Crown and Anchor Series: Book 1-4

by Kerri Ann

  I guess that’s why when Risen told me to wait by the garage doors, I was both a blend of shocked and thrilled, enough to want to put my hands on it.

  “Well, color me surprised.”

  “I’m glad I can cause such an effect on you. I’m sure you’ve seen your fair share of pretty cars, Doll. This must be quite a disappointing piece of metal to you,” he says almost gleefully. He really thinks I’m materialistic and petty.

  “Where did you get this? There can’t be more than a handful left in existence.”

  “There weren’t. This grandma in Northern Kentucky had been holding it for her son. He died before he could get it.” Risen passes through the doors, opens the passenger door and motions for me to sit. “She sold it in a contents sale when she closed up to live on a cruise ship for the rest of her life.”

  Hopping in, then gently closing the door with a heavy click, Risen walks around to the driver’s seat. He looks at peace; totally calm in his surroundings.

  The house where he resides is stark and regimented. The Porsche is a stringent stunner, but none of it suits Risen. He seems to fit this rugged and unpolished style like it was built for him. Looking over the interior, I relish the simplicity of the cabin. In the sixties and seventies, there was no navigation, no computers, no cars that spoke to you or communicated with your smart phone, and nothing was able to tell you why it was overheating. Sure, cars today are marvels of engineering, but this is a marvel of power and speed that nothing of this century can touch. They try to duplicate it by placing the badges on them, but they’re a sad reminder of what being an American Muscle car meant.

  Turning the key, waiting for it to send the fuel, Risen starts up the beast. Even though it takes three tries to turn it over, when she does, it sends shivers down my spine.

  It’s beauty and beast, all in one. The vibration is tantalizing and perfect in every way as I touch all the ancient perfection in its flawed ways.

  “No seat belts, so hold on, China.” I’d normally snap back at the speaker, correcting them in their term of endearment that is left for family and close friends only, but I kind of like him calling me that.

  “Not the first time I’ve ridden something dangerous without a seatbelt. I think I can handle you and your inherent police officer trained safe driving skills, RiRi.” Looking over with a cheeky grin, I laugh. “Try your best.”

  With a twisted smirk and quirked eyebrows, Risen shifts the monster into gear, tearing off down the lane.

  “What’s her name?” I ask.

  “Her? How do you know it’s a her?” Shifting gears and spinning ourselves down toward the Valley, I revel in the little details that others wouldn’t notice or care about.

  “It’s always a her, and she’s lovely. The smell, the tight shift, the rude rumble as she passes through the crowd. She’s a head turner. A debutant in a room full of toddlers in tiaras.”

  “That’s a vision I’d rather never have again.”

  “Sorry, but she’s fantastic. I think I’ll name her...Dame.”

  Growling, Risen shifts harshly. Turning us into the heavier traffic of the lower L.A. area, he grinds out, “You will in no such way call my car Dame.”

  “Well then, what’s her name?” Egging him on further, I slap him on the shoulder teasingly. “How about Myrtle? Oh, oh! Or we could go with Ella.”

  “If she’s a she, in no way will she be named after a spring break location or a Disney princess.” Risen tenses up and misses the shift to second.

  He slaps into fourth by mistake, “Oh. Ouch, that one ground out. Want me to drive?” I ask sweetly. Risen shakes his head and turns toward me, breathing out a heavy breath.

  “You won’t touch my shifter. My clutch is mine, and her name will be Beatrice.”

  I’ve yet to see Risen really lose his cool. Not when we were becoming acquainted at the arrest, and not during our night of dirty desserts, and still, not as of yet. Even as he’s been harnessed to my comfortable prison, for some reason, I’m looking to fight him. I was more than eager to be out of the house on a road trip, and so far, even though it’s been uneventfully fun, I’m actually enjoying myself. Casper is the only one who gives me a run for my money with words. With him not around, I’m spoiling for a fight. Stupidly, I’m trying to make him lose his shit. It might not be smart, and I could be looking at a war I can’t win, but I’m up for a challenge.

