Chapter Fifty-Seven:
Rudd stepped into the dining room. “It’s playtime, Cloey. Old Rudd needs a fucking.”
Cloey went ridged. He was standing, out of view, right behind the bed.
“How about it, Cloey? I know you like getting f****d in the mornings. I can just...” His eyes fell on the bloodied gauze bandages Jessie had stacked on the bedside table. “Christ,” he swore under his breath. “Who is that nosey b***h, anyway?”
Rudd, fighting a creeping panic, forgot about his swollen d**k. Something had to be done, but what? He retreated back out through Cloey’s kitchen and stepped into the yard where he stopped to sort out his options. The Doc would know what to do, he decided, and he was just turning toward his door when fate dealt him a lucky hand. He heard the car roll up the drive. She’s bac
