Page 28 of Burn (Two Wheeled Psychos #2)

Nightfall is later now that the solstice has passed. The stars don’t shine as bright when the sun still throws some rays into the vast sky, and it needs to be perfectly dark for me to do my “work”. The stars need to twinkle in all their glory above for me to do what I must do.

Only another hour or so. Patience.

“I have none. You know that.”

It’s only been a month.. You can’t kill every druggie and dealer in such a short time.

“I sure as fuck can try.”

I grumble, laying in my small bed in the firehouse.

I have wanted to go to her place so many times, to sleep in her bed, to smell her on the sheets, but I just can’t bring myself to do it. I need the little bit of softness she put in my heart to harden back up, so that I can continue my task of eliminating everyone who put her in danger, whether directly involved or not.

Every dealer, cook, runner, all of them will suffer and die. They will burn to death just like she did. They won’t get it quick though, oh no, they’ll die slowly and painfully.

If anyone knew what I did before, they would think it’s child’s play compared to now. I’m mad, no, not mad, I’m irate, pissed, and fuming. They took her from me, killed her, burned her, and they too shall burn.

None of my brothers have said anything about me not doing my real job. I don’t think they will ever again say anything to me or about me. They leave me alone now. The jokes are done, and even the dirty looks and rumors of me being a psycho are over. It’s like I don’t exist anymore. I’m just a lump on a cot taking up space, and quite frankly I prefer it that way.

Even the captain has given me more space than I had expected him to. He checks on me though. I see him looking around the corner sometimes, his soft eyes scanning me up and down. Sometimes it looks like he’s about to say something, but he changes his mind and disappears again. I wonder if they know what I’m doing when I sneak out at night. They can’t be completely oblivious. I mean the bike makes plenty of noise outside as I fire her up each evening.

You ready?

“Let’s go.”

The garage is quiet and dark as I slide down the pole silently, my sneakers landing on the concrete floor without a sound. The big bay doors roll open, and the street beyond comes into view as I push the bike out. Out of respect to the sleeping people upstairs, I don’t start the motorcycle until I’m outside and the doors are closed behind me, then I fire her up, slamming my helmet on.

With a flick of my head, I close the mirrored visor. It makes seeing at night more difficult, but it also keeps my identity completely hidden. No one can see the eyes of the killer as he takes them to hell, and that’s how I want it.

The rumble of the engine, and the vibration of the exhaust between my thighs centers me as I pull out into the street. The night is young so there’s still traffic, but by the time I’m done and the sun is coming up over the horizon, it’ll thin out. In the meantime, I need to carefully move amongst the other vehicles, not calling any attention to myself.

There’s no speeding, no lane filtering, nothing that could warrant attention to me when I’m in the city. But once the killing is done for the night and I need to blow off the rest of the steam, the blue route gets to see it all.

Falling in behind a silver sedan, I cruise up Market Street, then turn down towards the university. The college kids aren’t my prey, but the druggies that sell to them under the trains are. There will be unlimited amounts of animals to pick from as they peddle their shit.

It doesn’t take long before I find my first one of the evening. He’s pacing back and forth, in his baggy jeans, and white wife beater tank, talking to himself, and shaking from the overuse of his own supply. His nappy black hair looks like it hasn’t been washed in decades, and when I pull up alongside of him at the curb it smells like he hasn’t showered in just as long.

“How much for a hit?’ I ask him, pretending to reach back for my wallet.

“Twenty.”

He says, wiping his dirty face with an even dirtier hand.

“Cool. Meet me out back.”

I say, nodding to the end of the block.

“Don’t want anyone to see.”

“Yeah, right. Whatever.”

He says, wagging a small baggie full of tiny white rocks. “This it?”

“Put it away.”

“Chill out man.”

“You chill out. Come on, out back.”

Slowly I move the bike towards the corner, following behind him, keeping my foot down on the curb. When he walks around the bus stop cabana on the corner, I hurry up to make sure he stays in sight.

Of course he’s not going anywhere, he thinks I have money, and the money will become his. The only thing becoming his though is his own death.

He yelps when I step off the bike and jump on him, grabbing him by the shoulders the moment we’re out of the prying eyes of passersby on the main street. We tumble to the ground, me rolling on top of him, disgusted by the stench coming off him, thanking the high heavens I have my full leathers and gloves on. I don’t want his diseases touching me.

We roll around on the sidewalk, my feet kicking the pavement, pushing us from the cement to the grassy area of the edge of a small park. He grunts and curses at me, spitting on my visor, and I backhand him hard enough one of his meth-eaten teeth flies from his gross mouth.

“Fuck.”

He curses, bucking under me, but it’s no use.

“You killed her.”

Him and all his druggie buddies. Kill him.

“I am.”

Kill him quick and move onto the next one.

“I didn’t kill anyone!”

He shrieks as he continues to writhe under me, trying to get away.

“You did. All of you. The drugs, the crime. She’s dead because of shit stains like you!”

I scream in his face, grabbing his cheeks, bashing the back of his head into the ground over and over again until I drop it into the dirt on a pained groan from the both of us.

Punching him in the face hard, I crack my knuckles in my gloves and his head falls slack, his face smashing to the soft grass under us.

There’s no money in my back pocket but there is my knife, and my lighter. The knife makes a hollow scraping sound as I pull it from its leather sheath, the blade shining in the dim lighting from the lone streetlamp a few paces away. I stare at it for a second, hating the spillage of blood, but he is right, this needs to be fast.

The knife slides across the guys throat so easily, splitting the skin open, spilling the red fluid that controls his life. It pours from him like a waterfall, dousing the front of him, soaking his white shirt in the crimson stain of death.

He gurgles and sputters but never regains consciousness before his eyes fall still and his lips turn a deep blue. He’s dead already, and now he’s going to burn.

