Risen

By Kerri Ann

Arresting her will be the biggest mistake of my career.

- Officer Risen Mason

Stepping away from his cruiser, he's every woman's wet dream. The mountainous thick chest that stretches for miles. The colorful tattoos peeking out under the cuff of his shirt. T

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kingston Publishing Company
• Release date: Jan 27, 2023
• ISBN: 9781645334095

Kerri Ann

Mother of two insanely (well trained) sarcastic men, wife to a dangerously smolder inducing grumble bunny (fireman), and friend to some amazing ladies (you know who you are).  Thanks for reading, thanks for being a friend, and I look forward to meeting you in the future for drinks, danger and laughs. Living in Northern Ontario, Canada, Kerri loves to read, travel and find new reasons to write you fantastic love stories. Remember, not all love is clean. Dark, light, angsty, sexually charged and twisted—that’s her genre. It’s heart wrenching stories where the muse directs her. As the instrument of their lives, their stories are told through piece by piece. You can hope for the good guy to win, but it won’t always happen.  She can’t guarantee an HEA (happily ever after) or HFN (happy for now), because life doesn't always have those. Enjoy the OMG's and tears. Tear your hair out, toss a book or two, because I want you to feel their pain too. As they live it, you can absorb it on the pages. Website: https://www.authorkerriann.com Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/15556808.Kerri_Ann BookBub: www.bookbub.com/authors/kerri-ann Instagram: www.instagram.com/authorkerriann My Website: www.authorkerriann.com Facebook page https://www.facebook.com/LoveandDreams Twitter https://twitter.com/Daresanddreams MeWe https://mewe.com/i/kerri/ann Book+Main Bites https://www.bookandmainbites.com/kerriann Tumblr  https://www.tumblr.com/follow/authorkerriann

Book preview

Copyright

Risen is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

RISEN: A NOVEL

Copyright © 2022 by Kerri Ann

All rights reserved.

Formatting & Cover Design by KP Designs

- www.kpdesignshop.com

Published by Kingston Publishing Company

- www.kingstonpublishing.com

The uploading, scanning, and distribution of this book in any form or by any means—including but not limited to electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the permission of the copyright holder is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized editions of this work, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

Table of Contents

Copyright

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-One

Chapter Fifty-Two

Chapter Fifty-Three

Extras

About the Author

Also by the Author

About the Publisher

Arresting her will be the biggest mistake of my career.

- Officer Risen Mason

Stepping away from his cruiser, he’s every woman’s wet dream. The mountainous thick chest that stretches for miles. The colorful tattoos peeking out under the cuff of his shirt. Then there’s those stark blue eyes framed by his sinful face...

Officer Mason is heavenly. Well, he was until he arrested me. He’s now the enemy and I’m about to make his life a living hell…

Prologue

China

Memories suck. Watching this old race as I pummel the treadmill, I can remember the exact day, the weather, and the time with my father.  Those days were few and far between moments.

Get aggressive! Hit that turn, Doll! Hearing his voice in my headset makes me push it further than I might’ve on my own. It makes me do better.

Be better.

Line it up. Go on the high side. Pass, pass. Now! Go, go, go, princess! Scraping my side on the rubber, asphalt, and gravel surface of the track, I hear it scuff the leather of my armor. I cut the edge, sliding perfectly, curving into it as I know my limitations and that of the bike below me. 

I got it, Dad. Give me a sec, I say into my helmet as I flick the throttle. Cracking loose the power, I punch it, sending the beast soaring around the lead’s front wheel to take first position. We’re passing the last set of turns and I know if I hold it hard to the end, giving it all the bike has, I’ll be on the podium wearing gold once more. I’ve never had a chance here at this GP race, but I want it like a dream just out of reach. 

I taste it.

It’s real.

Pushing myself further into the lead, I have to tip the gas bit by bit, creeping my lead only by milliseconds, but it’ll be enough.

