Progressing with Storm [Granite County 5] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting ManLove) Read online

  Granite County 5

  Progressing with Storm

  A wedding brings Storm Donahue to Granite County. Saving Corey Casey from a burning house leads him to meet Kris Winters. One act of heroism brings the three together and attraction explodes.

  Corey returns to his on again, off again boyfriend, after hearing Kris has been attacked. This time he isn’t given a warm welcome. Instead his selfish wants may have damaged the relationship beyond repair.

  Kris is never enough for his boyfriends. He tries, but the last one thanked him by taking a knife to him. When Corey returns, trust is gone and frustration abounds.

  Meeting Kris and Corey has made Storm’s life complete. He’s more than willing to help them progress to forgiving each other and growing into a solid unit with him. But a firebug’s in town. Kris suspects it’s one of Corey’s exes, but the signs point elsewhere. As the three burn up the sheets, someone’s burning up the city. And of course Ralph’s watching everything.

  Genre: Alternative (M/M, Gay), Contemporary, Ménage a Trois/Quatre

  Length: 38,678 words

  PROGRESSING WITH STORM

  Granite County 5

  Bellann Summer

  MENAGE EVERLASTING

  MANLOVE

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

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  A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

  IMPRINT: Ménage Everlasting ManLove

  PROGRESSING WITH STORM

  Copyright © 2015 by Bellann Summer

  E-book ISBN: 978-1-63259-467-9

  First E-book Publication: June 2015

  Cover design by Les Byerley

  All art and logo copyright © 2015 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  PUBLISHER

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  Letter to Readers

  Dear Readers,

  If you have purchased this copy of Progressing with Storm by Bellann Summer from BookStrand.com or its official distributors, thank you. Also, thank you for not sharing your copy of this book.

  Regarding E-book Piracy

  This book is copyrighted intellectual property. No other individual or group has resale rights, auction rights, membership rights, sharing rights, or any kind of rights to sell or to give away a copy of this book.

  The author and the publisher work very hard to bring our paying readers high-quality reading entertainment.

  This is Bellann Summer’s livelihood. It’s fair and simple. Please respect Bellann Summer’s right to earn a living from her work.

  Amanda Hilton, Publisher

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  www.BookStrand.com

  DEDICATION

  I dedicate this story to the fans of Ralph.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  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

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  PROGRESSING WITH STORM

  Granite County 5

  BELLANN SUMMER

  Copyright © 2015

  Chapter One

  Corey Casey couldn’t breathe. Thick, bitter smoke cloaked the room with its heavy curtain of death. Corey tried again to pull air into his straining lungs. Sharp pain sliced through his chest as his organs rejected the putrid, tainted oxygen he was forced to inhale.

  Again and again Corey pounded on the thick plywood covering the room’s only window. He futilely tried to pry his fingers into the edges between the flat board and the window frame it was nailed to. His only hope was to find a weakness in the wood. Needle-sharp splinters stabbed into his hands, but Corey continued to tear at the wooden surface. No matter how hard he tried, the plywood wouldn’t budge.

  “Help. Please, somebody, help me.” Another coughing fit grabbed a hold of Corey. Tears clouded his vision and streamed down his face as imaginary smoky hands squeezed his lungs shut and glass raked over his throat.

  Corey peered back through the smoky gloom at the door. The glow of the fire lit up the empty, ragged hole where the doorknob should be. It revealed bloody smears decorating the opening where Corey had strained to gain some kind of leverage in his useless attempt to push or pull open the door. Growing flames and heat had forced him across the room next to the boarded-up window. Corey’s eyes stung, and his mind urged him to look away from his blood covering the door as if it were a child’s grotesque finger-painting. Look away from the door of his tomb.

  Another wave of coughing caught Corey in its painful grip, driving him to his knees. Now Corey knew the true meaning of the words, “coughing up a lung,” as he dropped down to the floor and desperately tried to breathe through the suffocating smoke.

  Corey’s few choices were rapidly dwindling. The door of death stood between him and life. Already the wall glowed around it. Soon the fire would break through, sealing Corey’s fate.

  Groaning, Corey staggered to his feet. It was now or never. He concentrated on the flickering light coming through the hole in the door. In his last bid for freedom, Corey stumbled as fast as he could across the room and launched his body into the air, slamming into the solid wood. It didn’t budge.

