Crown and Anchor Series: Book 1-4

by Kerri Ann

  On the nightstand, my phone sits patiently, waiting me. Flashing with various messages, I look through them. With twelve from Wyatt, six from Jamieson, and one from Circe, I decide to call her first. She’s my best shot at calming my brother. Hopefully, both of them. Dialling her, I wait.

  “Oh, thank God, sweetie. I was worried sick.” What I would’ve paid to have my mother say that just once.

  “Hey, Circe. Yeah, it’s me.” My voice is deeper than usual. It’s as if I’d drank sand.

  “Shit, you sound horrible. I heard what happened and I’m so glad you’re all right. Wyatt was worried. I had to threaten pain to keep him in bed.”

  She smiled. “How is Cas today?”

  “Fine, fine. Don’t worry about him. Ouch, Wyatt, you’ll get your turn to speak to your sister. It’s my turn. Be patient.” Wyatt was always the dark brother, but she’s the light in his life. She’s making him better in so many ways.

  The day of the accident, Wyatt and Mother were collecting Circe from the airport. It was an unusual occasion where they were getting along. With no arguing, no sidelong glances or cutting words, Casper explained it as a perfect day. That was before they crashed on the highway coming home. Mom died instantly, while Wyatt and Circe were lucky to have lived. Casper may never ride professionally again, but he’s better and he’s here. I’ll take that any day. His illness will still need assistance, and even though I miss her, my Mother is who made him that way.

  “How’d it go yesterday? The papers were very vague, saying the charges were dropped.”

  They were? Awesome. Everyone on the planet knows more than I do. I’d take vague over nothing.

  “Circe, I’ll catch you up to speed on it later, yeah? I just wanted to call in and see how you and Casper were. Is he still fighting with Crane?” Crane is Circe’s physical therapist, who will hopefully become her mom’s new beau. The man is stunningly beautiful, and charming. Did I mention hot?

  “Well, you know your brother. If Wyatt can’t argue his way out of something then it wasn’t a full day. No, Wyatt, you can’t have your turn yet—” The phone scrambles around as Circe laughs. I can envision them wrestling the absconded phone each one-handed. Both of them with their broken arms, flailing around as he tries to win. Always trying to win.

  “Hey, Doll.”

  “Hey. How’s it going, Ghostman?”

  “Not bad. I worked on my grip today. Held a loose throttle, but I still couldn’t turn it. Fucking wrist. Anyway, how’d it go?”

  How to answer that. “Truth is, I’m really not sure, Cas. You saw the paper yesterday, right?”

  “Yeah. What fucking bullshit.” He pauses. “I’ll swear if I damn well want to, lady, now shush. You had your turn.” I know he’s smiling; I can hear it in his voice. And I wanted to keep Circe away? What was I thinking.

  “Catty brought the paper into the courthouse. I saw it, read it, and I ran to the bathroom to throw up. The last thing I remember is crying like a freakin’ baby on the floor, and now. I have no recollection of anything more, Cas. Did the papers say anything this morning?”

  “Not really. It just said that the majority of the charges were dropped or sidelined. I guess Merconda did her thing.”

  “Yeah, I guess so. Did it say if any stuck?”

  “No, just that you were under probationary conditions, and that jail time was commuted unless you fucked-up. You’re not going to, are you, Doll?” His serious voice is out. Great, big brother / Dad is back.

  “No. I have no intention of wearing a jumpsuit, Cas.” Shuffling around the bed a bit, I feel something cool and heavy on my leg. Reaching down, I know why they said probationary conditions. There’s a fucking monitor strapped to my ankle! “Fuck.”

  “What? What’s wrong, Doll?”

  As concern laces his words, I try to deflect. “Nothing…nothing at all. I just stubbed my toe on the bed bannister. Listen, I’m gonna get up. I’ll find out more and I’ll call you, yeah?” Avoid. Avoid. Avoid.

  “You sure? It sounded a bit more than that. Don’t lie to me, China Doll.” Damn, he knows me too well.

  “No, really, it’s good.” I try to sound light and airy again. “I’ll call you later. Love you. Give Circe a smooch for me, and tell Jamieson he’s a prick.”

