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  Hunter’s Treasure

  The Celtic Demons - Book Two

  Jill Shannon

  Published by Blushing Books

  An Imprint of

  ABCD Graphics and Design, Inc.

  A Virginia Corporation

  977 Seminole Trail #233

  Charlottesville, VA 22901

  ©2020

  All rights reserved.

  No part of the book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. The trademark Blushing Books is pending in the US Patent and Trademark Office.

  Jill Shannon

  Hunter’s Treasure

  EBook ISBN: 978-1-64563-212-2

  v1

  Cover Art by ABCD Graphics & Design

  This book contains fantasy themes appropriate for mature readers only. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as Blushing Books' or the author's advocating any non-consensual sexual activity.

  I haven't done a dedication in my last few books, but this one requires a couple of names mentioned.

  First, I'd like to thank my family. They have always supported my efforts in becoming an author and have always stood by my side.

  Next, my Beta readers, Lorna Smith and Marie Vayer, for always being upfront and honest. You never hold back your opinions, and that, I value so much. You guys are the best.

  Finally, to all my new friends, for allowing me to give you a special part amongst my characters. Daniel and Elias Gomez, thank you for your service to this great nation. I pray that in the future, our government steps up and starts getting the Veterans the medical and professional help they need.

  John and Pauline Lawson, I have always loved art and cars. You manage to put the two together so beautifully. You have an extraordinary talent, and I'm so happy you get to share it with the world.

  Vinny Varden and Steven Timms, you both are incredibly generous people. You took a chance on an unknown author, and I will be eternally grateful for that. They say that the cover of any romance book is super important.

  Steven, your creative ability captured the perfect photo and made that happen for my cover.

  Vinny, I'm sure you thought I was crazy when I messaged you about becoming a cover model for a romance book. Yet, here we are. My most profound appreciation goes to you. You hung in there, waiting for me to finish my book with the patience of a 'Saint'. And when the time came, you didn't hesitate to come through with some pretty spectacular shots. You are a special man with a heart of gold. Don't ever change. One day, your special woman will come into your life, and I pray that God gives you the son you always wanted to name 'Hunter'. Thank you for making my book cover very important to the readers. I wish you a long and successful modeling career because you deserve it.

  Lastly and always, to Blushing Books, for without you, there would be no book. Thank you for always having faith in my ability to create a story people will want to read.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Epilogue

  Jill Shannon

  Blushing Books

  Blushing Books Newsletter

  Prologue

  Someone removed the dark hood from her head as she was shoved onto the cold damp ground. The first thing she saw after her eyes adjusted was a pair of worn work boots. Her gaze traveled up the dirt-stained jeans to a flannel shirt snuggly fit around his bulging waist, and before her, stood a very large man. Gathering what courage she had left, she allowed her eyes to move further up. She found his face covered, leaving only his cold, dead eyes exposed. Knowing she would get no answers from him, she surveyed her surroundings; there were no windows, no bed, no toilet, nothing but her and her abductor.

  "Get comfortable. You'll be here a few days, and then they'll come get ya." He pulled a knife from his belt and reached for the bindings on her wrists and ankles.

  "Where is here?" she asked as she looked around the cave-like cell. "And…who are they?" Her voice was filled with the fear creeping into her bones.

  "Your new home. Until they come." Removing his phone from his pocket, he snapped a picture of her. Putting it back into his pocket, he turned to leave. When he was at the only exit to the cell, he looked back at her. "Don't make any trouble. I would hate to have to hurt you." Those were the last words he spoke as he locked her inside.

  Rubbing the sensation back into her legs, she got to her feet and stumbled to the door. She wrapped her hands around the cool steel bars at the small opening of the door as the light in her cell went out. "You can't keep me here. Someone will be looking for me, you know!" she shouted. A dim light illuminated the empty hallway, showing other doors like her own.

  From behind one of the doors, came a faint voice of warning, "It's no use, if you continue to yell, he will shove a needle in your arm to shut you up."

  "What is this place?" she asked quietly.

  "From what I have gathered, we are in some kind of smugglers' cave," came a voice from her right.

  "Do you know who 'they' are?" She emphasized the word.

  "The people who come and take us out of here," another voice chimed in from the left.

  "To go where?"

  "None of us know; we just know that one day a woman is here, and the next she's gone," whispered the original voice.

  She counted the number of cells in the dim light. Seeing ten other doors similar to hers, she asked, "Are all the cells filled?"

  The voice to her left answered her, "They were, but they came and took four women before you arrived."

  "Who are they, and what do they want?" Her voice rose.

  "Keep your voice down. You don't want him coming back." The voice to her right spoke, "We have no answers for you, only assumptions. We think they are human traffickers. Only women have been in these cells, all either prostitutes, homeless, or drug addicts. Women who no one will miss. We think the photos taken are put online to be bid on. Once they leave here, they don't come back." She was quiet a moment then asked, "Which one are you?"

