by Kerri Ann
“China’s right.” Circe speaks up, shocking all of us. She’s been sitting in the bed, quietly watching the confrontation, not saying anything at all. I have to say, I’m surprised she’s siding with me.
“Siren—” Casper starts, but with a wave of her hand, he halts. Man, she has him wrapped. Good for her.
“Your brothers both love you, and they know what you’ve been through the past few months. I know what you’ve been through. You’ve taken care of everything coming out the other side. You’re one of the strongest women I know, China, and if you think you can handle it, then go. You’re an adult, and honestly, honey, your brothers can say no all they want, but they can’t stop you from doing it.” She grins and gives me a wink. I’m floored. A month ago, I wouldn’t allow her access to Cas while he was unconscious, thinking she was the cause of my family’s demise. Now? She’s been a calming balm on him, and I’m grateful. I feel like a total jackass knowing I caused her pain.
Calmly, Cas turns my way. “You sure you’re ready for this? We won’t be there to defend or save you from the awkward conversations, the bad jokes, or the old men getting a bit too grabby. And the paparazzi will be nasty fucks. You’ll have to do it all alone.”
I nod. “Yeah, I’m good. I’ve been trained by the best.” And boy, was I. Mom had it down to an art. Her ‘resting bitch’ was awkward to be on the wrong side of, but amazing to learn from.
“Okay,” Casper says.
Waiting for Whiskey’s answer, I feel like eons have passed. “Be safe,” he grinds out, looking at me with that same reluctant acknowledgement.
“If you run into any problems, go to security. They’ll take care of any issues, Doll.” As Casper smiles that dimple wide, face splitting grin, I kiss him on the cheek. “Promise me, if you can’t handle it, you bolt,” he says quietly.
“I promise,” I reply. Walking over to Circe’s bed, I give her a gentle hug, quietly clipping off a “thank you” while I’m tucked into her shoulder. I really wish Casper was coming with me. I won’t admit it, but it’s mainly because I’ve never been to a function without his intervention and sidekickery.
RISEN
Finishing my workout with a nice light jog around the park, I sneak into the coffee shop to grab my latte. It’s the only cheat I allow. I don’t do sweets, chips, fried foods or sodas, but a steaming hot vanilla latte is my fucking kryptonite. The lineup at the coffee bar was extra deep so I only have twenty minutes to get my ass prepped and into the meeting with a smile on my face, even if I feel like quitting and running for the hills.
Making my way to morning roll call, it’s the same shit over and over. Every day I get in, I listen to the same people get the cushy assignments, or the nice patrol partners in a sweet district, but it’s never me. I’ve pissed off both the Chief and Captain Scott so many times, I don’t get anything easy. Today won’t be any different.
“Hey, bruiser,” Tiana says as I pass the front desk. Swiping my keycard across the metal plate to our patrolman area, I wave a weak greeting. T doesn’t normally run dispatch in the mornings. Sitting at the communal desk where every transient policeman, worried parent, probationary officer and truant scout sign in to get what they need from our precinct, Tiana is shouting for them to quiet. Mornings here are hectic, and usually needing extra hands, to say the least.
“Risen?” she asks questioningly. I pause, smiling in that head nod guy kind of way, then walk on, toward the lockers.
The first person I see is the last I care to. What a fucking asshole. Jackson Riggs, the pompous, type A fucktard that has everyone fooled except me, grins in a sick sort of way. He doesn’t fool me. I’ve seen that fucker out on the town and I’ve heard his stories of conquest, all of which are things that turn my stomach. He’s considered a “good cop.” Two commendations in the field somehow outweighed the indecent exposure, as well as a rape charge that miraculously got dropped after the lady disappeared before the arraignment. He’s the guy that hides behind his badge, using the system to circumvent the rights we’re afforded as upstanding lawmen.
“Mason,” he clips off tightly.
“Riggs.” I smart back, wanting to punch him in the jaw.
The locker room is full of guys in varying stages of dress. Some are coming off patrol, or going out to the bullpen to work their detective positions. Some have towels wrapped around their waists, of which barely hide their paunch guts and minuscule cocks, which is more than I wanted to see, like, ever. There’s more of those guys, the Riggs assholes, than the nice guys. There’s no care in their work as they’re all weak, lazy fuckers.