  Laughing, jokingly touching his shifter, I stroke it from the base to its oversized shift handle. “You sure I can’t touch your shifter? It’s suck—I mean, such a pretty shifter.” I laugh as he visibly tenses.

  “Fucking death of me,” he mutters as we signal down Van Nuys.

  “So I have to ask, what are we going to get? And why did we need Dame?”

  “Beatrice.”

  “Let’s agree to disagree. I’m the princess in this fairy tale, as you’ve so frequently remarked. I believe that means I have the right to title this marvelous toy. Now, again I ask, where were we headed with Dame—Beatrice?”

  “Short term memory loss, China? I need to go to Creaper’s. It’s a garage off Van Nuys that brings in old performance parts. Duke’s been holding a set of headlights for me while I’ve been in my court-appointed vacation home. He had another buyer looking for them. I was told I had to get them or lose them to some schmoozehole.”

  “Is that a technical word, or a legal policie one?”

  “Policie?” he questions before shaking it off. “I only use my policie language in annoying company. You’re a lucky person, Doll. I let my language off the chain on your account today.”

  I fake shiver and laugh. “Well, I’m glad you have such an extensive vocabulary, and that I’m entitled to see it firsthand. Will there be a wanker, a booger, or a flickin’ horsefly in there for good measure?”

  “Is there a reason you try to get a rise out of me? Am I special? Or is this the true talent of China Crown’s racing prowess. She pisses them off without even having to hit the track.”

  Dick. I guess I shouldn’t ask for what I don’t really want.

  “Fuck you, Officer.”

  “Big words, China Doll. Princesses don’t cuss.”

  As steam rises from within, my blood boils. He’s trying to piss me off. “This one does, asshole.” I peer out the side window at the street inhabitants before I growl out, “My name is Miss Crown. Not China Doll, not China, not CD, not Doll, and not princess to you, Officer Mason.”

  Parking the car on the curb, Risen shuts off the lovely car. He turns to me, pleased as punch. “So there’s fire in that little girl. I wondered how much was an act, and how much was real. Let it off the chain. Let yourself off the chain, Doll. There’s no one here to stop you. It seems like it’s been awhile since you let the wild side surface.”

  “Look who’s talking, Officer,” I snap condescendingly. “You’re no better. Why is a rich kid like you hiding behind a badge? You obviously don’t need to work by the pretty Porsche, high-end digs, and one of a kind muscle car. That had to cost a pretty penny. Even in this state,” I wave around, “this car is a hundred grand, easily. So what is it? You afraid to let your dog off the chain too, or are you a tame pussy cat?”

  Staring me down, gathering his composure, Risen grins tightly. “You don’t know anything about me. Now, as you so rightly announced, you are hitched to my ass. My wagon and yours are inseparable for now. Get out of the car, smile, don’t be a bitch, and let’s get along in public. As long as there’s a chance for paparazzi to be around, we should act cordial. If they think we’re an item, they’re less likely to dig, so let’s give them a show.”

  I resign myself to the fact that he’s probably right. “Fine, Officer. I’ll act sweet in public. But the moment we’re back at my house, you keep to your end of the house, and I’ll stay to mine. Or your balls will be in a sling. Comprende?”

  “Understood, Miss Crown.” Taking the keys and stepping into traffic, Risen rounds the curb.

  Prick.

  CHINA


  “I was this close to selling off your headlights. What took your ass so long? I hope that lovely lady beside you is the reason,” Duke smirks as we walk through the doors.

  “She’s the reason for sure.” Risen smirks, as if I’m a foul piece of gum on his shoe.

  “I thought you only pissed off other racers, Doll? When did you expand your horizons to jam up police officer’s, princess?” Duke walks over, grinning ear to ear. He knows I accept his nickname, only because I walked in here with Dad in a dress once. That was a dumb move on my part, and I still blame Mother for that day.

  Risen cocks his head. Narrowing his eyes at me, he puckers his lovely lips. “Princess, huh?”

  Fuck.

  “I told you,” poking his chest, “only those privileged can call me by anything other than Miss Crown. You, Officer Mason, don’t have the right.”