“He didn’t suffer enough.”

I pant, looking down at the utter mess I’ve made.

The next one will.

The flint on my lighter catches the gas and the flame pops from its tip. It’s beautiful as it dances in the evening breeze, and even more stunning when it catches his clothes up the second I touch it to him.

The fire takes him quickly, enveloping his corpse in a rush of gold, orange and blue. His filth and the grease on him from however long it’s been since he bathed acts as an accelerant, and he bursts into flames like a roman candle. Too bad he’s already dead and isn’t flailing around on the ground screaming in pain.

“You’re right, the next one.”

I say, dusting off my hands and walking away from the inferno, leaving him to burn without the care of what else he catches on fire.

The bike fires up with her regular roar, and I take off down the street, headed to my next place. The catacombs will be packed tonight, and I can have my pickings of anyone I want, with more cover to actually play.

Good boy. You’re doing God’s work.

“I am.”

I make my way through the city and pull into the mouth of the tunnel. It’s been awhile since I’ve been here, and I wonder if the remains from that whore in the purple dress are still inside, untouched. If they are, I want to roll in them, to play with them, to desecrate her final resting place, because why not?

Hookers and pimps stroll the outside, their calls to men as they drive by an eerie reminder of the night I was here last, and instead of making me feel disgusted like it did before, it turns me on, solely because of the level of violence I plan on unleashing inside. I even have a slight erection, the first one since I was last buried in my angel.

That was beautiful, if I do say so myself.

I don’t even give the crack whore a chance to offer herself to me when I dismount the bike. She’s dressed like a high school girl, with a plaid mini skirt and a crisp white shirt tied up on her belly, showing off her flat midriff. I wonder how long it’s been since she had a real meal instead of the drugs she pumps into herself. The black marks and scabs on her arms tell me it’s probably been a really long time.

With her shiny blonde hair and wide green eyes, she would be beautiful if she wasn’t a drug riddled fucking whore.

“Come on baby. You’re what I need.”

I say, taking her hand roughly and leading her in the mouth of the catacombs.

Her little Mary Jane shoes tap lightly on the pavement as she tries to keep up with my quick, long-legged pace, and she has to practically jog to keep up.

“Excited honey?”

She asks, popping a wad of gum in her mouth, keeping up with the schoolgirl persona.

“Yeah something like that.”

I say to her, pulling her along, bringing her deeper into the tunnels and away from the majority of the people milling about outside.

The only ones inside the vast, graffiti covered space are the ones already doped out of their fucking gourds, and the ones getting railed by Johns who will never speak a word of what happens in here. It’s perfect.

“What can I do for you?”

She asks, trailing her hand down my arm when I pull her against the cold, graffiti covered mural full of gang tags.

“You can fucking die for your sins.”

Yes! Right to it baby! Do it!

“That’s not nice.”

She says, her smile wide, her mouth chomping on the gum like a cow chewing cud.

“How about I do something else for you?”

If she wasn’t high, if she didn’t have track marks on her, and if she wasn’t so blatantly trying to fuck money out of me, maybe I would consider giving her the pleasure of touching me, maybe even sucking my cock, but nah, she’s too nasty for that. Besides, the only mouth I want to feel wrapped around my dick is dead.

Dead because of trash like this. Trash that needs to be burned!

“Do you like fire?”

I ask her, leaning over her, my hand on the wall beside her head.

“It’s pretty.”

She says, cracking that fucking gum in my face.

Do it! Do it! Do it! Light her up, then piss on her. She deserves it. Whore!

“It’s going to be really pretty indeed.”

I hiss, sniffing up her cheek, smelling the perfume on her that makes her smell like a French whore.

French whore, American whore, they’re all the same. Trash! The reason your love is dead. Burn her now!

She’s gonna burn so beautifully with all that shit sprayed on her skin. I can already feel the heat and she’s not even lit up yet. It makes my dick thump in my leathers, and my pulse quicken in excitement.

Her gasp when I pull my lighter from my pocket and hold it up to her face is perfectly fearful. The look in her wide eyes as the pupils dilate and the green of her irises disappears is stunning, and I know she can see it reflected in the visor of my helmet. She can see her own panic and it intensifies it for her.

The first scream as I grab her white dress shirt and touch the flame to it is so erotically beautiful I almost cum in my pants. She squeals like a little piggy, and I can almost see myself as the big bad wolf, blowing her world down.

The fire crawls up the material as I pin her to the wall, her hands smacking at my helmeted head, pushing on my visor, trying to back me away from her. It’s no use though, I’m bigger and stronger from all the years I’ve spent in the gym, perfecting this body, making it into the killing machine it’s become.

“Help!’ She screams, flailing and bucking between me and the dirty tunnel wall.

“Someone help me!”

I can hear the skin of her back being shredded on the rough wall behind her as she fights me. It sounds like meat being run over a cheese grater, all wet and gooey as the fire burns her front, and it’s so yummy.

“No one’s coming. Why would someone risk themselves to rescue garbage like you?”

“I’m a mother, please don’t do this. I have a baby at home!”

She cries out, and the irony of it is not unnoticed.

Ooohhh even better! Good choice! Burn the stupid whore faster, make her suffer more.

“Oh baby. That’s what I wanted to hear. Now I’m so glad I picked you.”

As her clothes glow from the smoldering of the fabric, and the small flames lick up her front between her tits, I can see all the women I’ve taken for just that reason. Especially the one I was playing with when I first my angel, my Phoenix, my love.

I had been burning someone who reminded me of my mother, and in the process I met the woman who would make some of that go away. Now, it’s come full circle, she’s gone and I’m back to doing what I do best. Ridding the earth of the diseased cows. Only now I’m doing it in her name. She would want that.