It’s mine. I deserve this. I repeat it in my head like a blessing or mantra of goodwill and encouragement. There’s not a day I think I’d ever leave the track or decide to walk from a two-wheeled devil. My body runs on jet fuel and rubber. I’m the bike, and it’s an extension of me.

Count me down, I breathe out softly.

Keep your head about you. Like I’m not. Graff’s on your rubber and pushing all she’s got. Don’t give her a chance to get around you. I don’t answer him because it doesn’t require a reply.

Kicking down a gear to push the limits of my eleven-hundred CC engine, I’m asking it for all it’s got. I won’t give it a moment’s peace until I’m over that line and enjoying my reward. Once I do it can cool, have a full-service of all liquids and a bath with expensive bubbles if it wants. All it has to do is carry me over that line in first place. One mile left and it’s ours.

The sound of the engine gives me its all, screaming its joy as the tach rises to almost redline; I know it can give a touch more. There’s no way I’m losing. I’m not sending any of these other punk-ass, undeserving wimps ahead in the standings either.

Keeping my cool, pressing myself into the tank, I let the track lead me to the inevitable—another win.

Doll, quarter mile. Let’s let it go, girl, Harry calmly squelches into the mic. Giving me the signal to push that last little bit of power out of the four-stroke soul, I can literally taste it. Victory is mine.

In a zen-like state, knowing the three or less seconds are what will make this dream plausible, my engine squeals. Cranking over the fuel and air mixtures as quick as it can, the white and yellow finish line calls out my name. Holding my breath, I push my will out across the line as my wheels crest the paint.

Yeah! The raucous voices of my Dad, Harry, and countless others of the team ring out through the headset.

Before relaxing the grip, I let out a long-held breath. Sitting up straighter, peeling back the screen of my helmet, I look at the jumbotron up ahead. It replays the close call at being second place. I don’t care. One second, a millisecond and mere inches are all that separated me and Graff. That’s all that matters.

Rounding the tight entrance I slow, coming near the pit to pick up my reward. Harry, as usual, is there, standing on the edge, waiting. Holding it out with a massive grin, he tells me to let it fly. I heft the colors joyously. This isn’t my first win, and I doubt it’ll be my last. I’m seventeen; the top female racer in the circuits, both in Motocross GP and Open standings. They’re all mine now. Today capped the last one I was missing. With the full set of wins across the board in my age group, and that of the group higher than mine, I’m the top. Heck, I think I just beat my brother’s time on this track too. Celebrating this will be an all-night affair for sure.

I’ve worked my tail off, pushed every limit, excluded myself from every extracurricular activity known to man, and sequestered myself in my room. Watching and replaying races, I’d done it over and over, finding my flaws. I wasn’t about to be beat, and now I can proudly hoist the Crown Racing Industries flag around on my victory lap.

The only person I wish was here is Casper. I can’t wait to share this with him. Training to garner his first win at the Isle of Mann TT, he’s set to be the youngest to win it in its history. Knowing Casper, he’s been watching this on live stream. Even though he really wanted to be here, it would have caused a great deal of grief from our mother.

In fact, I do know him that well. He’ll have texted already with congratulatory praise for my newest trophy to grace the halls of our home. He’s more than likely shifted some of his to make room. I plan to surpass his ass soon. I want that hall filled with mine, and a few of his. 

Rounding back to the paddock after my relished pass, I park the bike with a ginormous grin. Peeling back my helmet, I can’t remove the smile from my face. I think my jaw may just freeze in this position, and I’m okay with that.

Handing Harry the flag, I’m careful. The last thing I want is that precious material hitting the ground. I’m psychotically superstitious about that freakin’ flag. If it ever hit the ground, I think it would cause me to instantaneously combust, leaving flakes of a stressed-out girl on the ground.

Princess, I’m so proud of you! This is fabulous! My ever ecstatic, and motorcar racing legend father, King Jax Crown, yanks me into a bear hug. Lifting my five-eleven frame off the ground as if I weigh nothing more than a sheet of paper, I relish the joy he exudes.

