath, I realize there’s not a single blemish on her skin. The manicured eyebrows that peek out from behind her wire frame Tom Ford sunglasses are near perfection. Mesmerized by the tiny freckle just by her nose in the shape of a star, it finishes off the package, enhancing those pouty, blood red, full lips that I want so badly. If I were less of a gentleman, I’d take them between my own.

  Who am I kidding? I am less than a gentleman, and more thug than I’d like to admit.

  Lifting off her glasses, I hook them in my jacket pocket and wait as she adjusts to the light of day. Purely stunning. No other words can describe her seafoam green and gold eyes that are framed by massive chocolate eyelashes. I’m staring into the depths of an abyss. Pausing for longer than I should, China looks up at me, almost quizzically, with a cheeky smile. She knows how she affects men, and me specifically. Dammit, get your shit together, Risen.

  “Officer?” She grins slyly. With a knowing gaze that tells me she sees right through my composure, I sidestep her. Pulling the key from her bike’s ignition, I listen to her huff and grumble under her breath. It’s cute as hell.

  “I can’t believe I have to do this,” I mutter to myself as I move her off toward the car’s back door. Clearing my throat, I do my job in earnest. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney.” I turn her toward the open car door and continue. “If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand the rights I’ve just read to you?”

  Opening the door and holding myself to the side, I ask her, “With these rights in mind, do you wish to speak to me?”

  “Yes, I understand, and no, I don’t, Officer,” she says harshly.

  Placing my hand on her head, I help her bend down enough to get her inside the car without hitting the frame.

  Scooting to the middle of the seat, she glares up at me with a look that I’m sure more than one opponent has had the chance to see and fear. “Are you okay there, Miss Crown?”

  “Perfectly peachy, Officer.” Clipped, short, and to the point. She turns away from me and the open door where I stand, giving me the cold shoulder.

  Closing her door and opening my own, I mutter to myself about the whole fucked-up scenario. Hopping in, I find myself checking the rearview mirror with an overwhelming need to apologize. I’m not normally known for being a pussy, but I’m twisted in knots about this. It’ll do me no good to tell her how fucking horrible I feel for arresting her, or what an asshole I am. I wish it were under different circumstances that we were meeting. All of it means shit. She’s still arrested, and I’m the officer who put her there.

  Turning around and passing her sleek, deserted machine, I hope to fuck that Tiana arranged the hook with Tracey’s. Because without a doubt, within three point nine seconds of us drifting down the street, that bike will be scrap metal.

  Shit sticks! This sucks.

  CHINA

  I’d only wanted to get out of the hospital to ride for a few hours, while my recently awakened brother, Wyatt, slept. For so many incredibly boring weeks, I’d been sleeping in a crap-ass recliner, eating takeout, and having contraband coffee shipped in as I waited for Wyatt to recover from his brain injury. The coma I handled, the injuries to his hand I was cool with, but the heart-stopping-need-a-defibrillator moments, those I could have done without. Three times, Wyatt, my older brother and the middle Crown, decided to let his heart stop. Three freaking times!

  I dealt with it as much as I could without falling apart myself.

  We’re better for it; or, at least, that’s what I tell myself. I thought it would be cool for me to clear the space. That was then, this is now. I’ve been arrested, printed, and photographed. I’ve used my only phone call to Whiskey, my oldest and recluse brother, before being slammed into a cell with a transvestite that thought I would become their new bestie. Now my reluctant, asshole brother is here, bailing my ass out. And he looks pissed.

  Picking up my effects from the unruliest person I’ve ever met, Tiana—the duty officer from hell—we headed out to his waiting rental. It’s nothing special of note, but it’ll get us back to the hospital where our last living family member is locked away in his room, repairing.

  Nearing the front doors of the precinct, Whiskey takes my hand, leading me out like a petulant child. “You have got to be shitting me, James! I can fucking walk on my own. I don’t need you to hold my hand.” I snap it away and step out into the heat of the California midday sun, pissed.

