Whiskey's Redemption (Crown and Anchor) Page 3

  Looking at his garish nametag on the lapel of his jacket, I grasp the awful 3D, plum colored flower tightly. “Buddy, I’m happy to slam this five-thousand-dollar heel into your asshole and wear you as a slipper. Now, tell Jon Henry I’m here or I’ll gladly introduce you to my Louboutin’s.”

  “Now Carli, that would look absolutely ridiculous. He’s already wearing my size ten from this morning, aren’t you Simber?”

  With an obviously forced smile, the young man shrugs his shoulders and winks. “Of course, and they fit so well, sir.”

  “Run along now. Finish dusting the showcase,” Jon Henry quips as he flutters his fingers at Buddy / Simber. “It’s the closest you’ll get to touching a human being in this building if I have a say in it.” Nodding with a smirk, the imp abruptly spins on his heel with a sassy frown, delving back into the front window cabinet.

  “You called him Simber, but his tag says Buddy?” I question once we’re standing alone.

  With a ‘well duh,’ look, Jon Henry releases a heavy sigh, running his tongue along his teeth. “With a name like Simber and a brain like a tulip, he needed a new one. Besides, it’s Hollywood, and his parents are movie producers. That’s the only reason he works here.” Shuffling us off toward the back, acting as if the interaction I just had was with a trained monkey instead of Simber, Jon Henry takes my bag.

  “Sorry to just drop by, but I’m in dire need today.”

  “I see that, and I’d expect no less of you. So, let’s get started, shall we?” Hitting the stairs, we walk off to the second floor, past security, and enter the third floor with ease. “Where’s the budget today, love?”

  “I hadn’t thought of it. Honestly, I needed to clear my head and shopping was the first thing that came to mind. Assume that we’re in the top end of the spectrum.”

  He knows my spectrum ranges from ‘I need a new outfit,’ to ‘I had my heart trampled by a rhino,’ and that the prices in there are excessive to obscene.

  “Well then,” he says, snapping his fingers, “let me get you settled first before we break open the special collections.” Setting me in a wide, yet functionally perverse satin arm chair, I watch as he and two of his girls saunter around, selecting and laying out various pieces for my perusal.

  “Would you care for an espresso?” one of the girls asks.

  “Sure, that would be lovely.”

  As she walks away and the others flitter around like little butterflies, I pull my phone out to text Circe. Before touching my finger to the screen, I stop. Today was horrible. She’s my best and only friend, and it pained me to hold the info back about Wyatt. But the idea that I’d lose everything I own to that obscene legal contract was too much to ignore, so I held off. What bothered me the most is the way she rolled right out of there without a sideways glance with China. I bet Circe still has no idea that the contract was designed and orchestrated by the sweet and adorable China Crown that led her away.

  And it’s not like I would deny her knowing the truth, or seeing Wyatt when he was most in need. So yeah, it hurt to see her take China’s side.

  As the girl returns with my petite cup—adding the right amount of sugar and stirring it for me, I might add—I sip away, thinking of my friend. “I’m not begrudging her, you know. It’s just unfair that I was ushered out like last week’s takeout.”

  Surprised, and slightly unsure of what to do or say, the girl nods and quickly walks off before saying something she shouldn’t.

  Muttering into my cup, I say, “This day sucks.”

  Two hours later, thousands of dollars spent and a car full of nothing, my outfits, Jon Henry has assured me, will be delivered to my suite tomorrow. They’ll be perfectly pressed, neatly hung, arranged and color coded, and I’ll feel marginally better inside. Marginally. What I really need to do is correct the conversation with my friend.

  After a long debate with myself, I decide that tomorrow I’ll revisit Circe at the hospital and apologize.

  I’ve been a horrible friend to her, if all I’d worried about were my feelings. She’s waited months to even know if her racer lived, all while I knew and withheld it. I’ve been a little jealous of their connection. It’s not fair to her.

  The next day, stopping at the deli around the corner from the hospital, I grab her one of her more disgusting, yet well-loved sandwiches and an ungodly large pickle spear. I know she’ll be ecstatic. I’ll apologize profusely to her for being such a hurt bitch when I left and we’ll be back to normal.