He hardly attends our races, as his career is in full swing too. That’s the way of Indy and motorcycle racers. When the sun is shining and the ground is dry, it’s time to peel off a level of blacktop, rubbing a few tires raw. I’m lucky this time, as his race and mine coincided. Tomorrow I’ll return to Los Angeles, and he’ll be off to Detroit for meetings, racing, and blah blah blah schmoozefests with my mother. But that’s okay. I’ll take all the time I can get.

Setting me down, his beaming praise is explosive. I’m so grateful he’s here.

You ready, Doll? He’s asking if I’m ready for the reporters and journalists from the bike mags and racing officials that await me. Normally, he or my mother would accompany me, but I’d finally had enough of them answering for me. I want to give my own version of how it felt. So, I’m about to embark on my first press moment; sans them.

Today has been all about me, and I want to show just how happy I am about that.

Yeah. I’m good, Dad. Looking once more into his stunning eyes and accepting the adoration, I know I’m good to go. My fearlessness is from him and it suits me well on the track. He taught me from a young age how that adrenaline fuels us. He may hit the track on four wheels, and Casper and I engage the danger on two, but we all need the rush of rubbing a rim. Even our older brother, Jamieson, is a daredevil in his own right. He hits the hills on a plank where the snow is thick, cold, and packed perfectly for snowboarding. He visits us sometimes, and I don’t begrudge him that. I wouldn’t be caught dead in the snow if there’s a warm track to hit. 

That’s my girl. You deserve this. Now, go get ’em. Bending to kiss me on the head, Dad turns to wait over by the rest of the team. As I walk to the line where the reporters wait, my nerves are jumping, but I’ll never show it.

Doll!, Doll! They all scream, vying for my attention. Selecting one to answer, the rest quiet, awaiting my response. How does it feel, winning your twelfth title, and at such a young age? Were you nervous?

Pursing my lips, I consider the answer first. With a superficial smile, taking the diplomatic route, I say, This is my first time at Pomona, and I’m glad I’m going home with a trophy. I’ll admit, it wouldn’t have been possible if not for the training, dedication, hard work, and perseverance of the whole team. It’s not all just me. We come as a package at Crown Racing Industries. The cameras click, the smart phones record, and the old-school boys push the buttons on their digital pocket recorders. Pointing to a second, more seasoned man at the back, I await his question.

He wastes no time, jumping right in. King, how are you feeling about your daughter’s win and your loss yesterday?

My father crashed in turn forty-four, losing out to Tunez. I put all my energy into my daughter today. Let’s let her stand in the spotlight for a while. Wouldn’t you say that’s fair, Jackson? he replied nicely, yet with a hint of ‘fuck you.’

Listen, Mr. TSN-not-a-well-known-reporter, I work hard to be everything he needs me to be, both on and off the track, and I’ll continue to do so. I worship my father, his values, his ethics, and it shows in his love and respect for us. Even on a day when he’s had a bad turn on his track, he’s here to support me, showing me he cares, and being the best father any girl could ask for. So now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a trophy to hoist with my hero. Turning from the dickwad reporter, feeling empowered, I’m ready to take on any hardships the world can toss my way.

In this crummy hospital gym, I push myself past the limits, but it’s necessary to control the sadness that surrounds me every time I think of my losses. This treadmill has had such a workout lately that I expect it to shoot me across the room, embedding me into the wall. Remembering a time when I was on top and feeling pretty damn happy, I miss my Dad more than I’ll voice to anyone.

I want him here with us, with me, to help me deal with all of it. At seventeen, I thought we were all indestructible, thinking nothing could touch the Crown’s. I thought I could do anything as long as I had my family. Now? Now I’m afraid to push past the pain of him gone, of Wyatt’s crash, of another death, and another moment when my life was decided for me.

I hate death. I hate that I’m left to deal with it all alone...again.

Yeah, I have my girlfriends. Sure, Wyatt’s alive, and I’m grateful for that, but it reminds me that I’ll be alone again soon. Whiskey will go back home. Wyatt will get better and return to the track, or dealing with Crown Industries. I’ll be stagnant.

