Page 2 of Burn (Two Wheeled Psychos #2)
“God no! Please God no!”
The stupid cunt screams out as I step closer to her, with the blue flame of my torch lighter flickering in the evening breeze.
The light from the street lamp above casts shadows on her, making the dark circles under her eyes appear larger and more pronounced, and it does nothing to hide the fucking massive amounts of black lines running up her cigarette burned forearms.
Fucking filthy drug whore.
Useless to society.
Piece of shit.
Her blonde hair is greasy and filthy, and she reeks like rotten sex, and an even more rotten pussy.
I can only imagine the amount of diseases riddling her fucking whore body under her ragged clothes, and it makes my lip curl up in disgust.
The flames flicker in her blown pupils as I grab her with my leather gloved hand and pull her to me, staring at her through the mirrored visor of my motorcycle helmet.
She can see her reflection in it, and it’ll be the last thing she sees before the fire licks her to death.
Her breath fogs up the plexiglass as she pants in fear, and it obscures the sight of her just long enough to give me the clarity I need.
I hate it when they beg me to spare them with the terror in their eyes.
They don’t get the right to be afraid, not after how they’ve lived their lives.
I’m a blessing for them, taking them from the pain and suffering they’ve caused themselves. No one did that for my mom and look at what that created…me.
I watch her muddled blue eyes disappear and reappear through the haze, and I imagine that at one point, before she became the empty shell she is they may have been as bright and vibrant as mine.
When my life changed, the cloudiness of my irises lifted, and they became so vibrant that they match the flames I use to clean this earth of the filth.
Her dirty hands and blackened nails claw at me as she fights to get away, but it’s futile, she’ll never scratch or injure me though my leather riding suit.
I would never put myself at risk of exposing myself to the sicknesses these animals carry, and I keep myself covered head to toe, not only for the anonymity but also the physical protection.
It’s kind of sad though that I won’t feel all the heat of the fire.
“You did this to yourself. If you had been a better person, had done something to advance this world instead of wasting your life on drugs and sex, you wouldn’t be in this situation.”
I say as she struggles and writhes in my grasp.
“I’m sorry.”
She cries out, just as the first flame licks at her waxy hair.
“Please don’t do this. I’m a mother.”
“All the more reason. Your child deserves better.”
I hiss at her, shaking her as the fire spreads.
Normally hair kind of simmers slowly, curling up and smoking a lot, not actually going ablaze without some form of accelerant, but the amount of grease in hers makes it almost as flammable as if I had doused her in gasoline.
She goes up quickly, the fire taking her locks in a flash, twisting up her face in anguish and fear.
Her screams echo around the alleyway, bouncing from the brick-and-mortar buildings loud enough you’d think they could peel the graffiti from the walls.
It’s music to my ears, the way the fire engulfs her, crackling and popping, hissing and screeching, matching her cries.
I really thought she would put up more of a fight when the pain started, but she doesn’t, it’s like the vocalizations are all she has in her.
The squirming stops, and she drops to her knees before me, her hands out like she’s praying.
Maybe she is, maybe in her final moments she’s asking whatever entity is above us in the smokey heavens for forgiveness.
Not like he’ll listen, he never does.
The fire engulfs her as I stand there, feeling the warmth of it through my leathers, watching as she crumbles down from her knees to a fetal position on the ground.
The smoke is thick, and her cries die down as the flames lick inside her agape mouth, sucking out the last of the breath in her.
It’s a beautiful cleansing, as the disease and despair burn away with the orange and blue tendrils that surround her corpse, eating her, taking her to hell where she belongs.
One more shit stain erased from this world.
The alley falls silent except for the crackling of the heat on her bones, and the sizzling of the drug riddled skin. It’s peaceful, relaxing, and perfect, until it’s not.
A scream breaks the silence behind me, something blood curdling and afraid, making me jump from the surprise.
Whipping my head around, I see her behind me.
She’s a young thing, with short dark hair, probably a good ten years the junior of my thirty-three, standing at the mouth of the alley with a backpack on her shoulder and her hands covering her mouth that continues to spill screeches of fear.
“Fuck.”
Witnesses are never a good thing. Even though I’m covered head to toe in black leather with a helmet on, eyes on me is not what I want. I can’t continue to rid this planet of the disgust if I’m ever caught. I sure as fuck can’t keep my job and the life I’m used to.
“Fuck, fuck!”
