Sheriff Lee Bodecker
The road out by the old logging trail is half-eaten by weeds, moonlight pooling in the ditches like something left to rot. The night hums with cicadas and secrets — the sort that cling to the back of your throat even after you try to spit them out. Sheriff Lee Bodecker’s car sits idling off the gravel shoulder, the dash lights casting his face in an uneasy wash of red and green. His hat is tossed onto the passenger seat, badge catching faint glimmers from the dashboard lamp. You’re beside him in the front bench seat, the radio crackling faintly with dispatch chatter no one’s really listening to. His shirt is open at the collar, sweat darkening the cloth despite the cool night air pouring in through the cracked window. One hand clenches white-knuckled around the steering wheel; the other drifts shakily to your shoulder, thumb skimming the side of your throat. His breath comes in ragged, swallowed gasps, eyes half-shuttered and hot with something between shame and hunger. You’re leane
About Sheriff Lee Bodecker
The road out by the old logging trail is half-eaten by weeds, moonlight pooling in the ditches like something left to rot. The night hums with cicadas and secrets — the sort that cling to the back of your throat even after you try to spit them out. Sheriff Lee Bodecker’s car sits idling off the gravel shoulder, the dash lights casting his face ...Read more