  “Doll, you don’t get how much shit you’re in, do you? I just picked your ass up out of a holding cell, in a jail. A jail, Doll!” He gruffly grumbles his discontent. He’s trying to keep his voice low and his anger contained, because we’re not in the best place for losing your shit.

  “And yes. Oh, yes, I get it, Jamieson. But I choose to ignore the fact that you had to bail my ass out—heftily, I might add—and right now, we’re standing outside a police station. But I do lay blame at your feet too, James. Do you just hit the hills without checking your gear?” Jamieson, better known as Whiskey, stops in his tracks. I hear him grunt as his shoulders tense and his jaw ticks. Shit, I’m in for a doozie of a comment with that look.

  He grits his teeth and glares down at me. “Ditto, little sister. Fuckin’ ditto,” he says as he holds the door open.

  Shit, he’s fucking right. I can’t blame him for not checking my bike before bringing it to the hospital. That’s my fault. I’m the fucking motorcycle racer, not him. He’s the snowboarder. I was in such a hurry to blow out of there that I didn’t check it over. I needed time to relax, to calm myself, and to center my soul. I didn’t even think to look to see if all the signals worked. Go figure. A few speeding tickets, and a blown light were what took me down, even after all the street racing.

  Oh well. I can’t worry about that now.

  For weeks, I’d been holed up in the hospital, hardly living, barely sleeping, and pacing like a trapped lion while I waited for Casper to wake up. I just needed a release. I wanted Casper to rise up and tell me “I’m okay, Doll” a hundred times. And every moment when I thought I’d lose him, I was falling apart inside. Now he’s awake, and I naively thought that life would get back to normal. Well, as normal as it could after everything that’s happened to us.

  A little over two months ago, our dad, Jax, died in a fiery inferno on an Indy racetrack. We had a massive public funeral. We all acted for the cameras, so content to be in each other’s company, even though we would rather have scratched each other’s eyes out. Then, a few weeks later, we were supposed to be at a dinner with our mother. It was a farewell dinner and the reading of Dad’s will before Jamieson took off for Olympic practice. I knew that Cas and his girlfriend, Circe, were going to immerse themselves back into their racing schedules, and I was forced to be in attendance for the last time before moving out of the house. I was looking forward to moving out. The mausoleum I called home was a prison to me. I wouldn’t have to live under Mother’s strict rules once I turned twenty-one. That was before Cas, Circe, and our Mother were in a massive accident where the remainder of my life folded in.

  Yeah, we never had a great mother-daughter relationship, but I still feel a loss at not having that content moment like Casper did with her.

  The day we were all supposed to meet up, Mother and Casper were hanging at the house. Normally, it would’ve been stressful, full of conflict, and it would surely have contained moments of hateful anxiety as we boxed up more of Dad’s things. But I bugged out. I went shopping with Cathryne and Hallette in Palm Springs. Receiving the call, driving as fast as I possibly could to UCLA medical, I was too late for me and her. So it was more death for the Crown family. I fucking hate death about as much as I hate the gynec
ologist, broccoli, chunky heeled shoes, or people who believe in happy endings. There are no happy endings, there are for now endings.

  I had to grow up fast, taking on the responsibility of something I shouldn’t have had to deal with for centuries. I had to look after Circe, and deal with her never-ending questions about Wyatt as I hid him away, as well as dealing with my own stress of more death and destruction. Even though it wasn’t mine to resolve, I accepted it reluctantly and took on what I could without losing my shit. No fairytale at all, I tell ya.

  That’s not the issue at hand, though. Right now, my biggest problem is the grouchy, mammoth of a brother that walks beside me with stiff and forceful intent. Even though he got me away from my streetwalking tranny cellmate before she wanted to retell stories around a campfire while braiding each other’s hair. Well, technically, it’s his weave, and I doubt he could go near a campfire without setting his polyester outfit ablaze. I still think Jamieson’s going to hang this episode over my head for life. And even though I really think I’d almost rather stay in the cell the allotted timeframe, taking my chances with my new tranny friend, I’ll begrudgingly say thanks.

  As Jamieson belts in, he sits quietly for a moment. I’m afraid to break the silence. Letting out a heavy breath, he clenches the steering wheel, tightly.

