Page 2 of Bleed (Two Wheeled Psychos #4)

“Love. Love is for fools.” I whisper through the pounding club music above the head of the girl who bats her long, dark, eyelashes at me as she looks up from her knees with my cock in her pretty little mouth.

“Fucking, that’s all I need, and sucking.

” I add with a small laugh, grabbing her hair and yanking her head down further on my hard dick.

And killing.

She’s a pretty thing, with dark brown hair and bright blue eyes that are watering so nicely as I choke the air out of her with every thrust past her stretched out lips.

Her shiny, pink gloss is all gone, having been smeared on my cock then sucked down by her in a valiant attempt to get me off, but she’s too plain, too simple, and she’s not crying hard enough.

She’s boring me. The fact that she’s sucking me off in the corner of Charlotte’s most popular dive should be good enough, but nope.

God I wish I was normal and could cum every now and then from just this. Sometimes my tastes…

“Suck harder. Put some more enthusiasm into it.” I groan, pulling her hair harder, making her eyes tear up more. “If I’m not satisfied...well, you’ll find out.”

Watching her go from slow deep sucks to ferociously taking me down her throat is beautiful, but it’s still not sufficient.

I’m fucked up, I know this, and she’s about to find out what happens when I can’t be pleased.

Too many years of working a high stakes job full of death and mayhem have made me what I am today.

I’m not proud of it…well, okay, maybe I am.

The chef’s job I have at Valentino’s is basically just a front.

It’s a “real” job to have in case the 5-0 come down on me for my actual career.

It’s a good cover that was set in place over ten years ago when I first took my oath into the Carlucci family.

Valentino is Mr. Carlucci’s Nephew, and only heir to the family fortune, so I should count myself lucky that I’ve always worked for him and been in his good graces as the “Reaper”, his number one silencer.

I enjoy my position in the family, probably too much, and the intense release my “work” brings me is why I’m so messed up now, and need to see blood, create violence, and bring death to get off. She’s going to have to die now, no matter how hard she tries.

The music changes from something with a deep, thumping bass to something brighter and more techno as she gobbles me up, her tears dripping on the floor at my feet.

Strobe lights from the dance floor flicker across us, illuminating the filthy thing she’s doing for me, but just enough that people around can tell someone’s getting their knob polished, but not who we are.

I like my anonymity very much, and my career depends on it.

I can’t risk a murder charge from a cheap suck ruining everything.

She may not know who I am or what I’m capable of, but I’m sure she can tell that this night isn’t going to end nicely for her.

Poor thing.

I like to give my marks a choice of how they die, right before I end them, and she will be no different.

Reaching back into the waistband of my jeans, I feel the handle of the large hunting knife all smooth and satiny under my calloused fingertips.

Then I move over to my back pocket, touching the outline of the syringe filled with puffer fish venom through the denim.

She can choose the easy way or the hard way.

It doesn’t matter to me. Death by lethal injection, it’s quiet and clean, or murder by stabbing.

The monster in me really wants to stab the fuck out of her, to make her bleed, to spill her blood all over the floor and walk away from it before anyone is the wiser.

“Keep going.” I say to her, pulling her hair tighter in my fist, bringing her lips down to the base of my cock, gagging her. “Don’t worry about who’s around us. You’re with me and only me.”

She tries her best, I can tell, but it’s not enough, and before she can bring me close to any climactic feeling of pleasure, I rip her off me and push her back.

I’m bored, she’s boring me, and that’s bad for her, because the faster I finish getting my fill from her, which I won’t, the faster she dies.

“Enough.” I say as she lands on her ass, looking up at me with shock and surprise at the change in my demeanor.

My switch has been flipped from pleasure seeker to reaper. It’s time I finish this contract and end her.

I don’t know why the family wants her dead, or what she’s done to deserve it, but I really don’t care. It could be something as stupid as she’s really bad at giving head and her husband wants someone new with her out of the picture. I could see how that would fit.

I’m chuckling to myself at the thought as I bend down and lift her up by the shirt collar, bringing her face so precariously close to mine that I can smell the fear on her breath.

“Do you know who I am?”

“N…no.” She stammers, looking back and forth from eye to hazel eye.

“Yet you still dropped to your knees for me?”

“Yes.”

“Filthy whore. No good filthy whore.” I tsk at her, clicking my tongue. “I think you deserve to know, I guess.”

“Know what?”

“Who I am.”

“Who are you?”

“I’m the reaper, and you my dear…” I sneer in her face, then lick up her cheek with my flattened tongue. “You are the next on my list.”

“What?” She asks, her voice becoming panicked, her body stiffening in my grasp. “Who?”

“The reaper.” I say flatly again, as if she’s supposed to know what that means.