Then there are guys like my best friend, Trevor. He’s a joker by heart, with nothing more than a few broken rocks in his head. A side effect of way too many hits over the years as a defensive lineman in college. I trust him, which is something I can’t say for many of them.
“How was the run?”
“It cleared the cobwebs,” I say, opening the lock on my cabinet.
“Sex clears it better, man. You should try that sometime instead. Way more fun than rubbing it out yourself.”
Fuck, don’t I know it. Nothing seems to work out the kinks.
“You should’ve seen the girls I had last night, near fucking perfect.” Yanking off the towel, holding his dick away and out of my view, Trevor mock tortures the fucking thing.
“Dude! Locker room, not brothel. Put that shit away.” Laughing, I pull my holster and cuffs out. Snapping on my shirt before I link my walkie at the shoulder, I’m ready for another boring patrol day. Arresting China Crown has been the highlight of my year.
“Like I need a visual of what you do with your cock, you fucker. You’ll scare the women in here with that garden snake.”
“Not somethin’ most of ’em haven’t already seen. Plus, it’s all boa.” He pulls the lock on his cupboard, clothing free, and continues to wander around naked. “I got nothin’ on your motherfuckin’ anaconda. You need to let that snake roam free, buddy. With a woman, of course.”
“Yeah, don’t you worry about my anaconda. I just don’t show mine off like a new tattoo quite as often as you.”
Leaning into his locker, Trev grabs his clothes, sans boxers—which should scare his partner for the day—and heads to the shower. “I’ll be out in ten. Hold up for me. We’ll go in for the shitshow together. Yeah?”
“Yeah, I’ll wait for your sorry ass.” Moving out of the room, away from his naked stupid hick ass, I call out over my shoulder, “Dress before you come out, fucker! I’ll be out front with T.”
Before I even hit the bullpen, I can hear T’s derisive voice from the hallway. “Listen up, people.” She’s giving someone the gears. The desk is slightly raised, giving her a commanding position to speak from, which T uses it to her advantage.
“You,” she points to a burly, heavyset man on the left, “are not getting past me to harass our policemen about loud music being played at night. You live beside a bar.” Pointing next to a slight lady in perfectly pressed attire, she says, “You, are not getting out of the ticket. No texting and driving. That’s why your car has a ding.”
“Now you, sir. I can help you. Please, follow me.” She motions gently, and super sweetly to a frail elderly man wearing only a gray housecoat and a single, dirty, fuzzy bunny slipper. Stepping down, she moves toward him kindly. “We were able to get you a table by the window, just like you asked. If you’ll follow me.”
Being that we’re two doors down from a long-term care facility, we end up with a great deal of Alzheimer patients here. Someone had a brilliant idea that if the bricks on the side, closest to their building were painted to look like an old-style bistro, then they might come in looking for a table instead of getting lost all over town. It’s worked like a charm. Less and less elderly have gone missing from the home.
She leads him around the corner toward the seating area, where there’s a little chair, a table with a white lace cover, and a fake, single pink rose. It’s a closed in area where we can keep
an eye on them until the attendants swing out to lead them back safely. It’s much nicer than a holding cell that would only confuse them more.
As I watch the interaction, a heavy hand lands on my shoulder. Shocking me out of my thoughts as I watch things unfold, Trev asks, “Hey, man, you ready?”
“Yeah, good. Let’s get in.”
CHINA
Trying to find ways not to kill my older brother for his sideswipe of me with Wyatt, I decided to come home, but I sat in the car, staring at the emptiness of it for almost twenty minutes.
Sure, Cassidy and Ciccero are here, but they’re here because they’re paid to be here. Closer than family to each of us in many ways, they have been and still are very accommodating through everything that’s happened. What I wouldn’t give for a bit of tension filled conversation. Once you’ve had it, it’s hard to handle the placidity.
Passing through the vacant hallway from the garage, past Dad’s empty as fuck office and toward the expansive great room, I take a quick glance out the bank of windows to the track that calls for me. I want nothing more than to head out and ride, I truly do. Just not yet.