  “I don’t know how to deal with this, China. I don’t have the patience for fuckin’ chick drama,” he says softly, and without malice, but I know he’s at the end of his rope. All this is totally outside his usual nasty, ‘fuck you’ attitude that he portrays to everyone. And I’m not sure how to approach him either. We’ve never truly dealt with each other.

  “Look, I get it. I’m a burden, but it’s for only for a few more weeks.” I’m pouty about it, and honestly, a little annoyed that even though I’ve been taking care of everything for Wyatt, Mom, and Circe, I’m still everyone’s problem because I’m the little sister.

  Whiskey needs to deal, god dammit.

  “Run right back to your snowcapped hills where you can avoid me for another ten years if you wish, Whiskey. Stop fretting about me, brother. Soon enough, I’ll no longer be your problem.” I’m indignantly pissed, and I know I’m poking the already pissed bear, but I’m at the end of my rope too. For years I’ve been the pest, the distraction, and the one in the way of everyone else’s future. No more.

  “I...” Whiskey pauses, calmly looking out the window. “I’m sorry. I don’t know you as much as I should, Doll. I don’t know what you’ve been through, and we’ve only had a few weeks together at best to deal with this. I’m not doing it well, am I?”

  With that, a bit of my fight deflates. “No. No you’re not. And I’m sorry you had to come here, but thank you.”

  “Me too, Doll. And you’re welcome.” Jamieson slams the key into the ignition, starts the car, and heads back out into traffic toward UCLA campus without a further word.

  As I stare out at the uncomfortable quiet streets, I feel horrible about how I reacted. I’m acutely aware of how this day went for me, and it had to suck worse for him. He had to pick my sullen and acutely pissed off self out of a holding cell. He had to pay my bond and deal with the humiliating issue of a family member arrested, all while dealing with death and family matters that he’s never been involved in. He’s never dealt with my shit, and he’s been thrown into the deep end of the pool with the PMS great white sharks.

  This sucks for all of us.

  My day went from freedom, happiness, and elation for hitting the pavement, to an arrest, a friendly neighborhood transvestite, then a despondent conversation that lasted all of nine seconds before I pissed off by eldest and estranged brother.

  Great day.

  CHINA

  I’m have no wheels. I’m a Crown champion, and I’m without a bike. It’s all bullshit if you ask me.

  I’ve been coming to stay at the house since Casper woke up. Within the placidity of this massive mausoleum, the stillness has become quite intolerable. I used to enjoy it when everyone went out and left me as the sole inhabitant of the house, but now, I despise the silence. I don’t stay long as I still can’t handle the quiet of it all. I’ve been coming here, but not really resting. Sleep is an anomaly to me; it’s more like napping. There are too many quiet hallways, doors that hold back reminders of family members, and a verdant lack of yelling. Along with a list of at least three hundred other reasons why the house is the last place I want to be, I’m alone here.

  Growing up in a home that had joyous sounds of race engines and motorbikes topping out at peak horsepower, the silence is deafening. The revving beasts screamed their joy around the track. Those sounds, they’ve been a part of the home for as early as I can remember. The shrieking squeal of rubber as it gripped gravel, shooting it out of the softened tires, or making it rap against the barriers like hailstones, howling like mad banshees. We smiled as we’d endured every fearful corner. For us, metal was meant to kiss the rim of death. For the track to be devoid of its riders and their devils that danced on it is beyond fucking shameful. It’s a fucking waste, really. Weeds will peel apart the blacktop if Wyatt and I don’t start abusing it again soon.

  But I can’t bring myself to do it. Not yet. At least, not today.

  Without my street bike, thanks to that fucking gorgeous asshole of a cop who left it to be pieced out on the side of Crenshaw, I’ve lost some of the will to hit pavement. He left my sweet, ever so sweet Harriet to be shredded and parted out in seconds. I won’t kid myself; it never had a chance to be towed away. If I went to the tow yard looking for her, they’d tell me they never saw it, which is the god’s honest truth. There would be nothing more than a bolt or a sprocket to prove she was once a magnificent piece of engineering. It’s fucking unfair. I feel sorry for her.

