Blood Wild - Sex Stories

Blood Wild

... According to what information I’ve gathered, the gun in question was last seen skittering off the end of the porch into the weeds. If Walt isn’t in or at the shed, kick around the weeds around the porch and find that pistol. Bag it of course, you know the drill. If you can’t find the thing then be extra cautious approaching Walt if or when you find him. Got it?” Gerald asked finally as he rested his head on and upturned left hand propped on night stand beside his own bed.

“Yes, sir. Shed first, look for the pistol, find Walter and… bring him in?” Cam asked clarifying again.

“Oh, for Fuck’s sake! Of course, bring him in! Lock him up in holding while he sobers up or sleeps it off. I’ll be in in the morning to question him myself.” Gerald barked gruffly over the phone.

“Yes sir, of course, will do.” Cam replied a bit sheepishly

“Right then, get to it. I’m going to bed, don’t call me unless… just don’t call me.” Gerald said as he hung up his phone.

Cam took the phone away from his ear and looked at it as if it were a snake before hanging up his end as well. He tossed the pen onto the dresser top and turned to walk towards his bathroom for a quick shower, pulling his white undershirt over his head as he went.

Fifteen minutes later, Cam was buckling on his gun belt before reaching for his lid. His broad brimmed hat, much like the state police boys wore, only in the brown and tan colors of the sheriff’s department. He pulled the door closed behind him as he headed ...

... to his cruiser. Cam thought about stopping in at the diner to get that quick breakfast and some coffee like his uncle had suggested. He knew that Deeny wouldn’t be there this time of the evening so he pulled into the Tasty Freeze at the edge of town and ordered a burger and fries, and had them fill his thermos with black coffee. The coffee wasn’t as good as the diner’s but it would do the job and keep him awake.

***___***___

The sounds of arguing, screaming and shouting really, still bled through the bedroom walls. The usual evening fight could be heard over the sound of the music blasting out of the stereo headphones pressed firmly to her ears, even under the pillow that she had covering her head as she lay face down on her bed. Her eyes prickled with tears of frustration and, yes, hurt.

Being an only child could be a curse some times. It meant that all the attention, wanted or not, fell on that child. Attention could be affection, or encouragement, even love… Yeah, that would be great, wouldn’t it? More often than not however, it was anger, derision and spite. A single child in a failing marriage all too often becomes a pawn that gets used. Used by one parent to dig at the other. The result was a broken spirit. A broken child, from a broken family.

The sound of something shattering against a wall, another string of curses, then a slammed door. Moments later the sound of a revving engine and then squealing tires fading in the distance. Sylvia sobbed quietly, her ...