Strafe & Nan - Bonus Content

Photo by Jared Sluyter on Unsplash

Chapter 1
 
STRAFE
 
“Just stay the fuck down, man,” I grunt in his ear, driving my fist into his chest.
            “Fuck you, cunt,” he spits back, using his elbow to try to push himself up off the sticky floor of the seedy South Side bar. Sighing, I straighten, aiming a kick for his jaw. Spit, blood, and at least one tooth goes flying out of his mouth.
            He lies gasping on the floor, the fight leeching out of him.
            “You should have stayed the fuck down,” I sneer. Getting a kick into his ribs for good measure. “And stay the fuck away from our strippers. You want a hooker, find one elsewhere.”
            “I just asked the question!” he whimpers, curling his hands protectively around his stomach.
Yeah. He did. Repeatedly. Wouldn’t take no for an answer. Then he followed Susannah home and tried to force himself on her. Thank fuck her boyfriend stopped him and called us to complain.
            He’s left his junk open by protecting only his stomach. Normally, I have morals when it comes to a guy’s junk, but this fucker was almost a rapist. Morals don’t apply.
            I don’t go for the obvious kick. He might move. That would be a shame. Placing my booted foot against his cock and balls, I grind the heel down while he yelps like a puppy someone kicked. Fucking awful sound coming from a dog. Kind of beautiful when it comes from scum like this.
            “You come near any of our girls again; you’ll be eating a bullet.”
I stomp down on his balls again, and he squeals, rolling around, tears streaming down his cheeks.
            Shoving away from him, I nod to the bartender - who called us to let us know the fucker was here - and stride out into the September sunshine.
            The heatwaves off the Mojave aren’t too bad today. It’s getting milder, heading toward winter. Snatching my phone out of my pocket, I shoot Bruiser a text.
STRAFE: Fucker is sorted. Shouldn’t come near the girls again.
BRUISER: Good. What about the other job?
STRAFE: On it now.
            Shoving my phone back into my pocket, I throw my leg over my rig, turning off onto Cactus. It’s a long street running almost the length of the South Side. I lived on Rattlesnake. I live on the other side of the city now. But the Hawks are always all over the South Side. I don’t let it bother me anymore. My cunt of an abusive stepfather isn’t worth the time.
            The house on Cactus is like many here in the South Side, dilapidated and on its way to being condemned. Like many houses over this side of San Remo, especially this close to the trailer park, the wooden fence is dotted with bullet holes. What sets it apart from the others is the shape of those bullet holes.
            They’re not your usual spray or random potshots. These are deliberate. Some spell words. Fuck you. Fuck off. Private Property - I appreciate that one. Others are actual pictures. There’s a fairly decent outline of a truck. Another of a voluptuous woman. No wonder Bruiser’s been watching this place. These are incredible in their precision.
            Parking my rig outside the holey, decorated fence, I keep my hand on the butt of my gun, striding up to the front door and hammering on it. It opens, but only enough for an eye to peek through, a chain keeping it secured.
            “What?” the grizzled old-timer snaps, a bright blue eye staring at me.
            “Looking for the kid with the gun.” I jab my thumb over my shoulder at the fence. The eye swivels past me, taking it in and huffing a sigh.
            “No Hawks in the house. I’ll send him out to you.”
            “Much obliged.”
            The door snaps shut again. Turning, I sweep the street with my eyes, glancing over as the door opens again, and a young guy with a few colorful tattoos on his arms and a blonde buzzcut walks out, the door snapping shut behind him.
            “You the shooter?” I squint at him. He crosses his arms over his chest, looking defensive.
            “I haven’t been involved in any shootings, boss.”
            Smirking, I jab my thumb at the fence. His blue eyes follow it, and he smirks as well.
            “Oh. That. Yeah. Not allowed to shoot in the house.”
            “The neighbors don’t mind?”
            “They fucking hate it.”
            “You got a ride?”
            “No.”
            Fucking hell. “You’re not riding bitch on my bike. Get yourself to the clubhouse in an hour.”
            The kid nods, his eyes following me as I stride off the porch, back to my rig.
 