“China?”
“Yeah, Cassidy?” I yell back.
“How was Wyatt and Circe? Did they like the homemade tacos from Ciccero?”
“Yeah, we all loved them. Thanks, Cassidy.”
“That’s great, China. Just great.”
Entering the kitchen, I find Cassidy standing at the monstrous island, placing what I assume are premade dinners into containers for me. I smile as I look over the contents. It looks like chicken cordon bleu, fajita mixes, stir fry, and various sweets. When she makes my favorite meals, I totally overlook her prim and proper expectations of me, or what she feels my mother would expect.
Her coarse, thick, midnight black weave is pulled back in a cloth wrap, keeping it back out of her slightly aged face. Her limited makeup and conservative attire seems so out of place for a lady who runs the house. She looks so out of place. I’ve told her that since I was little. She doesn’t take offense because she knows it’s just how she looks to me. She’s comfort in my chaotic life.
“Do you need any more help tonight before the fundraiser? If not, I’m heading out early. I have a date.” Her eyes light up.
“He must be special to have you grinning like that, ol’ lady.” I quip as I snap up a tray of the stir fry mix and a stray fork.
Flicking a towel on the back of my hand, Cassidy frowns. “That’s not for now, young lady. And food is meant to be used with napkins, not as a rush through the kitchen.” Holding my hands high in defeat, I grin as she slides a fork and knife across with a napkin encircling them.
“You’ve been taught better. Now, sit down and I’ll pull out your dinner from the oven. I had it there warming.” Bending low, pulling out a cooling tray from the bottom of the island, Cassidy rests the hot stone on the rack in front of me.
“How’s Wyatt?” she asks.
Pushing the previously absconded tray back, I pull up a stool to take a seat.
“Wyatt’s good.”
“That’s good, honey. I’m glad to hear he’s on the mend. The house is vacant without the sound of you two killing banshees on the track.” Laughing at the vision of us racing again and her expectation, I’m reminded of how much I miss it—how I miss us.
“He’s good enough to pick up a utensil now, but there’s still no strength in his grip. It’ll be quite a bit before he hits the track.” I feel like a forlorn widow. I shouldn’t be such a sad sack of shit about it. I still have my brother in my life. Whiskey, reluctantly being here, isn’t the same.
“You avoided my question, Cassidy. Who has you wound up for a date?” As she finishes plating the food, I see the deep russet crest on her mocha features as she blushes.
“Mi amore, are you ready for adventure?” Wandering in, Ciccero, my brother’s warden, walks in looking particularly dashing.
“Holy shit,” I say, smirking.
“Keep it to yourself, little one.” She taps me on the back of the head in reprimand, just after setting the steaming stir fry bowl down in front of me. “It’s a first date.”
“Well, color me amazed. You and Ciccero? Oh, that’s fantastic. Truly,” I tell them as I swirl my fork around in the veggies and rice mix.
As any house with a busy family schedule, our parents felt we needed intervention when it came to manners, cleanliness, and fortitude of character. Cassidy was my house warden, and Ciccero was Jamieson’s and Wyatt’s. Later, he became just Wyatt’s. They were there to make sure we did our homework, cleaned our rooms, and made sure we were-well rounded members of status for social events. In other words, we were to be good kids, not brats.
Ciccero is a sexy, mid-fifties man with graying hair at his widow’s peak. His mustache is always trimmed and waxed in an executed fashion. With a peppering of silver stringing through, it adds to his old guy cuteness. He’s not a bad looking man. As a little girl, I had a crush on him. I’d tell him that I wanted a prince charming, just like him. He’d laugh it off, telling me to reach higher in my expectations. He was wrong. I expect nothing more than devotion from any man, regardless of their wealth.
“Do you mind if I take this lovely lady out for a night on the town? It’s been years in the making, I’m afraid.” Stepping up beside Cassidy, grinning widely, he places a gentle kiss on her cheek. The red tinge to Cassidy’s cheeks heats to an all-time high as she blushes from his adoring attention.