I’d kept him from Circe, and her from him. It wasn’t intentional to harm either of them, but maybe self-consciously, I was trying to keep a piece of my family tucked away—contained. They’re getting better, and they’ll be going back to their lives. I’ll be going home to an empty house. I’ll be alone once more.

I’d never thought of my racing as a solitary sport, but now I realize that there’s only one seat and no room for others. I’m saddened by my singularity.

Chapter One

China

I’m sick of caring. I’m sick of wanting to be done with the pain in my chest. The unending pressure of my father’s death, and the lasting impression of having to give a fuck about anything. When I start to care, I feel it sucking me in, the memories of everything. All that’s happened in the last little while, and all I’ve done my best to avoid. These mental gymnastics are torture.

The love I endured from my father, and the career that’s pretty much swallowing me whole is too much. Add in the pressure of our team and those who depend on us, and I’m drowning. It reminds me that never again will my father be at the finish line, and I’m adrift. His funeral was only weeks ago and I’m in tatters. Even alcohol can’t mask my pain, or dull it.

I’m a shattered soul feeling broken and distended.

What I need right now is a release, one that only two wheels can fix. It will help me fight the demons pulling at the final puppet strings on my heart. Adrenaline coursing through my veins always helps. It’s not that late at night, and I’m positive I can still find a few guys cutting loose. The bets tonight should at least be worth my drive.

With a ‘I’ll see you in a few hours’ comment to Cassidy, and a quick avoidance of my mother as she stomps around the house since Dad’s death, I’m gone. Wearing jeans and a tee, strapping into my jacket, I head to the Valley.

Starting up my bike, it hums its satisfaction. Tightening up my leathers, strapping on my favorite helmet, I hit the door opener, signaling the garage.

My bike and I are one as the pavement looms ahead, urging us forward. Stretching out the kinks, I revel in the release as I crack the throttle. Setting out down the Malibu Hills, crossing into the center of La Brea, the familiar sights and sounds of illegal street racing revives my tired heart.

Pulling up to the side street, there’s row after row of fast bikes and cars. There are scantily dressed girls wearing low slung jeans, heavy chains, massive necklaces, and the odd semi-rich kid looking to lose his ride to a professional con artist’s slicked out junker.

Parking my ride near a row of sparkling clean Hayabusa’s, CBR’s, and XXR’s, I dismount and hang my helmet. Mine stands out. Dad would shit kittens knowing I was anywhere near illegal races.

No shit! I hear close by as I unzip my jacket. Slinging it over the seat, I pocket the key and step back.

Hey, Charlie. The ten-year-old scrawny street urchin that I see at these venues more than I should, smiles back at me. I quit asking if he should be home sleeping, or if there was family looking for him a few months ago. The poor kid is just looking for attention and a sense of belonging, of which he gets here with us. I’d met Charlie at one of the Crown and Anchor Progress Team meetings. He’s who told me about these illegal street races.

You racing tonight, D?

Might. You staying in the program? I ask, ruffling his nappy hair.

Shrugging, he kicks the nonexistent dirt in front of his ratty Sketchers. Nah. I don’t have a ride down to the meetings. Giving him a fake scowl, Charlie rolls his eyes. "They kicked me out. It’s a great thing y’all are doin’, but they only make it for the rich inner city kind. I can’t afford it and lunch. Somethin’ had to give." Poor kid. I wish I could do more for those like him. Maybe when I take over my trust fund, I’ll figure out something that could help. That’s if my strict, hard-lined, still dealing with grief mother would allow it. Honestly, I think she’s worried I’d give all my money away.

As we walk along the rows, I acknowledge the riders I know. Receiving a few fist bumps and head nods, Charlie and I make it to the finish line where the illegal conveners stand.

Who’s in the lead tonight?

Chance. Squishing up his features, the little kid looks almost annoyed. Chance is an asshole any time after winning.

