Brazzers
Brandi Edwards, Brett Rockman Pic(s)
The predawn silence of the rustic henhouse was shattered not by a rooster’s crow, but by the meticulous snip of Brandi Edwards’s wire cutters. She moved with a fluid, practiced grace, her dark eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of movement from the farmhouse. Her partner, Brett Rockman, was a mountain of nervous energy, his broad shoulders tense as he held the burlap sack open with trembling hands. A single, sleepy cluck from a prized Rhode Island Red named Gertrude made him flinch, his gaze darting toward the sliver of yellow light in the kitchen window. Brandi shot him a look that was both a warning and a reassurance, her fingers gently coaxing the warm, feathered bounty from its roost. The plan, which had seemed so flawless over whiskey sours in their cramped apartment, now felt terrifyingly fragile under the vast, star-dusted sky. Each rustle of feathers and soft squawk was amplified, a potential alarm bell that could summon old man Henderson and his shotgun. Brett’s mind raced, imagining headlines about the “Great Chicken Heist” and the utter absurdity of their felonious endeavor. Yet, as Brandi passed him the third plump bird, a strange sense of purpose began to steady his frayed nerves. They were no longer just two down-on-their-luck fools; they were partners in crime, stealing not just livestock, but a chance at a future free from their crushing debts. With the final hen secured, they melted back into the treeline, the weight of the squirming sack a tangible promise of both profit and peril.
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