  Walking through the empty halls, I talk to myself as no one else is here to answer. “Casperrrr…” I singsong into the empty house. I’m totally not expecting a reply. Wyatt can’t say shit as he’s still holed up in the hospital., And Jamieson, my other brother? He’s off somewhere too.

  “I’m borrowing your carrrr…” I sing through the vacant hall. I giddily move toward the front of the house to the garage that silently guards our precious metal. Walking in, I smile. To others, this would be extravagant and costly, but to me, it’s a sight of glorious beauty, steel, and oil.

  “Oh, sure. Yeah, of course I’ll be careful with your car, Cas. I’ll look after it like it’s mine.” I’m so borrowing his car without his knowledge, and as I grab his keys off the hook, swinging my ass down toward the end, I find his beautiful car sitting there, gathering dust motes. Really, I’m doing it a favor. Laughing at the fortuitous circumstances, I saunter over. Sure, I have the cash to buy another bike, but it would feel like a betrayal to my pristine machine.

  I don’t plan on doing anything outrageous or crazy today, though, as that’s already been accomplished in an unconventional and sort of fucked-up way. Hell, I have the fingerprinting ink and awful mugshot to show for the last time I let myself off the leash. I just need air. I need the fuck out for a few minutes of peace without people looking over my shoulder. Namely Cassidy and Ciccero, the house wardens.

  God, what I wouldn’t give to be on two wheels right now. Goddamn left arm for sure. In a car, no one knows me as a car is just a car. No one can tell who’s behind the wheel with enough tint, and taking one of my not so legal bikes on the road is just asking for further trouble.

  Yeah, I can afford to spend an untold fortune on a short-term replacement, but once you’ve had a meticulously crafted, painstakingly perfected piece of machinery, the straight out of the box, cookie cutter, every day run of the mill shit just won’t do. And I’m not up for touching Cas’ bike. Oh, hell no. Mainly because I’m afraid of the power it holds. To boot, I’m sure some ratty paparazzi has been peeing in a bottle at the edge of our property, just to catch a glimpse of me screwing up. I can’t take on any more damage to my publicly viewed persona. As it stands, I have a court date shortly that I h
ope will go in my favor.

  I can’t go to jail. It’s not that I don’t love Orange is the New Black, I’m just not ready to be a member of that society. And to be without a bike or racing? There’s the real crime.

  Fuck, I was stupid. Stupid me for not checking on my gear before I left the hospital that day. Stupid me for relying on someone else to inspect it when I fucking knew better. The first rule I learned from Dad was, ‘It’s your ass on the line. Know your ride inside and out. Don’t expect others to worry about it for you.’ Fucking right, Dad. Still schooling me when his ashes aren’t even cooled in the Brickyard.

  Clearing my head of the despondency taking hold just thinking about him, I continue walking. This space is sad, the cars being devoid of their handlers. Like sad racehorses looking to hit the track, each seem to pout. Bypassing Dad’s sleek, black Maserati, and the spotless blank area where Mom’s car should be, I stop beside Casper’s flat black Audi R8. I’d love to hop in my car, my pretty bright red Tesla as it awaits me like a petulant child, but for two great reasons I’ll avoid it. One, like I said, the paparazzi should be camped out, and two, I’m not up for an electric run. Yeah, it’s fast enough to zip through traffic, leaving the pappi in the dust, but I want to hear that rumbling gas burner as it hums its satisfaction. I need the sound of pistons carrying me along.

  Starting it up, I enjoy the purr. The soft shake and vibration of power as it awaits my involvement is just what I need to clear my head. Pulling the bliss, making carriage out of the paddock, I hit the button for the gates, then turn left toward the freeway. The car, as usual, moves like a horny teenage boy, responsive and agile, flying off like a gunshot as it sails smoothly through traffic. It’s not the same as being on the bike, but it’ll do for now.

  I depress the button on the steering wheel as I exit the gate. “Siri. Dial Cathryne.”