  "None of the above," came her quick response. "But I did have my issues with drugs and being homeless. My parents couldn't handle it anymore. So, they threw me out. Since then, I've gotten my shit together. I found a program that is helping me with my drug problem, my parents took me back in, and I even found a decent job. In fact, I was walking to work when a van pulled up and stopped. A masked man jumped out, shoved a black hood over my head and shoved me in the van. I don't belong here." The tears started to fall from her eyes.

  "None of us do, sweetie, but we're all here anyway."

  She wasn't sure which voice had answered her. "How long have you all been here?" she asked, sniffling and wiping the tears from her face.

  Voices rang out randomly, "Three weeks, ten days, five days, eight days," and so on. The final voice came from the faint voice she had heard initially, "One month."

  "You've been stuck in there for a month? How do you stand it? I feel like the walls are closing in on me already."

  "For the first two weeks, I was recovering from the beating I received for trying to escape." Her voice came closer to the door. "Now I do as I'm told and pray that when I'm released from this cell, I never see it again."

  "When do you think that will happen?"

  The voice from the right perked up, "I overheard him talking on the radio, when he took the other four women. He said that, sometime this week, a
boat would be coming for the rest of us."

  "It can't come fast enough for me," the faint voice whispered.

  "What's your name?" the woman asked.

  "I've been called many names, but you can call me Cindy."

  The woman to the left spoke next. "Lori."

  Then to the right of her came, "Renee."

  Renee asked her, "What's your name, sweetie?"

  "My name is Hailey."

  Chapter 1

  "Alpha team, your mission is a go, and may God be with you all," Hunter 'Saint' Murphy heard through his earpiece. Looking at the six men sitting in the Blackhawk helicopter with him, he gave them all a thumb up. "We've done worse missions than this one, and we've survived. I don't need to remind you not to take anything for granted. Watch each other's backs, get in, retrieve the woman reporter, and get out. Anybody unsure of their job?" Hunter addressed the men. When he had received confirmation from them all, he added, "Then let's get to it, boys."

  Hunter watched as the men began dropping out of the aircraft to the water below. Being their team leader, he was the last to go. The Blackhawk would rendezvous with the team about a mile down the beach. Until then, they would disappear. Hunter watched as each of the men began to surface on the beach. They relieved themselves of their equipment and prepared to enter the building. The structure was small, and intel indicated that only six men were securing the area. The team split into two groups; a three-man team would move in from the rear of the structure while the rest of the team would enter through the front.

  Hunter stayed with the team to the front of the building, and receiving confirmation his team was prepared to enter, he gave the order, "On my mark, three, two, one." At the same time, the two teams converged on the building. Gunfire erupted around the room. Hunter watched as two of his men took out the two men standing guard in front of a door. Then he watched as his team took out the other two men sitting at a table. He moved with his team toward the door that had been guarded, under cover from the other team. Busting the door down, they found the woman reporter they were there to rescue, standing in the middle of the room with a knife at her throat. "We told you she would die if you tried anything like this. Now you will live with the memory of her dying before your eyes for the rest of your life." Hunter watched in slow motion as the knife sliced across her neck.

  Soaking wet with sweat, Hunter woke from the nightmare that had haunted his dreams since his last mission. He reached for the bottle of sertraline. This usually helped decrease the anxiety and depression that surrounded him whenever the dream assailed his unconscious state of mind. He swallowed the pill, then dropped his head back on the pillow and stared up at the ceiling. The Serbian man had been right; watching that female reporter get her throat slashed right in front of him had affected him more than he could ever admit. The only person who knew how deep his scars ran was the psychotherapist he spoke with once a month to stay on track.

  After that mission, Hunter had decided that it was time for a change. He had reached out to one of his best friends from the military, Killian 'Yankee' Ramsey, when he retired. Knowing Killian dealt with his own military demons, Hunter wanted to know how he was doing with them. Killian explained that when his father had gotten into a bad accident, he left the military, although that hadn't been his plan. Yet, Killian knew when he left the military, he had another brotherhood that already accepted him—the Celtic Demons Motorcycle Club. When Killian heard that Hunter was looking for a similar brotherhood to the military, he introduced him to his Celtic Demons brothers. Hunter knew he had found his place outside of a Naval base. He prospected for six months before Judge found out about his skills with a computer, promoting him to secretary of the club and earning him his patch. Something that generally took a year to do.

