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 hope 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.”
‘Dialing,’ Siri confirms.
It rings twice before she answers in her usual tone. “Hello, Lover.” Her voice is sweet, erotically so, and laced with sass.
“Hi, Uncle Buck. How are things?”
“Fabulous,” she trills. “You still meeting us at Sasis? I have to pick out an outfit for the party, and I’m not going in something old.”
I laugh coolly as I switch lanes, knowing the truth of it. “Everything is old. You never wear the same thing twice, Catty.”
Passing a loaded transport reminds me of my family’s tragic downfall. I’m doing my best to avoid the past and move forward, but as each wheel spins in succession, it’s hard. Shaking off the despair, concentrating as I’m counting down each of its eighteen wheels, the last thing a racer needs is to be reminded every time they hit the road that there are inherent dangers on every curve. I need to move past death, but it’s harder when it’s your first. Even my second didn’t make it better.
“How will I find a respectable, eligible, handsome, broody, and dangerously gregarious bachelor like either of your brothers if I’m wearing a hand-me-down, last season’s designer?” As Cathryne’s voice carries over the speakers, it causes me to break focus on the spinning rubber beside me. Without knowing it, it’s her who’s helping me cope.
“You’ll be there soon?” Hallette, better known to us as Hallee, faintly asks from the passenger’s seat. Assuming Cathryne picked her up on the way for our shopping excursion, I feel a tad better. I thought it was only going to be Catty, Harlow, and I. Hallette isn’t always available, and I’ll need them all to make it through this unscathed. Shopping for a party is not my least favorite thing to do, but shopping for the party is different. With sponsors and I’m sorrys, I’ll need all girls on deck.
“Yeah, I’ll be there in twenty. I’m grabbing Harlow and we’ll meet you there,” I say, moving lanes.
Giggling in unison as they chime off with a ‘see you soon’ I hang up the call. Pulling off the highway, I turn down Harlow’s roadway. Now, when I say her ‘roadway,’ I mean her parents own a secluded street just off the interstate that leads directly to her home and nowhere else. Having money in Malibu is nothing new to us. Owning a road named after your family? Again, nothing new to us. To those without insanely high bank accounts, this would seem massive and dauntingly stuck up. Us, though, we’re a product of our families. We’re used to having it all.
Being the children of insanely rich parents means we don’t worry for anything. Money is truly no object, which also secludes us. It’s hard to meet people that are down to earth, easy going, and not worrying that they can live up to your standards. Funny thing is, my standards include only a few criteria: loving, funny, able to handle sarcasm, and know what a throttle does. If he can’t ride or isn’t mechanically inclined, then he’s not ticking my boxes. I can’t handle a sissy guy.
The annual Crown and Anchor fundraiser is the event of the year. It’s funny, because it sounds like the girls haven’t thought of anything else. Me? I’ve had other issues. As I sat vigil with Casper, my life has slowed from its usual tempo of fast and expedient to a snail’s crawl, with a quarter-miler kite behind me. Dragging me backward exponentially, not moving has become my new speed.
I’ve slowed.
No, I’m waiting. Waiting for the moment that my life decides it’s okay to go forward again. I’m afraid it’ll be a while more before that happens.
Pulling up to the end of her winding road, Har’s house sits regally. As the grand gates open silently, I slip the car up to the massive double doors and honk the horn.
Sweeping out the door in high fashion, in her usual cheery move, she jumps down the stairs with her bag strung over her shoulder and a grin to brighten my sullen day. Harlow must have been waiting at the door for me. Today, the little harlot is wearing a soft red, grapefruit chiffon halter dress, paired with black and saffron cork heels that I would kill for. With a black and gold threaded headband, and an oversized alligator leather hobo bag in saffron slung across her spindly arm, her sweetness exudes. Every ounce of it suits her petite five-four, one hundred and twenty pound soaking wet frame. My five-ten, buck fifty isn’t quite as contained.
“You’re late,” she snaps, pulling the door shut in one quick move.
“Careful with that. Casper will kick my ass if you mark his car.” Looping her seatbelt, screwing her face up in disgust at my comment, Harlow laughs me off.
“You’re in charge, D. I’ll be gentle.” I know she means with Casper, not his car.
“Nasty Harlot,” I quip out my usual nickname for her.
“Sassy witch,” she says as she grins gleefully. Pulling out her compact, checking her complexion for probably the ninetieth time today, I pull away from the front. Harlow’s a bit vain, but she’s mine.
“So, we’re all glad you’re out of purgatory, but where’s your guardian?” Meaning, my big brother, Jamieson. Harlow has always adored Jamieson, and not very quietly, I might add. Harlow’s our resident project worker. Always looking for the guy she can tame, maim, or train, revelling challenges. Whiskey is the wrong boy, and I don’t have the heart to tell her to move on. Jamieson has his sights a new toy. Even at her best, Harlow can’t compare. Even if she’s known all things Jamieson since puberty, just no.
“Whiskey’s at the hospital with Casper. We still don’t like leaving him alone for long. The fear of him regressing after that last breakdown is exponential.” Even thinking about it makes me a bear. I hate it all. It made me grow up fast and thrust me into the fire of adulthood without a fire extinguisher.
“What I wouldn’t do to climb that man. I’d love to trace my fingers along every rippled plane of his chest.” Drawing her finger down the dash like she’s imagining James’ body, I cringe, concentrating on the road instead of her needs.
“I can’t even imagine what you’re thinking. He’s my brother, Harlot. Keep the skank to a minimum.”