I mean shouldn’t everybody? “I’m going to give you a choice.

Easy and clean? Or rough and dirty?” I add, leaning in closer again, my lips brushing the shell of her ear, my breath wafting over her skin. “Please choose rough and dirty.”

“I…I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Christina Franchesca?” I ask, rubbing my bearded face on her cheek, feeling the terror building up under her skin.

“Yes.” She says, trying to pull away unsuccessfully. “How did you…?”

“Like I said, you’re next on my list. Valentino says hello and goodbye.”

Her blue eyes shine so brightly with the lights flashing across them, their surfaces so shiny with her tears as it finally registers in her head. For a moment I think she’s going to break down, cry and beg for her life like they all do, but she surprises me.

Steeling herself in my grasp, she furrows her brows, and changes before my eyes. The scared little thing scowls at me instead and snarls in my face like a rabid animal.

“Tell Valentino he can go fuck himself.”

I don’t know whether or not I should be proud of her, or angry with her for her insolence towards me, but either way, she’s redeemed her respect from me. She’s not afraid to die, and I know she wouldn’t choose the clean and easy way to go.

My kind of girl after all.

The knife makes a metallic sliding sound as I pull it from its sheath in my waistband. It feels heavy in my hand, and comforting, like a security blanket of sorts, and I bring it around in front of me, while pushing her back further into the shadows of the club.

The lights barely reach us now, and she is shrouded in complete darkness form my large body blocking the rest of the world from her. I won’t be able to see the blood spill from her, to watch her bleed out, but I’ll be able to feel it, and smell it, and that’s good enough for me.

“Any last words?” I ask as I bring the blade up between our faces, letting the edge of it scrape across her soft cheek.

“Fuck you.” She spits at me, her saliva splattering on my face and in my beard. A droplet lands on my lip, and I lick it away.

“As you wish.”

The way her eyes widen, and her mouth opens behind my hand as I cup my fingers over her lips and drive the knife into her chest is goddamned euphoric.

Her pupils dilate, almost covering her irises, and I can see my reflection in them as I press forward harder, advancing the single edged blade deeper into her body.

She curls forward from the impact as the hilt smashes into her flesh, and her scream of pained surprise dies behind my hand in a raspy gurgle.

The smell of the blood, all heavy with copper and iron fills my nose as I bring my arm back, withdrawing the knife, and plunge it back in, once, twice, three more times until my hand and arm are soaked in her essence, and the floor under my feet becomes slippery with the blood and urine mess that pours from her.

She’s a silently dying, quivering mess in my hold, her eyelids fluttering closed, the long lashes brushing her wet cheeks as I grip the handle tighter and pull upwards, cutting the blade through her chest, until it gets stuck on the bone of her sternum.

I would love to watch those eyes roll back in her head, but the view’s obstructed by her teary lids, and that’s okay, because the feel of her hot blood running down my forearm and dripping off my elbow is just as orgasmic.

I can feel the climax that she failed to produce minutes ago raging through me, and as she stills against me, slumping into a lifeless bag of shredded skin and bones, I cum in my pants, soaking the fly of the denim.

“Oh fuck yes. That’s it.” I groan, my own eyes rolling back but not in death, in pleasure. The pleasure that only comes when my mark ceases to live.

Gently setting her down in the corner, I leave her as if she were just a drunken slut that I’ve finished using, because, well, technically she is, even if she was on the list I carry in my head.

With a mental check mark to my hit list, I turn and walk out of the club, with no one the wiser, leaving a trail of red drops on the floor behind me that quickly gets smeared into an abstract artwork by the shoes of the dancing club goers.

By the time of last call, and the clicking on of the overhead lights, I’ll be long gone, a ghost that no one saw nor recognized. It’s the perfect kill, and I’m smiling broadly to myself as I step outside and walk down the street in a slow and satisfied stroll.

Two blocks down, parked ass to the curb sits my bike, Luna, a GSXR750 in all her blood orange and white glory. With her four-stroke, in-line, four-cylinder engine, and 125 horsepower, she’s a beautiful specimen of sportbike machinery, and the best, well, only girl currently in my life.

“Hello baby, did you miss me?” I ask the bike, stroking my hand down the red fairings, wiping away imaginary dust. I would never let her get and stay dirty, not her, she’s my princess.

“I missed you.” I tell her as I pull my helmet off her handle bar and slap it on my head, tightening the chin strap under my auburn beard.

Her engine roars to life between my legs as I turn the key and flip the ignition switch with my thumb.

She screams her “welcome back” to me as I twist the throttle, revving her up before I kick up the kickstand, shift her into first gear, and take off down the otherwise quiet street away from my crimes, and towards my solace. Home.