I don’t have to wait long for an old truck to pull into the clubhouse compound, parking near the café. The kid slides out of the passenger seat. The driver slides out too. Around the same age as the kid, maybe a year or two older. This one has dark hair, a short, dark beard, and a few monochrome tattoos. They approach where I’m leaning against the side of the auto garage.
            “Brought back up, huh?” I nod to his companion, who looks on edge. The kid shrugs brazenly.
            “I don’t know why I’m here. I wasn’t walking in alone.”
            “This way.” I jerk my head around behind the clubhouse.
            They follow apprehensively. I don’t blame them. For all they know, they could be being led to an execution. They aren’t. We follow a cleared path through the huge redwoods, stopping at the shooting range, maybe a hundred yards into the forest.
            “Creepy place to put a fucking gun range,” the dark-haired companion grunts.
            “Trees kill the sound,” the kid grunts back.
            “The cops don’t know this is here.”
            My eyes turn to the companion. We thought that might be the case, but how the fuck would he know?
            “Interesting observation,” Bruiser rumbles, crossing his arms over his chest, looking up from the range of guns he has laid out in front of him. “Names?”
            “Leo Banner,” the kid says, his eyes wide.
            “Keiran Cartwright.”
            “Well, Keiran Cartwright, how do you know what the cops might or might not know?”
            He stays silent, his lips pressed together, swallowing and turning his eyes to the gun range. The kid, Leo, glances at his buddy.
            “He did two years training as a cop.”
            “Shut up!” his friend hisses at him. Leo shrugs, shoving his hands into his pockets, turning to Bruiser.
            “He don’t run with the cops anymore, though.”
            Bruiser nods, eyeing them off. Then he shrugs, gesturing to the guns.
            “Let’s see what you got then, kid.”
            Leo hesitates, but I nod when he glances at me. He steps up, running his fingers lovingly over the guns. They finally close around a Glock 19. Picking it up, he barely takes time to aim, firing. The paper ripples. Middle of the forehead on the target.
            Placing down the Glock, Leo selects the Colt 45, checking the cylinder, lifting his hand almost lazily, and firing. The paper ripples again.
            “Missed,” Bruiser grunts. Leo glances over at him with a smirk.
            “Did I?”
            Bruiser’s eyebrows shoot up at the cocky question. “Guns down,” he snaps.
Leo replaces the revolver, stepping back away from the bench as Bruiser strides forward of the firing line, moving to inspect the paper. His eyebrows raise, and he turns around, where Leo is eyeing him coolly.
            Bruiser strides back to him, jabbing his finger at the Springfield XD.
            “Hit it again. Same spot.”
            Fucking hell. He hit the same spot twice? The exact spot? That’s insane. Grinning, Leo picks up the Springfield, keeping his eyes on Bruiser as he lifts the gun. His eyes dart to the target for all of two seconds before he looks Bruiser dead in the icy blue eyes and fires.
The paper ripples, no change to the single hole. The ex-cop kid is smirking off to the side now. Bruiser is starting to look impressed. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that look on the Lieutenant’s face. Even when he’s watching his wife play with her flick knives, he doesn’t look impressed - he just looks turned on.
            “The Ruger.”
            Lazy shot, rippling paper, no sign of another hole.
            “The Sig.”
            Another shot, no change to the rippling target. Both kids are smirking now. Bruiser studies Leo intently and nods to the bench again.
            “Let’s change it up. Ruger rifle. Same spot, same target.”
            Leo hesitates for the barest second, Bruiser looking smug. He thinks he’s got the kid here. Picking up the rifle, Leo takes about two seconds longer to aim it than he took with the handguns and fires. Fucking hell. I think he’s hit it. Bruiser’s eyebrows raise a fraction of an inch.
            “The Uberti.”
            He hits that one too. Bruiser gets him on some of the semi and automatics, and the kid hits every single one. He’s a fucking freak. Finally, he lays down the Honey Badger rifle at Bruiser’s command. The man comes striding back with the sheet, handing it to me.