I thought you had a man crush for his style?

No way. He’s got nothin’ on y’all’s riding style. He’s a pussy. Just showin’ up when you’re not here. Gotta love this kid.

Pulling out twenty bucks, I hand it to Charlie, trying to send him away. Go hang out. I’ll catch up with you before the end of the night, kiddo. Smiling wide, swinging off, his nappy hair can be seen heading into the crowd. In a bit, I’ll find him mooching food, trying to keep the twenty for food and bus rides to school. It’s better than what some of these kids do to forget their shit lifestyle. Yeah, I could give him more, but I know what happens when they have too much too.

After he heads away, I search out Max and Manuel. They’re the main gearheads that arrange this illegal racing on weeknights. They recognized me right away, and they don’t look at me any different than the rest of the participants.

We runnin’ tonight, Doll?

Yeah, I might. What’s the line?

Max pulls the folded sheets of paper out of his back pocket, mulls over the numbers, then turns. I know he’s contemplating his words. He’s hoping to talk me into the race that has the most bets in his favor. Thing is, I’m okay with that. I don’t mind others trying to get rich quick, as long as no one gets hurt in the process.

Fixer is runnin’ Jacob’s tonight. You in for it? I think about it for a second, then agree. I need the adrenaline rush more than he needs the winnings. We have an unwritten understanding.

I’ll put four on Fixer then, I tell them. Max and Manny run these back-ender bets where I bet on the other guy to win. The only clause I have is that my ride is never on the line, and I’ll never take theirs. Most of the racers don’t know that, though, so they still push it to the limits.

I’ve been coming out here for a few weeks now. Ever since…well, ever since dad’s death. I need a bit of rule breaking to feel alive. How does a few weeks feel like a lifetime ago?

Handing Manny my bills, forgetting my reasons for being here, I kit back up.

Bringing my bike to the line, Fixer pops up beside me on the Jacob's new ride. Revving the engine once really hard, then settling back to wait, I sit calm and relaxed as he stews in his chinos. With a wide smirk, Fixer readies to take me on. He might win, but I might just kick his ass for being a punk. He’s not one of my favorites. He’s boisterous, cocky, a prick to those that lose against him, and he’s an asshole to the girls after a fast, lazy fuck.

Kalyn, Jacob’s girl, is the starter tonight. She stands to the center, wearing nothing more than a table doily and a thong. It's barely covering her ample ass that even I’m envious of. We prep, set, and wait for the go. Just before Kalyn can give us the go, in the distance, sirens ring out, getting closer and closer. Races are over for the evening, it seems. As the crowd disperses like cockroaches in the light, peeling off the street as fast as lightning, I kick the gear, pin the throttle, and spin off to the side street I came down. Hoping it’s not jammed up or blocked by fleeing racers or spectators, I stop. At the end, a patrol car squeezes into the space, giving me no room to flee. I’m penned in. I’m in shit if I’m caught. This is my fifth charge since his death. Not a record I’ve tried for before, but I seem to be pretty good at it. And I definitely won’t be going anywhere near home if this cop has his way.

Aiming for the sidewalk, I squeak around the back of the cruiser, narrowly missing another visit to the family lawyers. Dad would have been pissed about this, but he’s not here, and I don’t want my grieving mother to know. I’ll call Ben, dad’s team leader and best friend, to save my ass, again.

Chapter Two

Risen

The pager squawks as Tiana—my favorite, yet most annoying and wickedly vindictive dispatcher—depresses the call button, accentuating her bitchiness tenfold.

You’re the one that enforces the law. Bleep, it squawks effectively, telling me off in-between her snarky remarks. Now, pick up your big girl panties and arrest her. The worst goddamn part about all of this? Tiana’s fucking right. I won’t tell her that to her face, though. Fuck no. That would be stupid of me.

Fuck off, Tiana, I say into the vacant patrol car, being careful to not express it on the pager system. Like I need another reason to be penalized.

Tiana’s five foot five frame, perky