  Parking the car close and passing through the front of the hospital unscathed, I revel in the quiet. At this early hour, it’s normally packed.

  Heading across the grand entrance and toward the elevator doors, I’m still so surprised at the quiet, and honestly, a bit freaked. It’s only eleven-thirty. This place should be teeming with people.

  Rounding the corner and heading to the door, my heart abruptly stops. Stepping out of the shadows, dressed in a pure black suit is someone I’d know anywhere, though I fucking wish I didn’t.

  “Kaori,” he greets formally, yet harshly in my native tongue.

  “You have the wrong person. My name is Carli.” As my heart thunders, I hold my ground.

  “Kaori. No more hiding. You’re wanted home.”

  Shaking my head, I purse my lips. “I’m Carli, and I don’t know who this—”

  “Chinmoku,” he snaps. Silence. The firm and unyielding need to obey holds my tongue.

  Stepping closer, coming out of the shadow and close enough to touch, I stand still, taking in his gaze. “You are to return by the end of the week, or your sisters will be relocated to other family members.”

  He walks away without another word. I’m aghast that they’d threaten them. No, I’m more than that. Aghast is a light and sweet term for how I’m feeling.

  I’m afraid.

  What I’m most freaked out about is that I felt like I did as a child—obedient and pliant.

  Strength of will escaped me and I was once more that young girl that gave into others.

  Whiskey

  Stepping into the shop, I’m bombarded by the harsh punk music flowing out of the speakers at a decibel that should leave any who enter deaf. I walk directly to the empty cashier’s desk. Spinning the knob for the volume, bringing the angst filled squelch way down, immediately the boards on the wall stop vibrating, and the clientele all turn my way. Fabulous. A new way to be singled out today.

  “Gruber!” I yell into the expansive zone.

  “He’s...Hey! You’re him, man! You’re a fucking legend!” The kid, no older than my brother, beams with excitement as he tromps toward me. His bright board shorts hang low on his hips, his ripped blue RipZone tank is faded, and obviously well loved, and the perfectly coiffed, yet flowing, haphazard hair tells me he’s a surfer. I doubt he’s touched snow in his lifetime, but I respect him.

  The waves of the ocean give you almost the same exhilaration and feel. Knowing that you have only so much control over the element that you ride is what we chase. A wave can be as dangerous as a snow drift—unforgiving, yet ever changing. It’s harsh enough to sweep you away in a second, never to be heard from again. You would be a memory. That is what keeps us pushing harder against that unyielding foe.

  “Yeah, I guess I am.” Flicking the keys in my hand, I sneer. “The Legend.”

  That’s a first.

  “Yeah man, you’re him for sure. Anyway, Gru is out back testing some new blood.” Starting away from him, he sticks out his hand, expecting a quirky handshake or stupid high-five.

  Shaking my head and blowing out a heavy breath, I start off down the long row of merchandise. “Sorry man, not happening.” I’m not here for autographs or friendships. I’m here for business.

  Walking along, touching the odd board, I relish the smooth texture of the face. The wax free base that awaits love and care is perfection. Our type of love is brutal. Every board has a soul that calls out to be ridden, and whether meant for water or snow, they want to be us
ed. Hanging on a wall, waiting for the touch of greatness, most of these boards will be owned by some weekend warrior with a death wish to try out a rough wave with an ‘epic’ board. They’ll buy what they think is right by name instead of what’s best for their skill. The only thing it will create is work for the coast patrols when they have to drag out another dead body from the ocean.

  I see it all the time on the mountains. Hell, most times, I’m the rough bastard stopping some moron on the hill, ripping them off the board and making them walk back down as I carry their thousand-dollar board to the bottom. They don’t wear the right equipment, they don’t prepare for it, and they sure as shit don’t take lessons to learn how to ride. They’re a menace to those who know what they’re doing.

  Coming closer to the back of the building, I hear Gruber teaching a Wet Ear.

  “Good. Now lean to the left,” he says, just before I hear a big splash. Rounding the corner, I see the wave pool, and Gruber leaning against the wall. His T-shirt is wet, his hair is a mess from running his hands through it, and the scowl on his face tells it all. He’s beat. Looking my way, I give him a chin raise.

