Chapter 22

Link Morgan, Crescent Valley's police chief, was more than a little surprised at Lydia Newell's visit to his home that morning. Though saddle-weary and crotch-sore from leading the hunting posse throughout the night, the big barrel-chested, red-faced man found a ready smile for the daughter of the valley's wealthiest and most influential man, Aaron Newell.

The attractive auburn-haired bachelorette with the ravishing green eyes neither smiled nor waited to be invited inside the big man's modest, Cypress Street home, but merely brushed past him into the living room once the door was opened. She felt no obligation toward formalities with this local racketeer whom she'd already formed a corrupt alliance to gain her own vengeful ends. His crooked purposes had made their association a natural, inasmuch as their mutual, ultimate goal was to destroy Mark Blakely... but unsuccessfully to this point.

In the center of the worn carpeted room, the tall, curvaceous girl, dressed in her usual blouse, leather riding skirt and boots, spun to face him. "Well... ? Did you destroy that raping, wild bastard?" she demanded in a sharp, throaty voice. Then, before he could answer, a nasty little sneer twisted her attractive, if, too often vicious mouth. "Of course you didn't! That goddamned brute-animal is too smart for the lot of you drunken slobs!"

"Christ, Lydia, we rode all night and never saw one sign of him or his goddamned wild-pack!" Link edgily replied, though well aware of her logical anxiety after the way the ferocious sonofabitch and one of his pack had attacked and raped her out in the woods the day before.

"I told you I wanted him dead!" she glaringly spat. "You men won't be satisfied until that whole pack sweeps down and gang bangs half the females in Crescent Valley! Damnit, I wish my father would get back from Europe! Then, we'd see some action around here!"

"Hell, Lydia, I'm doing my best," the big man said, trying to control his own anger. "After all, wasn't it my own niece, Annie, the bastard raped first... ?"

"Did Mark Blakely ride with you last night?" she questioned, interrupting his words.

"Hell no! That writer friend of his from L.A. did, hoping to get some sort of story, I guess," the Police Chief grunted, taking several steps toward the kitchen then stopping. "But Blakely stuck to his guns, claiming both the posse and me were off-limits invading his jurisdiction. He tried to order us to lay-off and wait for those tree-planting conservationists he's sent for to handle it, but he could see that the men weren't about to wait one more goddamned minute after what happened to you!"

"And he didn't push the order for you to do nothing?" Lydia questioned, surprised.

Link grinned. "He'd have been a fool too... unless he was prepared to take on the whole goddamned town. Those husbands and fathers were in no mood for his jurisdiction bullshit!"

"Those drunken husbands and fathers you mean," Lydia derided completely aware of Mark's reasoning. Hadn't his own father been shot to death by the very man standing before her while riding in a posse hunting down a sheep-killing cougar? An accident, they said, but she'd heard her own dad question that. Link Morgan had hated the man for publicly beating him to the ground before half the men in the valley, and had often drunkenly vowed to even the score.

Momentarily, then, the green eyed girl progressed to an on- rush of more personal, exciting memories, all of which revolved around Mark Blakely. She knew now, and had known ever since he'd gone to the Police Academy in L.A., unexpectedly returning with a wife, that she wanted him for her own! God, and they had been inseparable... fucking and sucking every, every, every day! Yes, she might have married him if her father hadn't insisted he was beneath her... ! Nevertheless, he still belonged to her, regardless of the legal hold that blonde little bitch of a wife had on him! No one took Lydia Newell's play-things away from her!

Suddenly, she shot at Morgan: "Does Mark know that Caesar and that other sonofabitch dog attacked and raped me?"

"Hell, everybody in the valley knows it, Lydia," the big, middle-aged Chief of Police replied, running a beefy hand through his grey-hair. "Look... come into the kitchen and have some coffee. I've got a bit of choice news you're going to be interested in hearing. Come on..."

The auburn-haired bachelorette followed, but her embittered mind was seething with rage at the new young husband she considered to be a possession of her own. Damn him, she venomously thought, he hadn't even come to the ranch to investigate the vicious attack on her, nor find out how she was... nothing! Goddamn him! If only that raping bastard, Caesar, hadn't stolen the pictures they'd taken of Jean Blakely getting fucked silly by Link Morgan and eating her, Lydia Newell's pussy at the same time... !

She threw herself down at the soiled kitchen table and snapped: "I told you I wanted Mark Blakely's balls to tack up over my bed, Link! Well now I want them more than ever!"