  “Yeah, got it. Love you, Doll.” His words are questioning and worrisome, but he’s stuck in a hospital so I can handle his query from a distance.

  Avoidance is key. “Love you too, Casper.”

  Hanging up, I stuff my phone between the pillows and flip back the covers. I’m wearing a fucking monitor. It’s bright red, with a black two inch by two inch flashing beacon of incarceration.

  “God dammit.”

  My attire is the same from yesterday’s fiasco. I’m back to the comfy pants and ratty tank tops I love to relax in. Well, if it’s going to be a redo, I might as well retake the same steps as before. Maybe, just maybe, the day will be progressively better.

  Stepping into my bathroom, running the water for a shower, I stare at the mirror. All the puffiness and grime coagulates. “This shit is getting fucking old.” But hopefully, not worse.

  Stripping down and climbing into the expansive shower, I let the water trail down from the multi-headed rainhead. I want to wash it all away: the pain, the grief, the sadness, the lonely feelings. I want...

  I want to not be alone in this anymore.

  CHINA

  Yep, it’s Groundhog Day. I’m Bill fucking Murray.

  Walking into the kitchen, it’s the same scene as before. Even the girls are sitting on the same bar stools as yesterday. Cassidy has laid out a spread on the counter, and they’re each picking at various morsels as I walk in.

  “Hey,” I say quietly.

  “Lover!” Harlow chirps. Walking over, she pulls me into a massive bear hug, and I relish it completely. “Man, you had me so worried, Doll,” she says softly into my shoulder as I pull her even tighter. I need this. I need them, it, all of it. Their love and the undying devotion that we have for each other is what has gotten me through everything thus far.

  Nothing compares.

  Stepping back, she plops herself gracefully back onto the stool. Hiding her face in her coffee, Cathryne grins at me with her best matronly look. That’s not good.

  “Sorry for yesterday,” I say, trying to prompt a conversation. “I don’t know what happened. All the stress was finally getting to me, ya know?”

  Buttering a piece of fresh french loaf, Hallee chimes in, almost too quickly. “It’s cool, D. Don’t worry. It all worked out.”

  “No, I mean it. Well, actually, I mean I’m sorry for the whole thing, all of it. Court was just another stage in my fucked-up fiasco of a life.” Selecting a slice of warm loaf off the plate, I drizzle honey across its soft center. My mouth almost waters with the anticipation of the warm, sticky mess. “Who has the biggest balls here today? Who’s going to tell me what happened after the bathroom tearfest? I don’t remember anything.”

  Each take turns looking at one another, wide-eyed, eyebrows raised in you tell her non-verbal cues, then mocking each other with jokingly angry faces before their wordless banter is decided. Harlow drew the short straw.

  Taking a bite of the soft bread, I mouth around it, “Harlot?”

  “Fine, you bitches!” she yells to the other two hiding in their breakfast. Hallee giggles, while Cathryne ignores and continues to such back her coffee. Turning toward me, Harlow blows out a breath, making her lips flutter. “Well, you remember going into the bathroom, and I’m sure you remember yelling out that you’d had enough and all that blah blah blah.” I nod, yet I hate that I acted in such a manner.

  Yeah, got that.” Taking a bite of my bread, I glower at her dramatic pause.

  “Well, you collapsed again. Cathryne and I came rushing in while you bawled like a—”

  “Harlow!” The other two shout in unison.

  “What? Fine. Anyway, back to the task at hand. You were in hysterics. That’s when he picked
you up, stripped off his shirt, covered you, showcased his lovely chest, and we went to the judge’s chambers. Now you have an ankle monitor, and you’re sequestered to this house, or wherever he deems necessary,” Har mumbles the last part, rhyming it off like she’s tearing off a band aid. Immersing herself in her tea on the counter, as if it’s the most interesting thing in the whole fucking world, I leave her alone. At least Harlow had the guts to tell me.

  “Okay. So, who is this he that picked me up? And why was he without a shirt?” Reaching to the center of the table, I grab up a mugful of coffee. “Don’t think I won’t get to that ‘wherever he deems necessary’ too, Harlot.” For some reason, I’m at the mercy of some man I don’t know, only because he was there at the right time.