The edges of the single bullet hole are hot to touch, having been burned so many times by hot lead.
“Clubhouse,” Bruiser grunts, jerking his head and taking the target sheet back from me. I lead the boys back to the compound and into the clubhouse. Aric glances up from the bar and jerks his head to the double doors leading to the chapel. Nodding, I steer them behind him into Holton’s office.
Bruiser appears after a moment, handing the target sheet to Aric, whose eyebrows shoot up.
“What weapons?”
“All of them,” Bruiser grunts. Aric’s eyes dart over Leo and land on me. I nod my agreement. Aric whistles low, studying Leo before turning his eyes to Keiran.
            “Who is the ring in?”
            “Ex-cop.”
            The dark-haired kid tenses at Bruiser’s grunted words. Aric studies him, snorting, turning his eyes back to Leo.
            “You. Bullseye,” he says. Leo blinks, staring at him in surprise. “What do you do with your life?”
            “Just this and that.”
            Keiran snorts. “He shoots, and he pumps gas.”
            Leo throws him a murderous glare. “Better than being a drop-out cop sleeping on his mama’s couch.”
            Aric snorts, drawing their attention back to him as they fall silent.
            “You ever thought about prospecting?” he asks Leo, whose mouth drops open.
            “Uh. I never really thought about it.”
            “You got any reason you would want to steer clear?”
            “Uh. No. Well…I live with my stepdad’s father. He has a rule. No Hawks in the house.”
            Aric nods, drumming his thumb on the table. “And if we sorted you with a place?”
            Leo’s eyes shine. “I’d say yes in a heartbeat.”
            “You go pack your shit. Come back here tomorrow, and we got a room upstairs for you and a vest with your name on it.”
            “Y-yes, sir.”
            “Get out.”
            Leo nods, shoving to his feet, his chair tipping. Bruiser catches it as the kid throws his buddy a sharp glance and leaves.
            Keiran swallows nervously as Aric turns his eyes to him.
            “Why ex-cop?”
            “SRPD is corrupt as they come.”
            Aric doesn’t bother to smother his snort. “Everyone knows that. Surely you knew it going in?”
            Keiran shrugs. “I thought it was just… South Side talk.”
            “You thought the Hawks had put the word out that the cops were dirty to discredit them and when you finally landed there, you found out just how filthy those fuckers are?”
            “Something like that. Yeah.”
            “Why’d you want to be a cop.”
            He hesitates, wiping his hands on his jeans. “My moms got shot in a drive-by. She was in a wheelchair for years before she died. They never caught the people responsible. I guess I wanted justice for someone, even if I wouldn’t get it for her.”         
            Aric nods, looking thoughtful, still drumming his thumb. “You got a problem with the Hawks?”
            “No. You don’t do drive-bys. If anything, wherever you go in South Side, crime drops. They’re all scared of you.”
            “Good.” Aric smirks, pointing his finger in the kid’s face. “Still chasing that justice?”
            He straightens in his seat. “Yeah. I am.”
            “You need a place to live too?”
            “Nah. I got a place on Juniper.”
            “You come back tomorrow; there’ll be a vest with your name on it too. Now fuck off out of my clubhouse.”
            “Thanks.”
            He’s gone in the blink of an eye. Killer strides in, eyebrows raised.
            “Two?”
            “Crack shot and an ex-cop.”
            Killer snorts. “Of course you offered them both a vest. What names?”
            “Leo Banner and Keiran Cartwright,” I supply. Killer nods, whipping out his phone to type them in.
            “Bullseye and Justice,” Aric grunts, an amused smirk crossing his face. I snort. Of course that’s what he’s calling them. Killer nods, wandering back out to organize their name patches. Aric turns to me, drumming his thumb again.
            “I want a call from Nan tonight.”
            “Will do.” Saluting him, I shove out of my chair, heading for my rig. That’s an excuse to fuck off and hang out with my wife if ever I heard one.