Morgan's red-face broadened into an obscene grin as he dropped down across from her, the coffee-pot in his hand. "And maybe I've just got the secret to that for you, Honey," he said, his mean, lecherous eyes fixed on her full, pointed breasts which had performed a little quivering dance for him when she threw herself onto the chair. Shit, like his eighteen-year old Annie, this hot cunted little bitch preferred the braless feel. It must give them some kind of hot charge when they ripple and sway, he lewdly reasoned... and she had a pair of beauties that he'd already seen naked, along with the rest of her sexy, white curves! Goddamn, he couldn't help wonder if she was as good a fuck as she looked. Not that he'd trade his dead sister's daughter for her, but a piece of that haughty young ass of hers would be nice, he thought, remembering the naked sight of it when she was between Jean Blakely's spread legs licking that luscious creature's pink, wet cunt! "G-Grab a cup there, Doll," he managed, his lecherous brain beginning to follow a thought pattern he'd intended to hold off for a while yet. "Here, we'll spike it with a little of this bourbon, eh?"

Lydia didn't answer, but set the saucerless cup before her for him to fill. As for the bourbon, she welcomed the offer, deciding she needed something to help soothe her. Subconsciously, she watched him spill a heavy measure of whiskey into the black liquid, while her mind filled with flashes of scenes from their salacious compromising of a drugged Jean Blakely and the stack of lurid pictures they'd taken to blackmail Mark. Damnit, it'd been a perfect plan! She would've had him right where she wanted him... if that goddamned brute dog, Caesar, hadn't out-manuevered her, finally making off with both the snapshots and negatives! God, it was unbelievable... the massive dog's uncanny brain... ! It was damned near human! Still, if she hadn't so sluttishly lost her own wits beneath his huge, sodomizing animal-cock... !

"Suppose I tell you that Annie admitted a little secret to me this morning, Lydia baby?" Morgan was saying, shattering her lusty thought pictures.

"W-What... ? What kind of secret?" she questioned, not certain that she liked his use of intimate endearments. Theirs was nothing more than a mutual, working association. "Let's not play games, Morgan. I'm in no mood for it!"

"Okay, Honey... here it is! The other day when you saw Blakely and Annie go into the old quarry... well he did it!" the barrel-chested man said with a gross smirk.

"He did what... and what the hell are you drooling so slovenly about?" the twenty-six year old bachelorette irritably jabbed, taking half of her spiked coffee in two needing swallows.

Link Morgan clenched his big hand into a fist beneath the table, dirty nails digging into its toughened palm. No, he wouldn't let himself get up-tight with her, and Christ knows it would be easy enough with that acid-tongue of hers and him with no sleep for twenty-four hours! But he had other ideas that were a hell of a lot more cock-throbbing as well as securing. He couldn't help but wonder if she would be as good a fuck as Annie, or Jean Blakely had been... even as fiery as she was? It was a gamble. Aaron Newell would destroy him sure as hell if he found out, and he was going to need him on his side if Mark Blakely's goddamned nosing around gave him anything concrete to work with! On the other hand, how would he find out... unless Lydia told him? And that wasn't feasible... not if she willingly put-out for him... ! No, he couldn't afford to get sore at the sexy little bitch. Instead, he broadened his smile and lewdly said:

"He fucked her, Lydia baby! Mark Blakely fucked my eighteen-year old niece... a minor! Now, how does that grab you?"

"Like a saber-toothed tiger!" she hissed at him, his filthy, four-letter word-use having its usual lust-inciting effect on her, while his over-all statement cut through her like a knife. Mark Blakely, the sonofabitch! Damn him! Damn him! Who else in the valley had he dared to fuck? "How do you know it's true?"

"Because Annie told me, Doll... and my sweet little Annie wouldn't lie to her loving uncle," Link replied, his mean eyes narrowing as he let his guttural voice trail off with suggestive meaning.

Lydia's intense, green eyes studied him. Finally, she hissed: "You incestuous bastard, Morgan!" Then, she lifted the cup to her lips to partially hide the sensuous little smile his revelation had aroused. "What've you got in mind, lecher?"

The big man proudly chuckled. He picked up the coffee-pot and poured into her cup, following with an uncorking of the bourbon bottle. Lydia sat waiting, her deep green eyes leveled on him as he added the whiskey to the steaming liquid.

"Supposing she could make it happen again," he said, "... lure our young Deputy Sheriff into another little fuck-match, and we're prepared with the camera... ?"

Once more, the graphic, four-letter word set off a tiny rippling sensation through Lydia's liquor-warmed belly. "The question is, will, and can she do it?" the curvaceous ranch- heiress put to him.

Link made a goatish little chuckle. "As far as 'will', there's no question about that. But the 'can'... that remains to be seen. I think of Blakely as being caught up in a loose moment when he laid her. I don't have to tell you that he stinks with principles. Whatever happened that day, my Annie caught him right... but she's willing to give it a try... providing..."

"Providing what?"

"She wants ten-grand for her performance," Morgan lied, but he wasn't about to let it be known that his niece would do it just out of her love for fucking. Besides, he could use a little nest- egg if things got too hot in the valley, and he figured his offering the use of Annie was worth that.

"That's a hell of a lot of money, Morgan!" Lydia said, her eyes narrowing. "Where does she think it's coming from?"

Link grinned. "Now where do you think, Lydia baby?"