  Pain radiated from Corey’s shoulder and throughout his entire being as he landed in a stunned heap on the floor. Despair, as thick as the smoke surrounding him, filled Corey. He was going to die.

  * * * *

  Storm Donahue sat in the back row of the courtroom and watched a judge marry a tiny blond to hi
s good friend Bishop Clark, or Mr. Saint as their former unit called him. It wasn’t much of a surprise that Saint would fall for a blond or that he’d be small. Over the years Storm had watched Saint only show interest in small blonds.

  Storm kept his face neutral when he heard a small groan nearby. Even if he wanted to smirk at the rest of his retired special ops teammates sitting around him, he wouldn’t because it would only fan the flames of his own raging hangover. They were all clearly suffering from last night’s overindulgence. It had been one hell of an impromptu bachelor party, which, in this case, included both grooms.

  The surprise of the evening came when Storm asked how Saint and Cooper Collins had met and Mr. Snake’s name had come up. Storm thought he’d heard the last of Snake when the sucker had been dishonorably discharged from the armed services.

  What a wild tale of coincidences it had turned out to be that Snake had spent the last year torturing Mr. Saint’s future husband. Storm could only imagine how good it must’ve felt when Saint had killed Snake.

  Apparently Snake had also messed up some guy who owned a flower shop. According to Saint, the guy was still recovering.

  As far as Storm was concerned, killing Snake had been a gift to the world. The guy had been more than messed up. He’d been evil. Storm had witnessed and called Snake out numerous times on the shit the man pulled during their tours. He thought Snake had finally learned to control his actions, but then the son-of-bitch had gone too far with a kid in a Middle Eastern village.

  That was when the authorities evaluated Snake and, after dishonorably discharging him, put him in a mental hospital.

  Seems Mr. Snake’s moneybags grandmother had paid off some doctor and sprung the maniac out. Her little, sweet Blaine, who could do no wrong, had repaid her by cutting her heart out.

  At the front of the room, Saint was now kissing his husband. Storm figured that signaled the ceremony part of the celebrations were complete. That was good because he needed to get back to his motel room.

  Ralph had been in a tizzy this morning. Storm had made the mistake of leaving him too long in his carrier while he partied through the night. Now Ralph was in his carrier again, and that wasn’t a good thing.

  Last night Ralph managed to chew a small hole through the plastic bottom of the carrier. Storm had no doubt that hole was much bigger now. If Ralph got out, who knew what kind of trouble he would cause?

  Storm took a lot of razzing from the guys about Ralph. At six foot five and carrying two hundred seventy pounds of pure muscle, Storm had a temper to match his name. The guys kept telling him it was weird and he should give Ralph to his sister.

  But Storm had fallen in love with Ralph the first time he’d seen him, and he didn’t care what anyone said. No one was making him give up his bunny.

  As the crowd gathered around and congratulated the grooms, Storm hurried away from the courthouse.

  “Mr. Storm, you aren’t leaving so soon, are you? Everyone is heading over to Mr. Saint and Cooper’s house.”

  Storm turned away from the door of his truck to see another member of their bunch, Mr. MD, approaching him. “I need to go check on Ralph. I’ll be back to help you drink up Saint’s beer,” Storm said.

  “I still think it’s funny that a big guy like you has a bunny rabbit for a pet. Have you ever looked into getting a Rottweiler?” MD teased as he walked over to the passenger side of the truck. “I think I’ll ride along with you.”

  Storm kept his face neutral. MD couldn’t fool him. The man hated crowds and had a soft spot for Ralph.

  “Sure, hop in,” Storm answered.

  After MD folded his tall, skinny frame into the truck’s bucket seat, Storm took off toward the motel. The last couple of days he and his buddies had rocked the motel’s foundations with their hard-partying ways. One by one their group was finding love in Granite County, and for them, that was a cause for celebration. At about two o’clock this morning, each of the totally wasted bunch admitted they hoped their turn would be next.

  “So, what are your plans now that we’ve managed to get Mr. Saint married?” MD asked, one long, thin finger rubbing his temple.

  Storm raised one eyebrow at MD. “Quit trying to do the innocent act. There hasn’t been anything innocent about you for the last ten years. I know you heard Saint talking to me about the open positions at the fire department in town. A half an hour later, I heard him mention to you that they’re looking for a physician to join the clinic.”

  “Are you going to check into it?” MD asked.

  “Yep.”

  “Really, why?”

