Double Dirty Outlaws: A MFM Romance Read online

  Double Dirty Outlaws

  A MFM Romance

  Alexa Anna

  Contents

  1. Luke

  2. Lexi

  3. Jake

  4. Luke

  5. Lexi

  6. Jake

  7. Luke

  8. Lexi

  9. Lexi

  10. Jake

  11. Luke

  12. Lexi

  13. Luke

  14. Lexi

  15. Jake

  16. Luke

  17. Lexi

  18. Jake

  19. Luke

  20. Lexi

  21. Jake

  22. Lexi

  Epilogue

  Double Dirty Quarterbacks

  23. Aly

  24. Colton

  25. Zach

  26. Aly

  27. Colton

  28. Zach

  29. Aly

  30. Colton

  31. Zach

  32. Aly

  33. Colton

  34. Zach

  35. Aly

  36. Colton

  37. Zach

  38. Aly

  39. Colton

  40. Zach

  41. Aly

  42. Colton

  43. Zach

  44. Aly

  45. Colton

  46. Zach

  47. Aly

  48. Colton

  49. Zach

  50. Aly

  Copyright © 2017 by Alexa Anna. All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  This book is intended for mature readers 18+. All characters in this book are over 18. All sexual acts are between consenting adults.

  Luke

  The sound of sirens wakes me up again, but it’s only in my dreams. It’s not real, I tell myself over and over again. It’s not real. It’s just a memory, just a fading memory. Those were old times, and I’ve moved on now.

  I throw the sheets off me and sit up in the darkness of my room. I can’t remember where I am, which is normal enough. That’s the way it goes in this line of work.

  I take a deep breath and talk myself through it. I’m somewhere, I know that. I’m not in prison any more, and no one’s out looking for me. Not anymore.

  I’m a professional now, even if I’m still on the shadier side of the law. Nothing I’m doing is illegal, per se. Not exactly illegal, but not exactly legal either.

  The first thing I notice when I start to calm down is that my cock is rock hard, as it almost always is these days. Rock hard, feeling thick as my hand unconsciously falls down to it.

  “You awake?” says Jake’s voice, gruff and low, still heavy with sleep. He’s at my door, which is open a crack.

  “Get lost,” I say. “I’m going back to bed.”

  “I’m not buying that for a minute,” says Jake. “You’re going to jerk off. Don’t think I don’t hear you every night going to town on yourself.”

  “We could go tit for tat on that one,” I say. “And what the hell are we supposed to do? We haven’t gotten laid in a week.”

  “Don’t worry,” says Jake. “No woman can resist us, not the two of us. Once we’re done with this job…”

  “Damn it, man,” I say. “My balls are ready to burst. Maybe you don’t have as high of a sex drive as I do, but once a week is just barely enough to keep my sack from exploding.”

  “I’m more man than you, that’s for sure,” says Jake. “Just because I can control myself better… hell that makes me more of a man.”

  “You want to go at it?” I say.

  “It’s the middle of the night, dude. Just go jerk off and go back to sleep. We’ve got a lot of work to do tomorrow.”

  “See you in hell,” I mutter at him.

  “You too, buddy,” says Jake.

  “Go to hell,” is almost our official greeting and farewell to each other. But don’t be fooled; just because we’re not sweet to each other doesn’t mean we’re not friends, the best of friends actually.

  We’ve known each other for years now, and we’ve worked together on more jobs than I can count. We both went down for our last job together, and both spent a year in prison. It wasn’t any county resort either for rich guys. It was the real deal, with the worst food you could imagine, and more fights than I can count.

  The sirens are gone, and I know where I am, but I’m not going to be able to get back to sleep with this raging hard on. Sometimes having such a high sexual appetite can be a bit of a disadvantage.

  My hand wraps around my cock again, my strong fingers forming a tight fist that grips my tight and raging hard cock.

  I think about the last time Jake and I got lucky. It was a woman in a bar, a hot piece of ass by any standards, with an incredibly sexy body, brown hair, piercing eyes. She was pretending to be the reserved type who wouldn’t ever hook up with someone at a bar. She said she’d never hooked up with anyone before in such a casual way, and certainly she’d never been with two men before.

  But she just couldn’t resist us, not the two of us, not our intense hardened masculinity that just made her practically fall all over us.

  We took her back to the motel and I got into her first, but not before she blew us both, practically making both of us come right then and there. Then Jake followed after me, letting her tight pussy grip his big cock. I was in her mouth then, watching her beautiful head bobbing up and down my shaft, as her whole body rocked back and forth and Jake pounded into her with all his force.

  I grunt slightly as I increase the speed of my fist. I’m on my back, with my legs stretched out before me. My eyes have adjusted to the dark, and I can see my cock and my hand in the moonlight, my cock head looking swollen and huge.

  I thrust my hips up a little, imagining that that woman from the bar is on top of me, straddling me and sinking her gorgeous body down onto my cock.

