Page 11 of Burn (Two Wheeled Psychos #2)

Birds chirping happy little songs, and the sounds of traffic outside rouse me from the deepest sleep I can remember ever having. I peel my eyes open and look around the unfamiliar room, and the very familiar woman snuggled up against me.

Sunlight from outside shines on her, illuminating her shiny black hair with a halo of light that sits above her crown, like she’s a real-life angel. Too bad she’s actually a devil in the flesh just like me.

But is that really a bad thing?

Rolling onto my back, I look up at the ceiling above us and the crown molding around the edges of the room. It’s an old-world style architecture, heavy on the years of paint that coats the plaster walls. If the place ever caught fire, it would go up in a heartbeat.

The hardwood floors are warm under my feet when I rise, and the area rug at the foot of her large bed is fluffy and soft as I pick up my pants from the floor, shaking off the dried mud from them, immediately wincing at the dusty mess in the off-white fur.

“Shit.”

“Hmmm?”

Phoenix says sleepily, rolling over, covering her eyes from the light pouring in.

Walking over to her as I step into my leathers and shove my tank in my waistband, I bend down and gently kiss her forehead, brushing her hair off her face with the back of my knuckle.

“Nothing baby girl. Go back to sleep.”

I whisper, letting my lips linger on her warm skin for a moment longer than necessary.

Leaving is hard, and I don’t want to, but this was all a bad idea. Stalking her apartment, following her, killing a man, getting her involved with me, then fucking her all night long in her sanctuary. It’s all wrong, even though I want it all to be right.

The sun is bright as fuck on the ride back to the firehouse, heating my bare chest and back. I’m blinded without a proper visor on my helmet, and I curse as the reflections from windshields on cars make spots in my vision. I’m already in a foul mood from walking out of her place, leaving her without an explanation, and everything else is just pissing me off.

The bike is dirty, with mud coating the tires and wheels, with splashes of it on the fairings. The red streaks in her paint are almost hidden under the filth, and that makes me mad too. She’s always clean. Everything in my life is clean and orderly, and now, it’s not.

God, you’re fucking stupid.

“Like I don’t already know that.”

I growl in my helmet to the voice in my head, angry at him too. It’s him that always gets me into trouble, or at least that’s who I blame, when really it’s me, because well, he is me.

We had a good life, and now it’s fucked. You should have just let him do her. But no, you and your dick couldn’t keep your hands to yourself.

“It’s your fault.”

Yeah keep telling yourself that.

“Fuck you.”

Fuck you too.

“Prick.”

I mumble, pulling into the garage at the station, my engine echoing off the large walls as I park next to the ladder truck that sits there all shiny and clean, her red and white paint glistening in the overhead lights.

I need to wash the bike, but first things first, a shower for me, and to burn my fucking leathers and the wife beater shoved in my pants like an oversized handkerchief. I’ll never be able to wash all the evidence off them.

“Hey, look who’s back.”

The captain says, popping out from behind one of the trucks wiping his hands clean on a shop rag.

“All good?”

“All good.”

I say nodding to him, pulling off my busted ass helmet and hiding it behind my back as he walks around the garage checking on everything.

I never had a father, but he’s been close, well, as close as I would let anyone be. If he were to see the broken gear, he’d be worried, then look into it, and I really don’t want to have to murder the only person who’s ever cared about me. That would suck.

“If ya need anything just let me know.”

He says, disappearing again as quickly as he appeared, going back to his business of checking out all the trucks and their equipment.

“Yep.”

Hustling through the garage, weaving in and out of the trucks, I make my way upstairs to the bunkhouse. It’s peacefully quiet, with most of the guys either off for the day, or out doing work around the neighborhood, helping to keep it clean and tidy. There’s a huge sense of community amongst the guys, and they are rarely hanging around the house unless they have to be, or of course at meal times.

The communal shower room is blissfully all mine, and it’s nice to shred off my clothes, hiding them under my bunk for now, and step into a hot shower alone.

The hot water pours over me from the high-pressure showerhead, beating my skin with the droplets that are sharp like little knives, making my skin as red as the water swirling at my feet. Blood washes from my hair and skin as I scrub myself carefully, making sure to get behind my ears, in all cracks and crevices, and especially in the creases of my hands. Under my nails is the last place I wash, making sure to scrape underneath their tips for any residual evidence.

Staring at my hands, watching the little pieces of God knows what wash away, all I can see is the way they looked on her skin last night. Both in the water of the river and in her soft bed, I touched her everywhere. My large, pale, veiny hands caressed and fondled her tanned, satiny skin memorizing the feel of every inch of her.

Blissfully alone with my thoughts and the images behind my closing eyelids, I reach down and stroke my cock. It’s already hard, jutting out from my body with a mind of its own, wanting her from just the memories.

Yep, you’re cooked.

“Shut your fucking mouth and let me have this.”

I curse to myself, grabbing my dick harder, pulling on it like I could tug him out from inside me with a good yank.

Ha ha ha ha ha! Go ahead and try. I’m here for good. You know that. But go ahead, have your fun for now. Just don’t come crying to me when all this blows up in our faces.

“My face, not ours!”

I yell out loudly, my words echoing off the white tile walls around me, disappearing into the rush of the spray that flows across me and down the drain.

How many feelings can one man have at the same time, is what I ask myself and the voice in my head as I stroke myself hard, too hard. I’m angry with him , I’m horny for her, and I’m confused at myself. I’m lost in the swirling thoughts and images in my head, tugging and pulling on my dick until a sharp pain stabs my cock.

Looking down, my shaft is bright red with little red streaks. I’ve rubbed myself raw. It hurts, a deep burning sensation that gets worse as I run my palm against it more, and I imagine that’s what it would feel like to have my dick set aflame. With a deep guttural chuckle, I grab myself tighter and stroke harder, feeling it sear under my aggressive touch.

“Fuck!”

I growl loudly, going faster, trying to stroke away everything in my head, but it’s not working.

He’s cackling louder the harder I go, mocking me, echoing in my brain. My monster, my alter ego, my…me is insane.

That makes you insane, you freak.

“No. No. No!”

Yes, yes, yes! You can’t escape it. You were already mad, and this obsession with her has made you go off the deep end.

“I just want to fucking enjoy something, and someone!”

Is she really the angel you make her out to be? She folded really quick. Fucking the man who she saw murder someone. That’s not normal.

“I saved her.”

I grunt, pulling and rubbing harder and faster, making it hurt badly.

I’m punishing my physical body for the mental nightmare going on in my head. It’s excruciating, with the water offering no lubrication, just more heat to burn me more and more.

“I saved her, and she thanked me.”

I cry out, my eyes tearing up, my palm turning red. “She’s…”

She’s gonna tell. It’s all a ruse to make you feel at ease, then she’s gonna call the cops. She knows your name; she’s seen your face. You left your DNA in her.

“No. She wouldn’t. We shared something. We have something.”

I say, my cries turning into wails as his words sink into my core. He might be right. She could get me arrested. My fucking cum was still in her when I left.

Watch her, or better yet, take her. Throw her out like the rest of the trash. Do it.

“No.”

Do it!

“No! No! No!”

I scream, yanking one last time on my cock, feeling the skin tear and the blood drip across my knuckles as I erupt with a spray of cum that coats the pristine white tile of the shower.

I’m spent, my body is on fire, and my mind goes numb. His voice fades away, and I’m left alone, utterly alone, confused, and more insane than ever. He’s never argued with me before, taking on a separate entity entirely.

“I really have gone mad.”