  “Okay, so don’t get mad,” Hallette pleads. Like I’m not already. “You were supposed to be in the courtroom in, like, ten minutes, and we didn’t know what else to do. To be honest, he helped out. He made things better. If you’d gone in that courtroom with everyone around, dealing with the paparazzi and weird shit, we’d have to have you committed.”

  “What the hell are you all talking about?” I shake my head. I’m in total disbelief.

  “You’re going to need this.” Coming around the counter, Cathryne pulls out a chair, handing me a freshly drizzled piece of bread. Sure, butter me up with my favorite comfort food.

  “Sit and just listen as we explain it.” Taking the seat, pulling up a coffee and dressing it, I await the final installment of yesterday’s events. Her melancholic expression brokers no room for argument, so I do as I’m told.

  Cassidy is doing her best to ignore our interaction, which honestly scares me a whole bunch. Cassidy always has a comment, a quip, or a facial expression that needs to be added to any of our conversations, so her quiet is actually quite daunting.

  “D, Harlow gave you the Coles Notes version.” She calmly runs down the whole fiasco from start to finish, including the shirt wielding hot guy, and the judge’s final verdict, all while I sit patiently, listening. Even though I want to scream to the high heavens about the unfairness of this whole ordeal, I listen. When she’s done, I calmly stand and walk to the cupboard where I know the stash of alcohol is stored. I pull down a bottle of Kahlua. Refilling my coffee, I add the liquid fire instead of cream, filling it straight to the brim.

  Taking a swig off the bottle directly, I blow out a heated breath and close my eyes, loving the alcohol’s irksome fire. It feels good, actually. It’s calming.

  “So, I had all the charges dropped? I won’t lose my race standings? I can still hop on a bike, drive a car, and move around town, but I have to do it all with a chaperone? Is that correct?”

  “Yep,” Harlow pipes up. “That’s about the gist of it, CD.”

  “And where is said jailor?” Puckering my lips, pursing them until they’re pushed against my teeth, I bite down to confirm that once again, this is not a dream, or another mental holiday.

  “He needed things from his place for his stay. He’s packing up before coming back. The judge gave him a day’s notice before the proximity alarm would activate.”

  So not only am I in jail, he is too? Fair? Not so much.

  “He seems nice enough to be stuck with, Doll. It shouldn’t be too bad.”

  Quietly processing it all, I rise off the chair with my tainted coffee in tow. “Thanks guys, for everything. I think I’m just gonna go out to the track for a bit. I’ll see you later, yeah?” Each of them look at one another, then turn with weak smiles.

  “Sure thing, CD,” Cathryne says as she turns, giving me a head nod before starting off down the hall. She knows when to push and when I need space.

  “Yeah. Well, call me later,” Hallette mumbles, wiping her hands on a napkin before following behind Catty.

  That leaves only Harlow. She’s the emotional barometer, normally. I know when I’ve pushed and hurt her feelings. “You...you’ll see it’ll be okay, CD. I promise. He’s a good guy, and I doubt the judge would give him such a job if he thought that there was a chance of you being turned into a skin suit.” Hugging me, then giving me a soft peck on the cheek, she turns to leave, but not before leaving a final quip. “He’s got his own issues, D. I could see it. Be careful with him.” Then she too is gone.

  Thankfully, Cassidy doesn’t say a thing, though I know she’s itching to do so. Letting me saunter out the back, away from the awkward silence now resting in this big house, I make my way out of the kitchen. Walking toward the bank of windows that separate my greatest joy and my worst nemesis right now, I pass through to the heat of day. It feels great. Really, it’s lovely. It’s sweltering, but fantastic. The air is scorching hot, which is normal for the Malibu Hills in June. You can taste the salt of the sea air melding with acrid dry ground. Like a balm to my soul, I breathe it in. Taking the final bites of my breakfast, I sit down on the grand steps that lead out to the track. There’s no sound. Nothing.

  I think the quiet is what’s killing me slowly. We’ve always had screeching, revving beasts stretching their horsepower across the surface. With it being so quiet, I feel like a trapped soul.