For a long moment, she sat silently contemplating the unscrupulous man across from her. She sipped at her coffee, sensing the effects of the warming liquor flowing through her. "And supposing I agree," she probed, "how do we know she'll perform?"

"Simple. You don't pay unless she does... and successfully. What's to lose, Doll... except time and energy?" Morgan answered.

Lydia had already made up her mind. Anything to entrap Mark Blakely and force him back to her. Damn him... ! Then: "You have any pot here?"

The big police chief grinned and arose from the table. He left her there, going into the other room, and her thoughts quickly reverted to the huge man and his attractive teen-aged niece involved incestuously, triggering something lustfully deep inside her. Obscene, imaginary visions of them involved in forbidden sex intrigued her erotically working imagination. God, the lecherous bastard had the biggest, stiffest cock she'd ever seen on a man! Only yesterday she'd vowed that when she was hard- up enough she was going to enjoy the whole solid length of it all up inside her... !

Morgan returned with two joints, re-seated himself and lighted them. He saw the transformation in her eyes, the lewd sparkle causing the heavy length of swelling cock-flesh inside his shorts to jerk convulsively as it began to grow. She sucked the smoke deeply into her lungs and continued to stare at him, while its sweetish aroma reminded him of other problems that he didn't want to think about at that moment. Blakely... the sonofabitch... nosing around... lousing up his whole goddamned pushing program. He could wind up in prison! Shit, three of his college boys were still hiding out in the hills because of that deputy prick! To hell with it! He wasn't going to think of that now... because something wild and cock-thumping was budding right in front of him! He could see it in the uncontrollable flagrant eyes of Aaron Newell's hot-assed young daughter... !


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Mark Blakely doubted that he had slept two full hours the whole damned night. His plagued brain had been too jammed with the obscene reveries he'd not only been a part of, but had lustfully forced into being with his blinded vengeance. But those long, wakeful hours hadn't been in vain; they'd provided him with the necessary time to come to his senses and determine what he had to do!

They had also given him the darkened solitude he'd needed to reexamine his marriage and feelings toward Jean. Christ, he loved her beyond reason, and marrying her was the greatest thing that'd ever happened to him! It made no damned difference what she ever did... he could and would forgive her! As far as the lesbian bit between her and Carol... what the hell could he expect, the way he'd played rabbit with her right from the beginning? She had to have sexual fulfillment from somewhere... and she'd gotten it, all right... from a goddamned wild dog and her best girl friend!

His own purely lustful act in vindictively fucking Carol had even produced positive results, aside from the fact that he could never justify it with Steve... and never intended to even try... ! He doubted that Carol would ever tell her husband, and there was nothing to be gained in his blurting out the story, then hoping Steve would somehow understand in man-to-man shit! The most considerate thing he could do for his oldest friend was not tell him... and he wouldn't! But whether it'd been his rage, or Carol's overwhelming knowledge of the act of fucking, he'd seen her right through to the end, bringing her climax off like a cloudburst, then, in proper order, his own! Now, he could do it with Jean, too... he was certain of it! He'd discovered the secret, thanks to both of them... but there was something else that had to be done first!

That goddamned raping brute, Caesar, had to be destroyed! There wasn't any question but what the wild bastard had his lovely Jeannie mesmerized... yes, and maybe Carol, too! How many other women and girls in the valley the massive dog and his vicious pack had fucked and claimed, he had no idea, but now he realized that there was no alternative! He'd get with Link Morgan and organize a chosen posse! They had to be wiped-out, all of them, including Caesar... no matter how handsome an animal he was to his Jeannie, or anyone else... !

With those thoughts in mind, Mark had literally hopped from the guest-bed with the first morning sun-rays, a feeling of mental accomplishment inspiring him. Christ, he even felt rested, he thought beneath the needled spray of the shower, and later when he'd walked into the kitchen where the girls and his red-bearded friend sat, he couldn't control the grin spreading his face.

"What the hell... you look like the cat that ate the birdie!" Steve said, moving with obvious carefulness on the cushioned seat of the breakfast nook. Beside him, Carol looked anxiously up, while opposite them, Jean's smokey-blue eyes raised apprehensively to center on him. "You should ride a horse all night with a flock of drunken idiots, sometime."

"Morning Carol... morning, Doll!" Mark greeted, bending to kiss his young wife's smooth white cheek, his tone of voice anything but what they'd expected, he thought, as he slipped into the seat beside his wife. Then, still smiling into her beautiful, almost awed face, he said: "A bit of coffee for the husbandly deputy sheriff?"

"Christ, why the hell didn't you tell me they were drinking maniacs?" Steve said, swallowing from his coffee-mug.

"I did," Mark replied with a grin. "Of course, you didn't do any good out there?"

"Of course! We never saw hide nor hair of anything but a rabbit... and a half-dozen of those fried gunman shot at that!" the red-bearded writer exclaimed.