Page 2 of Torrent’s Treasure

As Calliope tightened the last flexicuffs, she slid something out of her pocket and pushed it up inside Cecilia’s sleeve. Cecilia gave Calliope a small nod. It felt like one of the pocketknives her dad had stocked at the store. For the first time since her nightmare had started, she had a spark of hope.

Mason “Torrent” Jones led Bruno and Icilio, two of their customers from Las Vegas, down the stairs to join his brothers in the Boneyard, the Grave Prowlers MC’s wet room. His club was in the business of death—have a body that needed to disappear? The Grave Prowlers had a crematorium as part of their funeral home. Have a need for some guns? The Grave Prowlers could deliver them in their custom coffins; and if you needed to serve a little justice or make someone pay, for the right amount of money, their Boneyard was available.

Entering the room, his President, Dragon, welcomed them.

“Bruno, Icilio. Glad we could be of service,” Dragon said, leading them down the hallway to one of the rooms. Opening the door, Dragon motioned them in.

“Oh, this is nice. You’ve already unwrapped the packages and given them a taste of what they deserve,” Bruno said.

Torrent liked the way Bruno phrased their treatment of the men who had hurt his great-niece, Appollonia Rossellini. Torrent, along with Maverick, his VP, had been on the way back from a run and had been diverted to Dodge City, Kansas, to help with a situation. When Maverick had recognized Bruno’s great-niece, he’d contacted Bruno, who had arrived with Icilio to help out.

“When Torrent and Maverick notified us what they were guilty of and that Apollonia didn’t want to mete out the payment herself, we were more than happy to help out,” Dragon said, smirking.

Yep, and if Torrent had to guess, Dragon’s Ol’ Lady, Sally, might be the one who had added the nice decorations to the guys’ dicks. Ropes that tight had to hurt like hell, and who knew a dick could turn that color of blue. It gave new meaning to the phrase “blue balls.”

“Franco, you and your boys have made me angry,” Bruno said.

“You don’t have any power in the US. Why are you here?” Franco yelled, though he’d lost some teeth back in Dodge City, and it was hard to understand all the words.

“Franco, Franco, Franco. Did you honestly think I wasn’t in charge of everything? Because my brother and sister-in-law were fantastic leaders, I was very hands-off over the years. But when you came to us with your idea and we turned you down, I expected you to take it like a man, not be a sniveling coward,” Bruno said, motioning to Icilio, who had pulled a whip out of his bag. Bruno nodded.

Icilio proceeded to whip Franco’s back until the skin hung in strips. The screaming was annoying, but Torrent had heard worse when he was in prison. He’d become immune to screams.

The two sniveling cowards next to Franco had pissed themselves and were begging for death. Torrent couldn’t understand why they’d followed Franco. He was a small worm of a man who didn’t inspire fear or inspiration. Now, Bruno and Icilio both had an air about them so anyone around knew they were dangerous.

Torrent waited until the men were finished. Maverick directed the prospects to move the men to the crematorium for disposal. Torrent walked down the hall and then up the stairs leading to the building attached to the clubhouse.

Grabbing his phone, he turned it back on and headed to the main room. He needed to get off in the worst way.

He stepped up to the bar, signaling the Prospect behind it for a drink. The Prospect picked Torrent’s beer of choice out of the cooler, wiped the bottle with a clean cloth, and handed the bottle opener to him. Torrent hid his smirk. He didn’t have a favorite beer, but it was just one more way to fuck with the prospects. He was particular that he wouldn’t drink an opened drink someone brought him unless he trusted them. Here in their clubhouse, he should be safe, but Torrent was always on guard.

He glanced around the room, clocking who was partying and which Whispers were available for a little relief. He didn’t really like any of the current club women, but when a man had needs, he took what he needed. Torrent didn’t have the inclination or the time to go out and find a woman. Too much fucking trouble.

He snapped his fingers and pointed to the floor when Jasmine, one of the Whispers, caught his eye. He sipped his beer, watching her push her breasts higher in the tiny bikini top she wore and swing her hips a little as she strolled toward him. Too bad she didn’t realize that her trying to look sexy did nothing for him. It was her mouth he wanted. She stopped in front of him and leaned toward his face. He shook his head, frowning at her, and pointed to the floor again. She knew what he wanted. She huffed, rolled her eyes, and knelt, unbuckling his belt and sliding his zipper down. He had gone commando after he’d showered when they arrived home.

She pulled his hard cock out and engulfed him with her warm, wet mouth. Torrent considered Jasmine’s lack of gag reflex and her blowjob skills enough to outweigh her overstepping in thinking he’d ever want more.

Torrent always got hard watching the torture. It was the same endorphins that had him ready to fuck after a fight. He just needed relief. Jasmine was fucking around licking the head when he needed her to fucking suck and deep throat him. He grasped her hair, directing her movements until she was moving faster. He sipped his beer, feeling the tingle at the base of his spine. He let it roll over him and his cum shot down her throat.

His phone ringing again had him answering before Jasmine finished swallowing.

“Yeah,” he answered. He didn’t recognize the number, but they’d called three times in a row.

“My dad said if I was ever in trouble, Torrent from the Grave Prowlers MC could help me,” a sweet, feminine voice, trying to hide her tremble, said.

“Who is your dad?” he asked.

“Micah Wilson,” she said.

Torrent perked up at the name. He’d been sad to hear that their shop had caught fire and the old man and his wife had perished. Torrent had been gone for three weeks on this last run. He’d planned on asking Dragon more about the situation when he got home but duty had called.

“I’m listening,” he grunted.

“My sister and I are stuck somewhere and need help with a situation,” she explained.

“Where?” he barked, snapping his fingers to tell Jasmine to get a move on and get him zipped back up.

“On the road leaving Demise to the south. I think we went about ten miles after we left the main road. It’s by a pond and a cabin,” she directed.