She pulled her phone out and called Brent.“Hi, Brent, it’s Emma. I’m at the front door. I didn’t want to ring the doorbell and get Bruiser mor... worked up.”“Oh, ok,” Brent answered, “I’ll let you in.”The front door opened and Emma saw Bruiser immediately. He was wrapped in his ThunderShirt on the far side of the living room, but it didn’t seem to be helping as he was quivering like a leaf.“He can tell when I’m getting ready to leave and gets very worked up,” Brent explained sadly.“I can see. That day she had on a halter top and shorts.I could see faint outlines of her nipples threw her top and she was sitting Indian style on the couch and I could see her pussy crack as her shorts tried to go up her puffy pussy.My cock was rock hard because I knew just what she looked like under those cloths. I shifted in my seat and tried to re arrange my cock so it didn’t hurt so bad. I seen her glance at me every so often when I had to move to try and let my cock find and new position but it was. Care of the arrows with emphasis placed on the feather fletching. Instruction on how to remove an arrow from dead prey without destroying it (We did not have an endless supply of arrows), and which arrowhead to select depending on the size of prey. Finally the construction of quivers, which we would have to make ourselves that the two women would need to carry their arrows, I would use a combination backpack-quiver located inside the storage box.When the women went to deal with lunch I used. In all of the flurry, the excitement, the worry, no one had thought to track Ash’s cell — Wexler used it three times. Under a minute per call. The next day Verizon traced it to a twice-convicted parolee in a white supremacist compound outside of Bemidji, Minnesota. About 200 miles north of Minneapolis.The 28-year old felon, Roger ‘Hoppy’ Cransdale, had disappeared. Killed by Wexler? Hidden by racist networks? Living in some luxury exile? It looked like we would never find out. Until we did..