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“You know…” I stalk toward her, pulling my shirt back over my head. “…coming from your mouth, I think I prefer my real name.” I skim my lips over hers, trapping her bottom lip between my teeth and dragging it a little of the way with me before I release it. Then, grabbing my cut up off the floor, I head out. Leaving Alex Monroe naked, thoroughly fucked, and with my cum spilling down her thighs.
The bitch never looked so beautiful.
“You look a little flustered.” Lucille smiles at me as I rush through the station door. I’m never late. Efficiency has been drilled into me from a very early age.
“I still have three minutes before my shift starts,” I bite back, immediately feeling awful when she hands me the coffee she’s already made me.
“Thank you.” I force out a polite smile before scurrying down the corridor to my office.
Unprotected sex with an arrogant biker has to be right at the top of my list of fuck ups.
And one that I’m gonna have to react quickly to. Thanks to Roswell, I’ll be holed up in this office writing up old reports for the next eight hours, and I only have a few hours before the pharmacy closes. I need to make a trip over there before that happens.
My office phone ringing startles me, and I quickly pull myself together before picking it up.
“Deputy Monroe,” I answer sharply.
“Just me,” Lucille says cheerily. “There’s been a report of a disturbance out on Foresters Hill. I could send one of the patrollers out, but you seemed a little tense when you came in. I figured you might wanna go check it out rather than file reports.” Lucille’s sweet for thinking of me, and I do have to admit the idea of being out of the office is appealing.
“I’ll head out there right away,” I tell her, picking up my jacket and the keys to my squad car before I head out to reception.
“You wanna take anyone with you?” she asks, handing over the dispatch details. I glance over the notes, it’s some old guy reporting kids messing around behind his property. “No need for backup,” I tell her before heading out.
There are still a lot of areas around town I haven’t explored yet, Foresters Hill is one of them, and I didn't expect it to be so isolated and eerie. I pass a few derelict properties as I head toward the address where the report came from, and when I pull up outside, the old man is already waiting for me in the rain. His rifle slung over his shoulder, and his arm resting on his mailbox. His wrinkled face is straight and stern, and he looks put out when I get out of the patroller and make my way toward him.
“Afternoon, Mr. Clarkson.” I gesture my head toward the rifle as I put on my raincoat, “Is there any need for the firearm?”
“Will be if I catch them kids on my property again. I know the law, woman,” he swipes back at me.
“You reported a disturbance.” I ignore his jibe and take out my notebook. “Do you know the names of the people who were causing it?” I remain polite as I look up and await his response.
“Hell, if I know their god damn names. I just know that they're up to no good. Lighting up fires and playing their music loud.”
“Where exactly is this happening?” I ask, placing my notebook back into my belt. This sort of behavior isn’t rare in areas like this; not too far out of town for the kids to access, but far enough away from their parents.
“Follow me, I’ll show ya.” The old man turns and heads down the side of his house, and I follow behind him.
His backyard resembles a scrap yard, with broken garden furniture and old tires piled up everywhere. There’s even an empty bathtub among all the junk. A huge dog on a chain startles me when it barks as I pass through the debris, and I quickly follow the man to the woodland at the bottom of his property.
“Don’t mind Shelby. She ain’t much used to welcome visitors.” He opens a gate that hangs half off its hinges and gestures me through.
The wood is only small, but it’s thick. I can see the appeal for the wayward teenagers—who I’m suspecting, ride their bikes out here to hide out when they should be at school.
“See what I mean?” Old man Clarkson shouts out over the sound of falling rain, picking up an empty beer can from the ground before tossing it away again. “Folks I’ve seen out here don’t look old enough to have a hair on their balls between ‘em, let alone be drinking.” I ignore the crude remark and continue to take in my surroundings. There’s obviously been some activity here. The ash on the fire they’ve made is still warm, despite the wet weather, and there’s a shelter made out of a broken tent among the trees. I head over to investigate, trying to ignore the force of the wind that’s picking up and the heaviness of the shower.
“Mouthy fuckers too, they are,” Clarkson continues to grumble as I crouch down and check out the litter on the floor. “I’ll be letting Shelby off her chain the next time they come here. See how cock-sure of themselves they are then,” his voice fades out to nothing when I notice the empty plastic baggy. I’ve seen hundreds of them before. Looks like these kids are doing more than drinking out here, and the screwed-up foil and bent out-of-shape tablespoon I find discarded puts an instant cold feeling in my stomach.
“How old you say these kids are?” I ask him, standing up straight and turning my back on the evidence.
“I don’t know… fourteen, fifteen maybe.” Clarkson shakes his head and frowns.
“And how many are there?”
“Four, maybe five. Look, are you actually gonna do something about this, lady, because I—”
“Yes.” I cut him off. “I’m gonna do something about this,” I assure him. “You can start by giving me full descriptions of the kids you’ve seen out here.”
“Well,” he swallows whatever words he was gonna hit me with. “Then we better get out of this rain. Come inside, I might even make you a coffee.” The old man surprises me when his face relaxes into an almost welcoming smile as I follow him through the woods to his backyard.