I never leave a body burning alone, it’s not that I stay to comfort the trash that’s incinerating, no, it’s that I make sure that the fire doesn’t spread to anything or anyone who’s innocent.
Standing here now though, seeing an onlooker, hearing her yells, I have no choice but to leave it.
“Hey, you.”
I say, turning on my heel and heading her way, seeing her back up against the edge of the sidewalk, her sneakered feet almost falling from the curb.
Please be a druggie whore too, maybe a friend of the others. I don’t want to kill an innocent. I can’t.
“Oh God no, stay away.”
She cries out, finding her footing and taking off down the street.
“Stop.”
I call out, running after her. “Shit.”
I curse to myself inside my helmet, chasing her through the mouth of the alleyway and down the street.
Thankfully it’s night, and the streets are otherwise empty, but still her yells of “help me”
ring out in the air, bouncing around us between the shops and stores that flank both sides of the main road. She drops her backpack as she flees, her legs taking her as fast as she can go, which is by my surprise faster than I can run.
Jesus, she’s fast.
I stop at the fallen backpack, watching her disappear down a side street, her footsteps dying off, the night becoming silent again. The bag is heavy when I pick it up, shaking it, then throwing it over my shoulder. I’m sure there’s something in its contents to tell me who she is. But the fact that she didn’t look homeless, runs like a track star, and has possessions in a nice sack, I doubt she’s a street living crack whore.
“Fuck.”
The regained quiet is broken, my hip vibrating along with the tones from the fire department that ring out from my cell phone.
The burning body has been called in, the authorities will be here soon, and my brothers in the department will be swarming to my victim.
It’s time to switch roles from killer to first responder.
With a sly smile inside my helmet, I stroll back to my bike parked a block from the alley, hop on, and tear down the street like a bat out of hell towards home, the firehouse I live in when I’m not out “working”.
The city scape flies by as I kick the shifter up with my foot, going from second to third gear, hearing the engine whine under me and the seat rumble between my thighs.
The ride is my salvation when I’m not standing over piles of ash and scorched bone.
It’s freedom, excitement, and a way to calm the voices in my head.
When the motorcycle screams loudly, she’s screaming for me, cleansing me of the torment that resides in my soul.
“Don’t leave without me.”
I jokingly call out as I hop off the bike in the first bay of the department garage, yanking off my helmet and running my hands through my curly, dark blonde hair.
“I’m coming.”
“You’re off tonight.”
The captain says as he shrugs on his jacket and stomps into his black boots, his heavy belly barely fitting in the fire proof suit.
“Yeah, but you can always use the help.”
I say, grabbing my uni off the rack and hopping on the back of the ladder truck, slamming my scuffed up yellow helmet on my head with a loud laugh.
“Fuck yeah, you know that.”
He says, jumping on the back bumper with me, whistling loudly to the men in the cab, waving his arm.
“Go, go, go!”
He shouts, and we’re off, heading back to where I just came from, and to my “work”
that burns all alone.
The sirens of the truck screech louder than my bike ever could.
It’s music to my ears, yet at the same time a stark reminder of the little boy sitting in his dilapidated bedroom praying to die.
The memories of the fire that took my mother and my home flash in my head as the truck speeds down the street, and I lose myself in them.
I can see the flames bursting through the door and smell the smoke that suffocated my mother before she burned to a crisp.
I was spared the scent of charred flesh that night, except where the fire licked me on the shoulder, but the little whiff I did get, well, it was divine.
“Hey, man, Zephyr.
Earth to Zeph!”
The captain’s voice calls through the fog of my flashback.
“Yeah. I’m here.”
I say, shaking my head clear of the remaining memories, making them disappear in a figurative puff of smoke.
The fire is contained to the body as I hop off the truck and walk slowly over to the mess I’ve left behind for my brothers to now take care of.
Chasing a girl down the street and getting distracted from my job was not in my game plan.
I lost the chance to watch her turn black and char.
I won’t have the opportunity to reach into my leathers and stroke my cock at the satisfaction of her demise.
But as I stand over the fire, feeling the warmth tickle my face under the visor of my fire department issued helmet, I grow rock hard.
My cock thumps heartily as the flames flicker their final licks before the jet of water hits them, turning them into nothing more than smoke and steam.
“Jesus, how did this happen? What kind of freak would do something like this?”
The captain says, coming up next to me looking down at my handiwork.
“I don’t know man. Disgusting.”
I sneer, turning my face away from him so he can’t see the sick smile spread across my lips.
“Must be a real sicko.”