  RISEN

  After it all went down, I called Trevor to update him. Probably a bad idea.

  “Let me get this straight.” Trevor’s deep roughneck voice crows over the car’s tiny speakers while I’m driving back toward the house. “You, Risen? You’re a scary lucky motherfucker. You’ll be babysitting one of the most spank bank worthy women on the planet for a month as punishment for arresting the same said woman? You’ll be living in her fucking mansion. Wow, you sorry bastard.” His laugh is so loud, I have to turn down the volume before he hurts my ears. “I want in front of this judge! I need to explain that this is totally unacceptable. He seems like an asshole for putting you in such a horrible predicament.” That boastful laugh of his continues as I come to a stop.

  “It’s not that easy, asshat. I have to live at her place. I have to do the things she wants to do. I have to try to do the things I want and keep her out of trouble so we don’t go to jail. If this goes wrong, it could mean no job, no career, and jail time for me too. You do remember Stints? That fucker ended up in Lompoc. He was never the same.”

  I’m not accepting this. This is not going to go well at all. Yeah, I may have kept her out of an orange jumpsuit, and a girl named Margory’s arms, but I might be in for worse than her. No fucking dates, and zero time out with the guys. The gym will be non-existent, and I can’t work on my project. All my extracurricular activities will go out the window now that she’s my new tagalong.

  Princess Crown won’t be up for my scene. Not to mention, she’s constantly been the instrument of almost every wet dream I have. That’s going to be fucking with my head for sure. The Crown house is fucking massive. I can more than likely stay to one wing without seeing her most of the time, but to imagine her under the same roof? Fuck, it’s gonna damage my resolve.

  “Trev. I just pulled up to my place. Text me later, and keep me in the loop on things, yeah?”

  “Yeah, sure thing. If I hear any bullshit or whatever, I’ll give you a call. And dick up, man, it’s China Doll Crown. This is fuckin’ epic for poor bastards like us.” I shake off his enthusiasm.

  “Fine. Next time you pull over the princess and I’ll get my dick wet with all the girls in town. Now fuck off, Trev.”

  “Later, dickwad.”

  Pressing the end button on the steering wheel and hearing the derisive click, the music I was listening to before comes back on. After yesterday, and the shitty night’s sleep I’d had, I went for a workout to push out all the sexual tension. What my parents call the obnoxious ruckus to me is crankable joy. Cage the Elephant pipes through at a resounding level, just before I turn it down. The last thing I need now is flack from my parents for my musical tastes, or lack thereof.

  Parking the car in the garage and walking through the front door, the first thing that hits me is the cool of the air conditioner. The place is spotless, totally devo
id of clutter. My parents’ home is meticulous, almost museum quality stringent. You could eat out of the empty flower pots as easily as a bowl. It’s that clean. Taking my workout shoes off and peeling back the reeking sweaty socks, I make my way up to the second level where my bank of rooms are situated.

  Only a select few at the precinct know that I live a life of luxury. Tiana, of course, knows, and her family, but Riggs and Trevor don’t have a clue. I drive to work in my project car. I save cash from paychecks, and I don’t toss around wealth like a rich, stuck up prick. I try not to flaunt it. I don’t want to be treated different because I have rich parents. It’s their money. They’re the rich ones.

  Their house is a very modern, open concept that gives the feeling of flying when you walk along the causeway toward my room. The floor, walls, and stairs are completely stain and dirt free glass, giving you the perception of walking on air. Some new age designer helped them piece it together, and they enjoy stating the fact.

  My parents own the Petersen, and two or three, I think, other major museums and art galleries in the central Los Angeles area. Gaille Petersen, as she was once called, was the daughter of a renowned art collector. When they died, she inherited everything. She’s made it an even larger portfolio than they’d dreamed up. I guess they’d be proud, but I don’t give it much thought.

  Stepping into my room, I see that Harvey’s been in here again. Fucking poodle. I swore I closed the door, but I guess he snuck in when someone came to clean. The bed is ruffled, the pillows are tossed to the floor, and there’s a perfect circle the size of a hundred-pound horse in the center.