  “You’re picking the wrong enemy, Risen.” Duke laughs deep, pointing to the shelves. “Princess, why don’t you go check out the new ride I just had traded in. I have a feeling you’ll be surprised.” Duke motions toward the back garage.

  “Thanks, old man. Good to see someone has toys for me to enjoy.” I wander off to the parts gate, flicking it up then laying it back down. Crossing into the ‘employees only’ door, I’m excited to see what he’s got.

  “Don’t go far. We’re not here all day,” Risen calls out stiffly. I almost want to say something snarky and wicked back, but I bite my tongue, turn the knob, and walk into the rear.

  Stepping onto the oil soaked floor, taking in the dangerous fumes of co-mingling coolant, fuel and nitrous, I grin gleefully. The garage is bustling with mechanics I’ve known for years. They’re pulling, prodding, swapping, and installing like workshop elves in Santa’s horsepower den of iniquity. There are muscle cars, stock street cars being tuned out, and standing loud and proud in the middle of the space is a beauty that I alone could only care for.

  The guys say hi, nod, and acknowledge my presence, but otherwise, keep on working at their tasks. It’s not unusual to see me here. Watching where I step, crossing the floor, I take in the frame ahead of me. I’d know it anywhere, but I still need confirmation. Pulsing my fingers along the cool titanium and aluminum, I look for the mark that only I would recognize. At the apex of the tank post is the symbol; a frog wearing a crown. The Frog Princess. I knew it was a funny play on words with the symbol. My symbol, that only a select few even know about, is something I covet and enjoy. Right now, it’s the only thing confirming this is Harriet.

  Rushing back out front, I blurt out what I want to know. “Where. Where did you find her, Duke?”

  Turning from his transaction with Risen, his face lights up. With that hardened voice of his, Duke roars in delight. “Harriet’s corset was turned into my pawnshop. I had the boys watching for her after all. When she came in, we had the bastard arrested and her parts brought here. Almost everything is there, but it’ll take a while to repiece her. I figured you’d be the one to do it. Tell me I’m wrong. You’d be pretty pissed with me, having one of the boys do it, right?” Walking over, Duke pats me on the head in a loving, fatherly move. Tucking me in for a big hug, the likes of which only Duke Creaper can do, I accept it graciously.

  Speaking low into my hair, he says, “It’ll be okay, Princess. She’ll be fine, and so will you.”

  Accepting the love and care, I grip him tight, grinning into his chest. “Thanks.”

  “Doll, you know I’d do anything for a Crown.” Duke pulls back and kisses my forehead before ruffling my hair. He then turns his attention back to Risen and his business at hand. “Let’s get you kids out of here and back into purgatory, eh?”

  CHINA

  We got back to the house hours ago, and it was the quietest fucking ride of my life. I couldn’t think of what to say. I didn’t want to just fill the dead air for once, and I felt bad for the attitude I gave Risen in the car. I’d texted the girls on the way, stating how we needed alcohol induced antics. Clearing my head of Risen, and his mention of how I didn’t know him at all, it shouldn’t be hard after a fifth of good ol’ Jim Beam.

  He was right about one thing, though. I don’t know him, and I haven’t taken it upon myself to really try. I’ve avoided, giving him grief every time he was trying to save my ass, and I didn’t even consider him or his predicament.

  The girls and I have been sitting around for a bit. Swallowing down drinks as fast as possible, they’re conversing about bullshit that matters to only us. For once, I find myself weakly involved. Normally, I’d be right in there, being silly alongside them, but today, after finding Harriet, and finding out I really am a princess, I’ve drank sullenly. Oh, I’m laughing and finding it funny, but I’m just not my usual self. I’m sorrowful.

  “The hell you say!” Catty shouts.

  “I’m telling you the truth! Really, it was freakin’ awesome!” Harlow is explaining a last-minute date and his prowess.

  “Come on, it couldn’t have been that big,” I say.

  “Like an elephant’s trunk, lover.” Harlow hangs her arm low by her crotch, swinging it back and forth.

  A ruckus round of snorts and unladylike laughs contort our faces as we fall into the point of almost peeing our pants. It took dangerous amounts of alcohol to get us to this position, but it’s been totally necessary. I was so right. I needed this.