  My fist speeds up on my cock and I grunt as I finally come, the incredible pressure finally releasing, the come blasting up and out of my cock onto my chest, thick and warm.

  I wipe myself off, and roll over and fall back to sleep, my dreams a mixture of sexual fantasy and nightmarish replays of prison fights, where I was fighting for my very life, for my survival, day in and day out. But I’m free now… and I’m never going back to prison.

  A few minutes later, a frantic noise wakes me suddenly. I sit up in the darkness again. It’s a cacophony of sound coming from what feels like all directions. My cell phone is going off, ringing loudly. The pager, and another cell phone, too, are blasting my ears with intense noise. The laptop, set up with very loud speakers, blasts at me with its alarm.

  “Alarm!” shouts Jake, bursting through my door, fully dressed.

  “I know, asshole,” I yell at him above the noise.

  I throw on my pants and my shirt.

  “They’re back,” yells Jake.

  “Shut off the damn alarms,” I yell back.

  I read the laptop screen quickly, scanning the message for relevant information. Then I slam the lid closed, shutting off the sound from the laptop, but the rest of the sound still shoots through the room.

  But I don’t panic. I almost never panic, except when I wake up in the middle of the night.

  Right now, my military training is kicking in. I was in a special unit, along with Jake, and we know how to handle ourselves in this type of stress. We don’t let anything get to us, no matter what it is.


  “Let’s move!” I yell out, my voice sounding like our commander back in the military.

  We went on much tougher missions than this back in the service.

  Jake rushes out the door, and I follow him, grabbing one of the phones. I don’t need to grab anything else. All the gear I need is on my person, already. My pistol is in its holster on my belt, where it always is, tucked away from the view of prying eyes.

  Technically, I’m not supposed to be carrying a gun, since it’s a violation of my patrol. But how else am I going to do this job? How else am I supposed to protect those who I’ve been hired to protect?

  My belt bristles with gear: an industrial power flashlight, a big knife for utility purpose, as well as self defense. In my pockets are a number of other specialized gadgets, including a lock picking set, a secondary knife, a multi-tool, a pair of handcuffs, a packet of zip ties, and countless other items that are indispensable in this kind of work, for these kinds of hired protection jobs.

  Jake’s already got the car started, and I jump into the passenger seat. I don’t even have my door closed when he jams his foot onto the accelerator and we’re off, the car screaming away into the cold night. I check my watch, a tough military style watch that can withstand practically anything, and see that it’s a little before 3AM.

  Jake and I have been hired to do the jobs the cops can’t and won’t do. We’re here, out in the dark night, to do the dirty work that needs to be done. We’re here to keep the good guys safe. We’re not exactly good guys ourselves, or are we? We’re on the line between good and bad, and sometimes I’m not so sure which side we’re on. But what I do know is we’re trying to do the right thing, and we’re trying to put the real bad guys away for a long, long time.

  Lexi

  I look over my shoulder as I close the bar door and lock it, making sure the deadbolt is tight.

  My hand grips the mace in my pocket, and my head scans the dark street where there’s only one street light that barely illuminates everything. After what’s been happening, I can’t afford to take any chances. I really shouldn’t be closing up at night, and I shouldn’t be walking alone, but I need the money, and I can’t afford to work any other shifts, where there isn’t any money to be made. And what am I going to do, call a taxi?

  This isn’t a great part of the city. It’s a rougher neighborhood, but one that’s fast becoming something of a hipster hot spot, which is why the bar’s been doing so much better, and why I’ve been making so much more money in tips than before. But there’s still a good stronghold of regular guys, blue collar guys, who come to get drunk after work, and they start fights and beat each other over the head with pool cues.

  It’s not the best job for a nineteen-year-old girl like me, without a ton of real life experience, but it’s what I could get. The only other option that was available to me in this podunk city was to become a stripper, and I have too much dignity and pride to do that to myself …not that I think it’s immoral or anything for the women who have to do it. But it’s just not for me. Everyone I know who is a stripper is strung out on pills or something worse.

  Oh yeah, nineteen and working in a bar. Sounds weird, right? You wouldn’t believe the number of comments I get on that, like, “hey, working as a bartender and you’re not even allowed to drink, eh?”

  What can I say? State laws are lax here, and my owner isn’t exactly on the right side of the law. I had to take the gig I could get. And it was this one.

  The night is dark and silent. There’s the sound of a freight train in the distance chugging along, but the sound of my footsteps is the only sound on this street. Everyone from the bars is long gone, since they close at 2AM. I spent an hour cleaning up, and it’s just past 3AM now.

  Steam issues forth from a grate in the sidewalk, a remnant of the city’s industrial designs and purposes from years back. These days, there’s not a ton of work here for anyone. People get by as they can, and they drink when they can’t.

  I pull my coat tighter around my chest. My breasts always seem to force my coat open, and I have to be careful about the types of shirts I buy, even though tips are always better, as everyone already knows, when you show a bit of cleavage.