 
Chapter 2
 
STRAFE
 
Nan comes out of the laundry when I walk into the spacious living room.
            “Steve, you’re home early.”
            “Got a job for you, princess.”
            Grinning, I cross to her, tugging her against my chest, my lips brushing hers. She laughs, reaching up and snatching the backward baseball cap off my head, throwing it over my shoulder.
            “I was wearing that.”
            “Too bad.” Her eyes dance with mischief. “I have a hankering to fuck a biker.” Fuck yeah. “Can the job wait?”
            “It can so fucking wait, princess.”
            Grabbing her waist, I throw her over my shoulder. She protests, squirming, so I smack her ass. Nan yelps, stopping her movement. Shifting her weight, I carry her bridal style. She snakes her arms around my neck, nibbling on my earlobe as I take the stairs two at a time, up to our fucking huge bedroom.
            I kick the door open, striding across the white carpet. It’s almost the size of our old studio apartment…so I got a California king. I lay her across it, shucking my clothes while Nan eagerly shimmies out of her little black sundress.
            Pushing her shoulder, she smiles at me as she obligingly lays down. I cover her body with my own, my lips sliding up her exposed throat, sucking on her pulse point.
            My hand creeps down, parting her folds and stroking her clit. My middle finger slides into her inviting wetness, curling to find her G-spot, pressing against it. Nan gasps, her eyes flying open, her hips pressing up to keep my fingertip pressing against the right button.
            “Steve,” she whimpers, mewling as I flick her clit with my thumb, stabbing my finger against her G-spot again and again.
            “Gonna need to hear it, princess,” I breathe, nipping at her pulse point.
            “You’re a smart man. You’ll figure it out,” she sighs.
Oh, princess. That’s a dangerous game to play. My thumb curls back against my palm, abandoning her clit. I keep up my assault on her G-spot, but it’s not enough to tip her over the edge. I know it. She knows it.
            She glares up at me. “What the fuck, Steve?” she hisses. I grin down at her.         
            “You wanted to fuck a biker, princess. This is my pussy. I’ll play with it however I want.”
            “You better give me my fucking orgasm!”
            “Maybe. In my own sweet time.”
            “Fuck you!”
            “Oh, you’ll be doing that soon enough. Patience, princess.”
            Another whimper rips out of her. Nan lifts her hips, trying to grind her clit against my hand. Sneaky little thing.
            “You know what I want.”
            She keeps glaring, her lips pressed firmly together. I grin down at her. I’m in the mood to take my time tonight. No skin off my nose to keep teasing her.
            Nan cracks first - like always. Her hips stop bucking, which means she will capitulate and give me what I want.
            “Steve.” Her voice is gentle, soft, perfect. “I need you.”
            “Need me to do what, princess?”
            “I need you to make me come.”
            My lips tug into a smug grin. Knew it. “And why is that?”
            “Because you’re the only one who ever has.”
            That’s right. Growling, I snatch my finger out of her pussy, lining my cock up and slamming balls deep. So fucking good. A feral snarl rips out of me as I start to pump. We are over near her nightstand, so as I lean down to capture her lips with mine, I reach over, tugging open the drawer, feeling around until I find my favorite toy - Nan’s vibrator.
            Flicking it on, I break the kiss, pressing my forehead against hers, bracing with my other hand, my hips driving forward. Touching the vibrator to her clit, I hammer into her.
            “Come for me, princess.”
            She moans, thrashing her head from side to side until her pussy muscles clench around my cock, milking me as she comes with a sigh. So fucking good.
            I keep the vibrator pressed against her, slamming into her again and again, using her still tight muscles to milk my cock dry as I come.
 

 
NAN
 
Steve tips to the side, his breath shuddering out of him as he flicks off the vibrator, holding it out to me. With a grin, I take it, sliding off the bed to go and clean up.
            When I get back to the bedroom, Steve has dressed, holding out my black sundress. I slide it over my head, giggling as Steve slaps my ass, wrapping his arms around my waist, his chin resting on top of my head as he walks me out of the bedroom and back downstairs.
            He lets me go, moving to the kitchen table, his hand reaching for my laptop. Shit. I don’t think I deleted my browser history.
            “Can you get me some iced tea?” I blurt out. Steve’s hand freezes, and he glances around, his eyebrows raising.
            “Not coffee?”
            “I need to rehydrate after our extracurriculars.”
            Chuckling, Steve drops his hand away from my laptop, crossing to the kitchen. I slide into the chair, flipping it open and quickly clicking away from the furniture page. The pictures of bassinets and cots disappear, a blank search engine logo in their place.
            Placing the glass of tea beside me, Steve pulls over a chair, crowding my space.
            “What does the club need?”
            “Leo Banner and Keiran Cartwright. New prospects?”
            Seriously? “Aric didn’t have them checked out when they started hanging around? Sloppy of him.”
            “Not hang arounds. Aric invited them to prospect.”
            My eyebrows shoot up. That’s…big. And different. I eagerly start scouring the internet for information. I want to know what makes these two so special.