Raising her hands in defeat, a deep and rumbling laugh escapes her like no one but Harlow can do. Her seductive voice makes strong men swoon, and weak mean trip over their words, which is always entertaining.
“Fine, I’ll be on my best. Promish.”
Turning into the parking lot of Sasis, thinking about the week from hell I’ve had, I’m reminded time and again of what the near future contains. Harlow may be thinking about a conquest with Whiskey, but I’m constantly dragging my waking mind to my upcoming nuptials with the LA County Court system.
“You know I’ve been thinking, Doll. The quiet Crown house is too large for you to be alone in. Come stay with me. I mean, you know my parents don’t mind. You’re my family. You should be spending every waking moment with your girls anyway. We’re your only means of mental frivolity. Always have been, always will be, D.”
Harlow, Cathryne, and Hallette have been my friends since middle school. They’re my sounding boards and my confidants when Casper wasn’t good enough, or girly enough to tell things to. They’re the best partners in crime a girl could ask for, and they take the edge off the craziest parts of my life. Well, what used to be my life. Now I have a scary feeling that my life is venturing into the unknown.
Pulling into a parking spot, shutting the humming devil down, I try to find my inner happiness, ignoring the truth of it all. Harlow, Catty and Hallette tried to talk me into it as I sat with Casper. While he slept, I told them I’d decide later. It’s now later, and I’m not sure I want to leave the house yet. Yeah, it’s quiet and massive, but if I leave, it’s like I’ve deserted everything that makes me a Crown. Ignoring the question, she leaves me alone to stew.
Gathering up my handbag and exiting, Harlow does the same, but hopping out of the car with grace and style. She has a way of making every moment seem like a rehearsed part in a movie. It’s natural. Me? My athletic build makes me seem awkward in comparison. She’s the daughter of Christophe Palente, the famous, and very talented sexy man candy that makes women swoon at every turn. His last movie with Charlotte King was Oscar award winning. It easily created babies across the country. It was darkly seductive and orgasmic.
“Ladies!” Hallette screeches out joyously with her arms wide and a smile to match. “I’m so ready for the party of the year. I think this one I’ll find the replacement for my tool.”
Turning to the store valet, Harlow hands him her handbag, double kissing Cathryne’s cheeks.
“Sweetie. There’s no replacement, only additions. No man can possibly stand up to my standards.” With her arms already full of choices for the fundraiser festivities, Cathryne greets us with her usual gravelly voice, which is scratchy and soulful, not unlike Harlow’s. Hallette’s adorably cute voice is sweet, soft, and mesmerizing. My friends are all so different from each other, which makes them amazeballs.
Where Harlow is petite, dark-haired, and wispy, Cathryne is big boned, tall like myself at five-eleven, and a natural platinum blonde. Hallette, the mocha princess at six-two, is a combo of us all. Her tits and ass put us in a different category. Her caramel eyes, tight to her head like Halle Berry’s hairdo, and long lithe legs, makes her dangerously beautiful. She’s humbly incorrect in thinking she’s the Frog Prince to our Princess Bride. To boot, Hallette is the soul of our party. When I need to jump out of a funk, she’s the one I call. When I need a laugh without fail, it’s Harlow. With her filter-free mind, you’ll always get the truth.
Handing the valet my bag and diving straight into the foray, the store owner points out our stacks of clothing. We’ve been coming to Sasis for years, so each of us already have selections set aside. They know our sizes, our likes, our styles, and they know that money’s no object when it comes to finding the consummate outfit for any occasion like this.
The party is less than twenty-four hours away, and with all the shit I’ve dealt with, I’ve put off thinking about it. Even though Wyatt’s awake and on the mend, I’ll be expected as the sole Crown Racing family member to show. I’ll be fawned over, questioned considerably about his physical status, and I’ll have to hear ‘I’m sorry’ more than I care to mention. I’ve done this over the years at various functions, both loving and hating it in equal measure. I’ll have to be cordial, even if I believe hate will be tipping the scales.
Hallette has already dove off into the private rooms with Harlow trailing right behind her. Cathryne stands along one of the side walls, eyeing me, watching me intently.
“What are you thinking, Catty?” I quietly ask, thumbing some nondescript clothing on the rack.
She narrows her eyes. “What aren’t you telling me, China?”
“Nothing,” I lie.
“I call bullshit, CD.”
God, she knows me too well. Like a dog with a bone, she’ll never give in until I tell her what’s going on.
Pursing my lips, huffing slightly, I pull a frail looking number off the rack, avoiding direct eye contact. Touching the material, training my gaze down even further, I feel her heated, beady little eyes watching my every move.
“China Doll.” Accentuating each syllable with her hands on her hips, Cathryne is quietly commanding me. Cathryne’s the one I can’t pull anything over on, and we both know it.
Resigning to her whim, blowing out a haughty breath, I answer. “It’s just…when will it stop? My scales have to be tipping back to good, don’t they?”
Placing her hand on my shoulder, she turns me. I know I’m about to fall apart. As tears threaten to spill forth, I try to hold my shit together. If there’s no stopping me now, what will keep me from collapsing in public tomorrow night?
“China Doll.” Taking the clothes from my hands, she hands them over her shoulder to an attendant before drawing all my attention to her. “Always so fragile, aren’t we, lover?” Producing the fakest smile I can muster, the tears threaten further. “We’ll be by your side all night long. No one will harm our Doll, I promise. They’d have to get past Har anyway. None are that fearless.”.