  Once he felt the anxiety ease, he swung his long legs over the side of the bed and sat up, looking at the clock, which revealed that it was six-thirty. Scratching his healing tattoo gently, he looked over how the Japanese design had turned out. He had his Navy anchor covered over on his left shoulder and extended the new tattoo to his chest. He no longer needed a reminder of that time in his life. Finally, finding a talented tattoo artist to bring his vision to life, Hunter had sat for the hours required to finish. A samurai and oni mask ran along his left arm, a symbol of strength and courage, while over his left pec rested the face of a geisha girl representing beauty and grace. He was thankful the right arm sleeve and chest area had already healed; the bright red dragon ran the full length of his arm. The detail the artist had added only enhanced the dragon's face on his right pec. As a child, he had been fascinated with dragons. Learning that they stood for strength, ferocity and wealth only made them more appealing. Seen as destructive yet also as a guardian angel, a dragon symbol was the perfect two-sided sword.

  Hunter ran his hands over his face, wiping the sleep from his grey eyes. He was still getting used to his shortened auburn colored beard. Sliding his fingers over his mustache and around his mouth, he got off the bed. Standing to his full height of six-foot-two, he headed to the bathroom. He needed to get in the shower and start his day. Judge had scheduled church for this morning to talk about the upcoming fundraiser. Plus, he wanted to get a much-needed ride in before working out. Turning the water on and adjusting the temperature, he got in, letting the hot water soothe away any residual anxiety from his nightmare.

  After walking from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, he pulled his new black Killer Couture shirt and a pair of black jeans from the dresser. After putting his jeans on, he grabbed his shirt. The gold skull and crown emblem rested over his left shoulder, with the words Killer Couture written on the back. The short sleeves pulled tight around his biceps and stretched tight across his muscular chest. He knew he would catch shit from his brothers, but he didn't care. Every now and then, he needed to wear something other than a Harley Davidson shirt. Heading back into the bathroom, he brushed his teeth and ran a brush through his wet hair. Getting his gym bag, he threw his gym clothes in, leaving it on his bed to grab later. Then he put his cut on and picked up the material he would need for church, and left his room. Stopping off at the conference room, he dropped the papers on the table then headed downstairs for a cup of coffee.

  Scar, one of the prospects for the club, was working behind the bar in the clubhouse. Although it was early for most of the Celtic Demons, there was always someone operating the bar. People came and went at all hours in the clubhouse, so Judge made sure that someone maintained the bar all the time. "Morning, Scar. I need coffee."

  Scar grabbed a mug and the pot of coffee from the brewer. "Rough night, Saint?" He placed the cup in front of him.

  "No, more like a rough morning." Pouring some milk into his coffee, he sat back on the stool, looking around the clubhouse area. The television area had a black leather sectional resting in front of the wall of televisions. Hunter could see two prospects sleeping with two of the house mice. He knew Judge was not going to be happy to see that. This area was a communal area, not for sleeping, but Hunter would let Judge hand out their punishment. Toward the back of the clubhouse, the video and pinball machines were quiet. No one was shooting pool or playing darts. The area for the band was littered with garbage that hadn't been cleared away yet from last night.

  Hunter's attention was drawn to the stairway leading to the second floor, which held Judge's office, the conference room, and individual bedrooms for board members of the Demons. Coming down the stairs was Reed 'Judge' Brody, President of the Celtic Demons. Judge was six-foot-four with sandy blond hair. His beard was trimmed tight to his jawline with his mustache meeting it. Judge had become president of the Demons when his father became too ill. He was voted unanimously into the position by every member. Not because he was Sam Brody's son, but because he deserved the position. Judge was the most level-headed man Hunter had ever met. He handled club business with fairness, and if someone fucked up, he handed out punishments that fit the crime.

  Judge had p
ushed to get the government contract that allowed the Celtic Demons to grow medical marijuana. The arrangement worked well for both parties. He had also added the solar panels on the compound that helped with the cost of producing a quality product. It helped the Demons stay under the radar growing their own business supply of marijuana. Hunter had been involved with filing the paperwork for the permits, plus, securing the contracts as secretary of the club. It was a lucrative venture for the Demons, as well as their other businesses scattered around Hog Inlet. The Demons had earned the respect of the people living in the area and made it a point of always being involved in whatever function the club organized. This year, they were planning a fundraiser to help support the pediatric scarring unit at the local hospital.

  Hunter watched as Judge bypassed the bar area and headed straight for the sectional couch. Slapping both hands down on the back of the sofa, he made the couples sleeping jump awake. "You two, get the fuck out of here," Judge told the house mice. "You two," he directed his comments to the prospects, "for the next week, you are on garbage detail, both inside and outside the clubhouse. If I see a speck of crap anywhere on the grounds, another month will be added to your prospect position. Am I making myself clear?" When Judge had received confirmation from the two of them, he told them, "Now get your asses in gear and clean the back rooms, and don't let me catch you sleeping on the couches again." The two prospects jumped to do Judge's bidding.

  Judge joined Saint at the bar as Scar placed a mug of hot coffee before him. "Morning, Saint, you're up early today."