  Storm laughed at the way MD’s eyebrows were raised nearly to his hairline and slightly open mouth. “Don’t look so surprised. I like it here. From what I’ve seen, Granite City is big enough to have a decent variety of stores, food options, and some fun-looking places for evening entertainment. Yet, it still has that small-town atmosphere.” Storm smiled at MD. “Hell, MD, I’ve spent the last couple months fighting fires in the Twin Cities, and I’m done. I totally want to live where everybody knows my name.”

  “I know what you mean, my friend,” MD said. “I thought going back and living near my family in Jefferson City was the answer after all the shit we saw in that desert hell, but it wasn’t.”

  Storm nodded before admitting, “I also like the fact that guys like us are welcome here.”

  “Do you know how crazy that is?” MD explained. “To think an owner of a local company and the sheriff of the county are doing everything possible to make sure the place is gay-friendly.”

  “I guess that’s the politically correct way to say it,” Storm commented. He didn’t care how it had happened. He was just glad it had.

  The first time Storm had encountered two guys holding hands and kissing on Main Street, he thought he had died and gone to heaven. He had no problem using his fists if someone challenged his right to like men, but constantly beating someone up for their stupidity got old fast.

  They were on the outskirts of Granite City, about three blocks from the courthouse, heading to their motel when a trail of black smoke grabbed Storm’s attention. It came from the back of what looked like an abandoned one-story house. The house was on the edge of the city’s industrial park, and Storm noticed there weren’t any other homes close by.

  With a few quick maneuvers, Storm guided the truck into the house’s overgrown dirt driveway. He gripped the steering wheel tight as deep potholes had both men bouncing around the cab.

  “Holy shit, Storm, we’re going to end up taking pieces of the truck back with us in a trailer if you don’t slow down.” MD braced his hands against the ceiling of the cab.

  Storm ignored MD’s complaints and ordered, “Dial 911, and get the fire department over here, pronto.”

  Storm pulled his truck up next to a white cargo van with the words, “Flowers by Kris,” painted on the side. He hopped out of the truck and paused in mid-step when he saw a brand-new padlock attached to the front door.

  “You’re strong, Storm, but even you can’t break that lock,” MD said from the passenger side of the truck.

  Storm hurried to the decrepit, graffiti-covered front porch and scanned the front of the run-down house. So far, he didn’t see any access into the building. MD caught up, and the two men stood there taking in the boarded-up windows and sealed door.

  “Go around the side and see if you can find a way in. I’ll go the other way and meet you in the back,” Storm said to MD and took off.

  As Storm made his way around the house, his frustration mounted. Every opening, including the basement windows, was boarded up tight. Rounding the back corner, Storm saw ripples of smoke seeping through the soffits of the house.

  At the rear of the run-down structure, Storm found one of the windows boarded up from the inside instead of on the outside. He could work with this.

  “I couldn’t find anything on that side,” MD said, walking up to Storm. “It’s closed up tighter than my Aunt Mildred’s corset.”r />
  “I’m going to try to get in here,” Storm said.

  Storm shrugged off his outer dress shirt, leaving his T-shirt on underneath. He rolled the material around his hand, hoping for some protection. The dirty, brittle glass shattered easily and took only a few seconds to clear from the window frame. Glancing around, Storm spotted an old metal container filled with dirt and the remains of a small dead tree.

  “Help me get this over to the window,” Storm said.

  Together, with a few grunts and groans, they managed to get the container positioned underneath the window. Storm stepped onto it, thankful it held him up.

  “Keep me steady,” Storm ordered. “I’m going to try to break in here.”

  After he felt MD grab onto his hips, Storm raised his arms and clutched his hands together. With all his strength, Storm slammed his fists against the plywood blocking the window. The impact sent him and MD flying backward. Luckily they both managed to stay on their feet.

  “Holy shit, Storm,” MD exclaimed. “Did it even budge?”

  “A little,” Storm answered. “I’m going to try hitting it again. Hold on tight.”

  Storm climbed back on the container and started hammering at the wood until it began to loosen. Smoke spilled through the crack he managed to opened between the plywood and frame. Muscles bulged and strained when Storm gave one huge shove and the plywood landed with the crash inside the room.

  The momentum had Storm losing his balance on the container, this time taking both men to the ground. Storm grunted in pain when MD’s elbow connected with his ribs as they landed in a tangle of arms and legs.