 
Chapter 3
 
NAN
 
Steve wanders out of the master bathroom, smelling like toothpaste and aftershave. I’m already tucked up in bed, my iPad in my hands. Turning to me, he slides into bed, his tattooed fingers stroking my arm.
            “What are you looking at, princess? Why didn’t you want me to look at your laptop downstairs? Are you buying us another house?”
            My eyes snap across to him. I knew he picked up on that. Perceptive bastard.
            “How do you see everything?” I complain. Steve shrugs, still stroking my arm with the backs of two fingers.
            “I don’t see everything, just everything relating to you.”
            Aw. That’s so sweet. Sighing, I tap my fingers against the edge of the iPad. He still hasn’t craned his neck to look. He won’t invade my privacy like that. He’d just tie me to the bed and sexually torture me until I crack. Again.
           
            “I’m not buying a new house. I like this one. I was just thinking about redecorating.”
            Steve keeps stroking, nodding his head, his eyes moving around.
            “Not this room? I like this room. It looks like our apartment.”
            Okay. Swoon. “Not this room,” I agree. “The room across the hall.
            “Why that one?” Steve is frowning, his eyes staring at our closed bedroom door. He would be looking straight into the smallest bedroom, across the hall from us if it was open.
            “Proximity?”
            “You’re gonna have to break that down for me, princess. What’s wrong with it? What would you change?”
            Taking a deep breath, I turn the iPad to him. “I was thinking of something like this.”
 

 
STRAFE
 
Nan wants to redo the smallest bedroom. The one I keep telling her to make into an office. The Hawks have been giving her more and more hacking jobs. She needs a nice space. I like the kitchen table, but I don’t want her to feel chained to that room.
            She turns the iPad, and I glance at it. My eyes lock on the picture there. It’s a kid's room. Like. A nursery. With a crib and a mobile, and a rocking horse.
            My eyes dart to her face. She is watching me carefully, her face giving nothing away. I can see a hint of apprehension in her eyes. I mentioned kids when we first got married. Nan brushed it off, saying she wanted to wait until she was thirty. She’s twenty-five now. I laughed it off, saying I was happy to wait.
            “It’s a little fucking preppy, princess. Like something Lena would make Aric put in their house. I always thought our kid would have something cooler.”
            “Cooler?” Her eyebrows raise, and she glances at the picture, but her shoulders sag about an inch with relief.
            “Yeah. Like, a fucking awesome truck mural. Fuck off with the rocking horse. We’ll get a little rocking motorbike. Then we’re talking.”
            “And the mobile?”
            I frown at the little animals. “Get birds. Birds of prey.”
            “Hawks?” she drawls. I grin up at her.
            “Yeah. Hawks. That’d be awesome.”
            “What if it’s a girl?”
            Why would that change my design scheme? “I’ll paint the motorbike pink.”
            Nan giggles, dropping the iPad. I reach for her immediately, snagging her hair and pulling her face down so I can kiss her thoroughly. Letting her lift her head, she sighs, her fingers brushing over my collarbone.
            “You’re not mad that I’m pregnant? I know I said we’d wait another five years.”
            “Princess, I asked about kids after the wedding,” I remind her.
            “Well, yeah. But that was so I would get my guard up and refuse.”
            “Was it?” I smirk. Nan hesitates, glaring at me. “Like I pushed for a house out here, and you got your guard up…and bought one.”
            Nan’s mouth falls open in outrage, moving without sound coming out.
            “You tricked me!” she gasps at last. I grin up at her, stroking her jaw with my thumb.
            “I merely planted the seed. We were always going to do this on your schedule, princess.”
            “With a little nudging from you.”
            “Exactly.” I grin up at her, flipping her until she’s lying on her back. I shove up her silky pajama top and press my lips against her still flat belly.
            “When you’re old enough, we’re going to get you a motorbike.”
            “What if it’s a girl?”
            My eyes find Nan’s. Oh yeah. I press my lips to her belly again. “And you won’t be letting any boys on the back of it until you’re thirty.”
            Nan giggles as I pepper her stomach with kisses. When I move south, the giggles give way to moans. I know the perfect way to celebrate our growing family. With one hell of an orgasm. She’s earned it with her perfect surprise.
 
The End.
 

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