  Guys are always hitting on me at the bar. All types too, at all levels of sobriety. I’ve turned them all down. It’s not like I’m intentionally saving myself, not in some kind of goody-two-shoes kind of way, although that’s probably how I seem to other people. I just don’t see the point in random sex, no matter how hot… it’s really just that I want something more, I want a connection, a real connection with the guy. And no one in the bar has ever seemed like the type of person I’d want to spend more than a single night with.

  So I’ve stayed pure, innocent. They think I don’t know, but the regulars call me “Ms. Purity” behind my back. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t bother me at all. It does, but not too much. I get their tips and they try to look down my shirt as much as I can.

  At least I can pay the rent.

  It’s not like I have a lot of other help.

  A car engine roars on another block, breaking the silence.

  I freeze for a moment, hearing my own breath. The steam comes from my mouth in great billows, the cold early spring air still cold enough to freeze my breath.

  There’s been a string of robberies and assaults on this block in the last few months. That’s why my hand is always on my keychain mace, and that’s why I have a huge folding hunting knife in my purse, even though I wouldn’t have the slightest idea how to use it.

  My heart is beating fast but I try to tell myself that it’s just some kids drag racing around the block. After all, they’re not even on this street.

  But then again, people have described a fast car and also some vans speeding around. A woman was even kidnapped. They don’t know what’s happened to her, and the police aren’t doing much for whatever reason. Maybe they’re underfunded or maybe they don’t care. No one knows, but everyone has their theories.

  I’m only three blocks from the bus stop. If I can just make it there, maybe I’ll be OK. There, the area is at least more brightly lit, with some neon signs from a nearby all-night pornography shop. The customers sometimes yell things out at me, but there’s never been any physical threat, and most of them are too drunk to be a threat at all, and I know how to handle drunk people.

  Headlights appear suddenly at the end of the block.

  The engine roars. The car is at a stop. It appears the driver is considering what to do.

  He seems to make a decision, and now the car lurches forward, right towards me, traveling rapidly.

  I freeze on the sidewalk, my mind and body suddenly going numb. I don’t know how to respond. I don’t know what to do.

  Meanwhile, the car is speeding right towards me, coming down the street. It’s not normal to have any traffic at all on these streets at this time of night, but then again, maybe it’s just some idiot kids. Or maybe not…

  I wish I had somewhere to hide, somewhere to be safe. I consider rushing back to the bar, but my body feels heavy. Because of the fear coursing through me, my muscles feel like they’re made of lead, and I can barely move them, let alone get the strength to rush back.

  To my horror, the car doesn’t drive past me.

  Instead, it skids to a stop right in front of me.

  I’m still frozen as the doors open and two huge muscular men jump out of the car, leaving their car doors open.

  They wear masks over their faces and they come right at me.

  Without any hesitation, they grab me forcefully. My body becomes limp like a rag doll, some kind of primal instinct that doesn’t serve me any good. One grabs my feet and one grabs me at the shoulders and they carry me quickly to the car. Someone opens the back door, and they slide me into the back seat.

  Someone is in the back seat with me, wearing a mask, pointing a huge pistol at me.

  That’s when I faint, losing consciousness completely. The last thing I’m
aware of is the pistol pointed in my face and the car door slamming as the car speeds off, burning rubber on the deserted street.

  Jake

  “Step on it, dude,” yells Luke over the roar of the engine.

  “What do you think I’m doing?” I yell back. “This old heap of junk just doesn’t accelerate. What do you want me to do?”

  “Something!” yells Luke.

  I jam my foot onto the clutch and downshift the old bucket of bolts into second gear. My foot sinks onto the accelerator, and the car lurches forward.

  We couldn’t afford much, having lost all our money when we went into the joint. We’re starting our business again, and it’s tough going. But the car isn’t bad. It’s an old police cruiser that we bought at an auction. The outside is battered and it still has the white and black paint, although it’s been stripped of all its official lettering. The best thing about the car is its engine. In its prime, it was fast enough for the cops, with plenty of horsepower. The years have been rough on it though, and it’s not like it was.

  “What cross street?” I yell at Luke.

  “Twelfth and Market.”

  I check the GPS on the dashboard. The car is decked out as best we could with the gear and equipment that we need. Not that I really need a GPS. I’ve got most of the city memorized, thanks to the methods I learned in my specialty military training. ‘Know the terrain’ is dictate number one for fighting an unknown enemy.

  “Any news?”

  “Just the last communication. They hit a convenience store at Twelfth and Market. That’s all we know. But…”

  “But they’ve been committing every crime in strings,” I yell, interrupting him. “I know. I know.”

  Our old cop car is speeding through the nearly deserted city. Most of the street lights are broken and busted, or only shining little slivers of light. The moon is hidden behind clouds, and our headlights are often the only lights on the empty half-industrial blocks that we drive through. This is a seedy area, with only a couple bars as entertainment options. Some hipster kids have been moving into it, to experience the grimy city life, and for cheaper rents, of course.