  “He was hung, but zero talent.” Harlow sips at her pink homemade concoction, seriously disappointed with a wasted dick. At first, I matched her shot for shot, slamming down different liquids from my parents’ well-stocked bar. And I tried to keep up, but that was useless after five tries. When she started on the straight Fireball whiskey, I tapped out. Heading back to vodka mixes I could name, I’ve been downing them easily.

  “So when you say no talent?” Cathryne asks, egging Harlow on.

  “I’m telling you, it’s not hard to understand English, and I’m pretty sure I speak it well on a daily basis. How he couldn’t understand harder, deeper, No, not there. Then...Nothing. Right as I was on the edge, he quit. Bastard stopped and said fineto, princepessa.”

  “What was his name, Harlow?” I ask with a sneaky grin.

  “Gianpero.”

  “Is there a chance the man couldn’t understand English, Har?”

  She contemplates it for a second. “Possibly. I picked him up in a bar with the universal signal.” She makes a circle with her thumb and forefinger, then sticks her finger through the hole. “Any full-blooded man understands that language, right?”

  Leaning forward on my knees, I ask her the same question we’re all wondering. “Where did you pick him up, Harlow?”

  “At a bar?” she states, almost like another question. Scrunching up her face in a look of disdain for explaining her motives and moves, Harlow tosses her arms in the air. “Fine! It was during a FIFA match in Barcelona. It’s been a slow few weeks, so I went on a trip.”

  “A trip? Why didn’t you take us?” Hallette almost screeches.

  “Fuck, lady. My ears!”

  “No wonder the poor boy didn’t understand you.” Laughing, I drop my head into her lap, lounging out along the couch. “He’s lucky he understood the gesture, never mind the words spilling from your mouth.”

  “Harlow, stop picking up random speedballs at the bars. I told you to look at Cupid’s Arrow. The guys are pretty damn hot, and they’re not allowed on without a check of their bank account.” Cathryne pulls out her phone. Scrolling through her apps, she finds the one she wants to show. “Look at this one. Single, questionably white, but what a pair of eyes. I’d melt into those for hours.”

  Each of us swing across the table, crowding around her on the couch while we look over her shoulder, inspecting the man she’s indicated.

  “I think he has bad teeth. Looks like he needs braces. I don’t want kids with imperfections,” Hallette quips.

  “That’s harsh, Hallette. You looking to marry a petri dish?”

  Ignoring me, Hallee smiles, gazing at Ca
thryne’s phone. “Well, what about this one. He likes good food—”

  “He’ll be fat in old age. Look at that chin.”

  “I think he’s cute, Cathryne laughs as she shrugs her shoulders, flicking to the next picture. Passing through candidate after candidate, we drink, converse, and drink some more until one catches my attention.

  “Oh, That’s nice.” Stealing the phone from her hand, I look over his profile. “Handsome, nice teeth, clean-cut, nice hair, but he’s missing something.” I can’t put my finger on it, but it’s there.

  “He’s short?” Harlow clips off. I can’t disagree, but it’s still not it. There’s definitely something off about him.

  “He has weird eyes. They don’t sit straight,” Hallee points out, rubbing her finger along the glossy picture.

  Cathryne pulls the phone back and laughs. “That’s because he was hit in the head too many times. That’s Jason Mac.”

  “And how, pre-tell, do you know that? There’s no names.”

  “Because he’s dated everyone I know, with the exception of present company.”

  “Excluding you?” We ask as a collective.

  It’s sad we’re so in tune.

  “Yes!”

  “That was said a bit too fast. Are you sure, Catty?” She blushes and turns an ugly shade of red. It clashes with her prim and proper demeanor that is consistently portrayed, so we lovingly accept it.

  “Let me see that.” Snatching the phone back, she flips through more pictures. “This one better have money.”

  “He looks like he’s the brother of Inspector Gadget.”

  Hallette sips her drink, hiccups, then sighs. “I think he looks like a tool.”

  Rising off the couch to grab another drink, Har chirps, “No disagreements there.”

  “He looks like a total coconut,” she says darkly.