  “Well look who’s here, the Powder King himself.”

  Walking over, he embraces me in a hug. I don’t like it, I never have, but it’s Gruber and it’s expected. He’s a hugger.

  “How’s the fish?”

  As a young girl half my sister’s age pops up out of the water, she drags her hair out of her face, grinning from ear to ear. “She’s persistent,” Gruber says, scowling deeper. “Meadow, go clean up. That’s it for today.”

  Jumping from the pool with a smile, Meadow heads off to the change rooms. Gruber slows the flow of the pool until the wave quits and the water quiets. Absently, I watch her walk away. She’s pretty, but it won’t save her on the unforgiving water.

  “She’s a fucking menace. She has no talent at all, but her father is an expert rider. She idolizes him. Sad, really. She’ll die to be the same as him.”

  “Ain’t that the truth. Why not stop her?”

  Huffing, he sags his shoulders. “I’ve told her she’s not ready for the water. I’ve told her father, too. She needs to find something else to do with him, but she’s the apple of his eye. He’ll deny her nothing.”

  “And what if I said she’s not welcome here anymore for training? Would it deter her, or push her further to do it anyway?” Yeah, I’m sure she’ll just do it anyway, but it’s my business, and I can’t have a death on my head. Not one that I could prevent at least.

  “She’s stubborn. She’ll be back here in a week with more money. Dad’s some movie exec, more money than he knows what to do with. He’ll spend anything to make her happy.”

  That’s one father I idolize then. I’m not pissing and moaning about mine, but what I wouldn’t have given to hear he’d do anything to make me happy. Even just to say he was happy would’ve been a start. Pushing that out of mind, I get back to the task at hand.

  “You mind showing me the problem?”

  “Yeah.” Stepping off the wall, he motions with his fingers for me to follow. “Come this way.”

  Following Gruber down the row past the wave pool, past the snowboard / ski treadmills, we come to the very back of the building. Without him saying a word, I see it immediately.

  “When the fuck did this happen? And why didn’t you move them?”

  “What can I say, Whiskey? We haven’t had rain in years, and no one knew there was a leak in the roof. Fucking Cali weather this year is what caused it.” Picking one up, I thumb the swollen edges. The disaster is profound.

  “Fuck, Gru. There has to be fifty fucking boards in here at least.”

  “Ninety-three.”

  I’m aghast, and disgusted.

  “What! Almost a hundred boards destroyed?” Looking at the pile, I can’t believe there’s that many. “You have got to be kidding me?”

  Pushing a few out of the way, I pick a board like the one I ride. I know it’s worth five thousand dollars alone. It’s garbage now. The board is warped, the core is swelled beyond repair, and the edge is peeled off. Seeing the varnish bubbled off the meticulous design, I feel a bit of my heart flake off. These are as important to me as my own arm. Boards have been my life for longer than I can remember, so seeing one—hundreds, in the same stage of decay hurts my soul.

  Garnering a level of cool I didn’t think I possessed, I lay the board down and turn back to Gruber. “How much of the other merchandise was wrecked?”

  Thinking about his answer before giving me more bad news, Gruber picks up a clip board. “There were nine boxes of Rip, six of Burton, three of NeverSummer, two SuP board covers, three snowboard covers stained, and the roof. I’m told we’re over 50k just to fix the roof. It’s 10k for the merch, and at least 85k for the boards, not including the signed ones.”

  “There were signed ones back here? Why the fuck...No. You know what? I don’t care. It doesn’t matter. There’s damage of over a hundred thousand, and I haven’t even fixed the inside of the building.” Pacing the floor, walking back and forth between the damaged merchandise, Gruber stays quiet. Walking toward the exit, Gru says nothing as I pop the lock and step outside.

  “Not fucking great,” I say as the heavy fire door clunks behind me. I’m exhausted thinking of the time and money this will cost me. “I can’t handle one more fucking thing going wrong today.”

  The back of Powder Kings is in a tight, fenced-in area. With high walls on all sides, there’s no way to get in here without a fireman’s ladder. Looking up the side of the building, I see the ladder that gives us roof access stowed up high. Unlatching the lower half, I bring it down, wanting to see the damage myself.

