Torrent's Treasure (Grave Prowlers MC: (Missouri) #1)

1. Chapter One

Chapter One

“Put on some clothes, cunt,” he ordered, standing over her beside the bed.

Cecilia Wilson pressed down the anger, horror, and shame she was feeling.

He was dangerous, and she wanted to survive this because she was all her little sister had left.

She’d come home after her parents died in a mysterious fire at their store.

She’d fought him at first, but when he’d promised not to hurt her younger sister, Calliope, who was due home from school soon, she’d decided to lie there and take it.

She swallowed the nausea in her throat, rolled off the bed, and reached for her clothes to carry into the bathroom. She walked by him, but she wasn’t prepared for the hard yank on her hair, throwing her off balance and onto the floor.

“Get dressed. What did you think you were doing?” he asked.

“Getting dressed,” she said softly. At this point, nothing mattered besides keeping him from killing her and keeping her sister safe.

She stood up, sliding her panties on, then her jeans.

She picked up her bra, but he’d sliced it.

She turned to get a new one from her dresser when pain shot through her head.

He’d grabbed her hair again, dragging her back against him.

His furry chest rasping against her back had her flashing back to when he first threw her on the bed.

She shoved that memory away until she was alone and could deal with it later.

She couldn’t afford to not be on her game.

“You don’t need a fuckin’ bra. Your tits are plenty perky without it. Get dressed. Don’t make me say it again,” he snapped, shoving her.

She kept herself from falling to the floor, slipping her sweatshirt over her head and sitting on the bed to put on her socks and tennis shoes.

Glancing at the clock, her stomach sank.

He needed to be gone in the next ten minutes, or he’d still be here when Calliope was dropped off from school.

Calliope’s best friend’s mom picked up the girls from school because Cecilia’s mom had given them a ride in the morning.

Cecilia had kept up the routine because Calliope’s life had already changed so much.

She stood, waiting to see what he was planning.

She glanced around the bedroom but there wasn’t anything to use as a weapon.

She’d checked when he’d first forced her in there, but Cecilia had a slim hope she’d missed something.

“Front room,” he said, grabbing her arm, his tight grip just one more bruise on top of the ones he’d already given her. He pulled her down the hallway and shoved her toward the couch.

“Sit, don’t move, or I’ll make you sorry,” he threatened.

She was already sorry that when he’d knocked on the door and asked to come in, she’d let him, but how the hell was she supposed to know that a police officer was a threat.

He kept an eye on her as he made a call.

“Yeah, she won’t be a problem, but I’m rethinking our plan. I know you’re heading to the law enforcement conference in Texas, then onto the charter for three weeks. That will be plenty of time,” he boasted.

Cecilia wished she could hear what the Police Chief was saying. At least, that’s who she assumed he was talking to. His older brother was the Police Chief of this town and a couple surrounding small towns. The man standing so casually in her parents’ kitchen was his younger brother and an officer.

From what she’d gathered while he was ripping her clothes off and assaulting her, her snooping into her parents’ deaths hadn’t gone unnoticed.

She’d known it was arson even though the Police Chief had said it was an accident because her dad had put flammable materials near the heater, which was a load of bullshit.

Her dad was very particular with his attention to detail, and he never would have done anything unsafe.

She’d spent too many closing times walking through the store with her dad, looking for anything that could cause a fire or hazard, to believe the chief’s lies.

Cecilia wondered who she’d asked questions of in the last week that had notified the police chief.

She was someone who dealt with science and facts.

Anything that didn’t fit was examined and wrestled with until she had a possible conclusion.

She tried to focus on what he was saying and not lose her train of thought.

The adrenaline was leaving her. As a nurse with the added certification of a Sexual Assault Nurse Examiner (SANE), she helped women through what she’d been subjected to today. If she had a prayer of surviving, she needed to stay in the moment.

He walked back over, standing close to her, still talking on the phone.

“Yeah, I’m taking her and her sister to the cabin.

I think it’s a waste to just scare her. I’ll do some training, and then when I’m through, they might as well make some money for us.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Trained or taken care of.

Got it,” he said, staring directly into her eyes.

She kept her face blank and didn’t allow any emotion to show in her eyes.

The only possibility she had of gaining the upper hand was if he discounted her as a threat.

He needed to think she was going into shock.

If he was planning on staying until Calliope got home and then moving them, she needed to think of how she could get them out of this.

But her mind was blank on what plan she could put together.

“Cecilia, I’m home,” her sister called as she opened the door. Before Calliope could comprehend what she was seeing, Officer Horace Fink grabbed Calliope’s arm, pulling her in and closing the door.

Cecilia hadn’t passed a mirror to know how bad she looked, but she was guessing she had a black eye and multiple contusions on her face and neck. Her throat was sore from him choking her.

“We’re taking a trip. Why don’t you gather some clothes for you. Put them in your backpack,” he directed.

“But, what happened to Cecilia?” Calliope asked, pulling her arm, trying to get him to let loose.

“The same thing that will happen to you if you don’t do what I say. Now!” he yelled.

Cecilia nodded at Calliope to do what he said.

Ten years old was way too young for her sister to be dealing with this, but Cecilia needed Calliope to follow along until some opportunity presented itself.

The more her sister obeyed, the safer she’d be.

Calliope appeared ready to cry, but she nodded back, walking out of the room.

Calliope didn’t take long. He pulled some flexicuffs from his back pocket as her sister came back in. She’d slipped off the jean jacket she’d had on and changed into a large, zippered sweatshirt.

“Here, put these on your sister while I check the street for traffic,” he said.

Calliope knelt and slipped the flexicuffs on. Are you okay? she mouthed.

Just follow directions until we can figure out how to get away, Cecilia mouthed back.

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.

“Okay. It will most likely take me thirty minutes to get there. Are you safe until then?” he asked.

“I think so,” she whispered.

“On my way,” he said. He turned toward where Maverick and Dragon were sitting at the bar, sipping a beer.

“What’s up?” Maverick asked.

“Old Man Wilson’s daughters need help, and he told them to call me,” Torrent said.

“Which in Torrent-speak means shit has hit the fan, and someone needs help,” Maverick teased.

Torrent nodded his head to where Jasmine was still standing close, “Flappy lips, Mav. Flappy lips. Get gone, Jasmine.”

“The three of us, plus grab Bravo and Fury. The others can be on guard just in case this is something else. Get Gunner working on information,” Dragon instructed.