“Go. Have fun, kids. Don’t worry about me. I’m ready for a night of disdainful, disgusting, distinguished sponsors.” I snap my fingers. “I’ll be home before you know it.” Forking a load full of deliciousness into my mouth, I stare into my bowl, looking for a genie to pop up. I’m trying to avoid their loving haze. I’m feeling more and more affected by all the lovey-dovey couples surrounding me lately.
I’m sure Cassidy wants to say more, but with a few choice, quiet words, Ciccero has her turning heel and saying goodbye.
Drinking down an ice-cold glass of white wine and wiping the dirty edges of my soul clean, I wonder when my life will turn a corner. When do I stop walking the plank of a disheartened life? Watching others moving on after my parent’s death, bit by tiny bit, my soul erases.
RISEN
“Carruso, Johnson, Harold and Cruz. You’re in district two today. Maxwell, Carter, Pris, you’re going to check up that lead for the missing mom in La Brea. Make sure you recheck with forensics on the report about her car.” As the teams are called and moving out, I sit awaiting my expected ticket bitch job.
As the Captain turns back to his sheets, marking off the officers he’s sent out, he glares at the rest of us in his usual crass and disdainful way. “Tobia, Green, Lopez…” Pausing, he huffs and points to one of the small officers trying to shirk his gaze. “No, Marcus. Not you, you fucker.” He points to the new woman on the force. “Maria Louise Lopez. I want you to hit district seven. For district five, I want you, you, and you, Marcus,” he says, pointing at three other fuckers hiding in the back.
We all hate roll call. The main reason is because Captain Scott loves to give out the shittiest positions to the last ones left at the end. He’s already sent out the fifteen “best” cops in his opinion, and now it’s just divvying up the crap assignments through the rest of us. It’s kind of like being chosen last for a game of HORSE.
As each turn and exit out the back, leaving only four of us in the room, were the last lonely fuckers left. We get the shaft consistently. I might as well be a janitor for the day as I’ll be sweeping crap under the rug anyway.
“Riggs!” he shouts. “I want you, Shipley, and Grant for a special assignment.”
“What about me, sir?” I ask, even though I know I’m being stupid for speaking out.
Before he can answer me with a snide remark, Grant pipes up. “Sir?”
With an ‘are you fucking kidding me’ look and poking me in the side, Trevor admonishes me for my apparent lack in judgement.
The captain squints at the idiot that tore his focus away. “What?”
“I actually asked for today off. I was told by HR to show at roll call first.” He sounds small, trying to keep his tone and voice low.
Who the hell did he blow for that?
“Day off, huh? Fuck, I don’t even get a day off.” The captain glares daggers at the sergeant before nodding for him to leave. Skipping out of his seat like there’s a fire sale at Guns and Ammo, he moves as quickly as he can, out of the room, leaving us in the firing line.
Shaking his head, the captain mutters, “Guess it’ll have to do.” Not one of us has the balls to interrupt his internal musings as he quiets. It feels like hours, but seconds later, he looks up, flicking his gaze back and forth between the remaining officers.
“The three of you have the day off. Tonight, you’re on shift. It’s fucking important, so don’t piss me off. Brush off your dress attire. And I mean, brush it off. I don’t want to hear that there was a spec of fucking dust on any of you.” Pinching the bridge of his nose before pushing his glasses up, he stares directly at me. I swear he has heat ray vision as he looks right through my soul. “Be at the Petersen Museum by four to meet with the director, Jackson Thompson. You’ll be secondary security in the venue to keep those fuckin’ paparazzi scavengers from bothering the patrons. You’ll be expected to show us in the best light. I’ll be expecting nothing less. The last thing I need is for you cunts to fuck something up. Now, go away. My coffee’s getting annoyed by your ugly asses. Dismissed.”
Rising and rushing out, we wonder how we ended up on such a high-profile position for the department, being that we were the last losers in the room.
“You! Big fuck!” Jabbing my side, Riggs grins that leering smirk I want to knock right off his face. “You just got lucky with Grant having a day off. See you tonight, assholes.”
“This should be fun, cunt knuckle. See you later, Riggs,” Trev grimaces as he pulls me away, before I punch Riggs in the jaw.