  Hitting that first rung is heavy—like a weight on my shoulders I didn’t need—but by the time I reach the top, I feel like a mountain is covering every inch of me.

  Looking at the damage, it’s hard to imagine. Cali has been in a drought for years. And yeah, it’s been dry for a week, but the excessive rain we had for the last month almost lifted the whole roof. Gingerly walking around, I pad across the sides, staying away from the soft area where the leak was.

  “Fourteen thousand square feet of roof. This is going to be a fucking fortune.” It’s not that I don’t have the cash for it, but it’s not what I had in mind when I bought this rundown shop. Gruber was barely afloat with his costs mounting, and no one with any business sense would back him. I’ve learned. I’ve had more financial education than most. I’m not Wall Street smart, but I’m good enough to make back a profit on a failing business.

  Bending down, I lift a roof tile that’s loose and curse loudly. I’m sure they can hear me inside, as well as the adjacent buildings, too.

  “Fucking money pit.”

  Yeah, that’s what I bought. Now I either suck it up and fix it, then turn a profit after insurance covers all the damage, or sell the sinking ship and run like hell. Problem is, I have a hard time giving up when there’s a chance I can see the potential and worth of something. There’s a profit to be made here. I know it.

  Backing down the stairs and coming to the bottom, Gru is waiting for me. “Saw it, did ya?”

  I nod, unhappy at the result. “Yeah. Not much worth saving. We’ll need a whole new roof. Get a contractor out and get it appraised. I’ll contact insurance.”

  “Sure, no problem.”

  Pulling out my phone, I say, “I’m off to do a few things for family. You need me, you call.”

  “Got it, Boss.”

  Fuck..

  Carli

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  Fuckity-fuck-fuck! Fucking pogo stick and a cock in your mouth!

  Shit.

  Riding up the elevator to Circe’s room with her now soggy sandwich, I cuss internally. What the ever-loving fuck?

  Really, Kato?

  Why come find me? I’ve been hiding from my family for years. Yeah, I told Circe I’d been in town dealing with family stuff while she was getting ready to see her racer
again, but it was a big fat fucking lie. I’ve been flying back on the red eye to work for the governor every couple days. He didn’t care as long as I made him look like a gem in the media. And Chris, the Governor of Indiana, doesn’t make it easy. It never helps that he has a proclivity for young men—not illegal, but young. Turning him into a polished family man was awkward, but doable.

  And telling Circe I was off dealing with family shit was easier than lying to her. I haven’t had sleep in weeks, other than some shut eye on the planes, but who’s counting a nap here or there on cross-country flights?

  Seeing Kato? Now? That sucked. Hearing him tell me to shut up so harshly was awful. It actually shut me up for a second, which was a miracle in its own right.

  Fuckity-fuck-fuck!

  Damn, I’m cursing a lot, and this elevator ride seems to be taking hours. Counting down the floors as it ascends, I think of the last time I was in here with Jamieson Crown.

  Goddamn Crown. His roaming hands, his talented tongue—it was hot. With the rough touches and heavy breaths, I fell into his spell. I was so aroused when I left. Fuck, what I wouldn’t let him do to me. To actually find out what could happen between Crown and I would be scrumptious. Even envisioning it now, I might hit the restroom just down from Circe’s closet sized room before I join her.

  “Jai is getting a big workout today, that’s for damn sure.” I knew I should have charged it last night. It’s only been a day since I was here, but I feel unsafe in this hospital now. I haven’t seen Kato in years, and as usual, everything about him screamed danger. It always had. Yep, way better to think of that momentary lapse in control than to think of Kato and his sudden appearance.

  With a ding from the elevator chiming my arrival, I straighten to my full height, standing a touch taller in my Louis’. If my family wants the princess, I’ll play the part. If they think I’ll just bow and accept my fate, though, they’re fucking wrong.

  But.

  He hung my sisters over the coals if I don’t do as told. Can I do that to Miori and Kano? The last time I saw them they were cute pre-teens. Now they’re young women. Either way, my sweet twin sisters don’t deserve the position any more than I do. Could they tackle it? No. It would break them. Can I roll with it and mold it to my whims? Do I want to?