Page 9 of Burn (Two Wheeled Psychos #2)

“How long does it take?”

Phoenix asks as she sits next to me on the soft ground with the water still dripping from what’s left of her outfit that I didn’t shred.

“The flesh and stuff, not long. But the fire needs to burn really hot for the bones to become brittle enough to break. Maybe an hour or more.”

I answer her, letting her lean against my side as we watch the body burn.

“You know this isn’t normal right?”

“I never said I was. In fact I’m the farthest thing from normal.”

I chuckle, picking up a little stick off the ground and breaking it into tiny pieces before throwing them into the fire.

“Now that, I believe.”

She laughs, kissing my shoulder, her lips cool from being wet.

“You wanna tell me how NOT normal you are?”

“No.”

I say a little sharper than intended, and she stiffens against me before relaxing again.

“Is that for the best?”

“Yeah.”

We sit in silence as the fire burns hot, flickering and popping as the flames hiss through the corpse. The smoke changes from dense black clouds with the burning of the oils and fluids in the flesh, to wispy white tendrils when nothing is left but the bones.

The stars move in the sky and the moon makes its cycle, changing position over our heads as we wait. She occasionally picks at her clothes, or fluffs her tousled hair, and I watch my work.

It’s different than all my others. The desire, hate, rage, disgust, none of that is in me. I’ve never killed with anything but fire, the trash dying as it burns, but this, this is weird. He’s just an empty sack, like a garbage bag already used but emptied. I don’t like it.

When the smoke dies down, the last finger of it disappearing into the night sky, I climb off the ground, stretching my back out. Phoenix looks up at me with question in her dark eyes but practically jumps out of her skin when I put my shoes back on and stomp on the glowing embers. Little pieces float into the air as the brittle bones crunch under my feet, falling apart into tiny pieces.

“What are you doing?”

She asks, scrambling to her feet at the shock of my sudden aggressive actions.

“Finishing this so we can go.”

I grunt as I crush the remains with my heel.

“No evidence left behind.”

“It’s so violent.”

She whispers as I freeze, hearing her.

The emotions in her voice are ones I’m not used to, fear and worry, but laced with compassion and dare I say it? Trust.

This is all wrong. All wrong. Stupid, stupid man. She doesn’t trust you. You killed a man in front of her, burned the body, and now your smashing his bones to dust like a mad man.

Anger brews inside me. It’s not at her, not at myself, not at the situation, but all of them combined. Here I am stomping on the bones of a man that I should never have come across. But I did, because of her, because of my infatuation with her.

Infatuation? Ha! Shithead. Obsession. You can’t even be honest with yourself.

“Shut up!”

I yell out loud, grabbing my head, covering my ears, trying to block out the voice in my head that never fucking stays quiet.

He’s been there ever since I was a boy, alone in my room behind that locked door with no human company or interactions. He showed up one day as I cut a small line on my arm just to feel something and never left. He has my voice, my mannerisms, my everything, and even though I know he is me; he’s still an unwelcome presence sometimes.

You were only supposed to see if she knew who we were. Not follow her, rescue her, and expose us to her. Now what? Huh?

“Stop.”

I growl, slamming my foot down again and again, demolishing everything under me until it’s just a pile of grey ash and splinters.

“Everything is fine. It’s fine.”

“Zeph?”

I’m so lost in my actions that I jump when she reaches out and touches me. Instinctively I bat her hand away and stomp my feet harder into the now pile of dust.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Easy…”

She says, her fingers brushing me again, her hands softly grabbing my fists from my ears and pulling them away.

“Easy. It’s okay. You did this for me. You saved me from whatever that would have done to me.”

She adds, pointing both our hands down to my shoes that are covered in grey and white dust.

“I’m a monster.”

I mumble, looking down at the ground and away from her.

“No you’re not.”

“Yes. Yes I am.”

Those small, dainty hands of hers cup my cheeks, raising my face up to hers. Her eyes shimmer in the moonlight, and her face is pale from the cold and the fear that I can smell on her, yet still she holds onto me. She sees inside of me. She has to be able to. How can she not see the psycho underneath my crystal blues?

“What do we do?”

“The water.”

I sigh, resigning myself to the fact that she knows I’m a killer, and she’s seen my face. So even though she didn’t know it was me in that alley, she’s seen me murder anyway.

“Come on then.”

She says, stooping down, cupping her hands and scooping up as much ash as she can.

I watch with a revered awe as she walks to the edge of the water and dumps the remains into the current. She stays still for a second as they wash away, forever gone into the watery abyss.

Look what she’s doing. Our secret is safe with her. Or is it?

“We’ll see.”

I mumble under my breath, bending down and following her lead.

It doesn’t take long until everything we can gather and toss is gone. I take a minute to dig through the mud, looking for any pieces that didn’t pulverize under my shoe. It would be bad if a shard big enough had slipped into the dirt, only to be revealed later.

The damp earth is gooey between my fingers as I search until I’m happy that we’ve gotten it all. It’s cool to the touch and nasty, but it doesn’t elicit the OCD creeps I normally get when wet things touch me. Her watching me, her hands on her hips, her gaze locked on me is sheltering me almost like a security blanket.

“Let’s get out of here.”

I finally say, dipping my hands in to the river to wash them clean, and drying them on the front of my already wet and disgusting shirt.

She jogs up next to me, and walks away from the riverbank at my side, keeping up with my long stride. When her fingers lace with mine and she pulls me closer to her side while we trudge over the underbrush and fallen trees, it feels awkward, new, and wrong, but at the same time I wouldn’t want it any other way.

You’re becoming her obsession as well.

The trip back to the car and bike seems to take forever, and the darkness envelopes us like a thicker blanket once we’re under the canopy of the trees again. I can no longer see her face, but I can feel her, the warmth of her hand in mine, and the heat of the aura thar pours off her. In the easy breeze I can smell her too, but it’s not fear anymore, it’s the unmistakable scent of her arousal.

“I’ve never been on a bike before.”

She says as we walk past the abandoned vehicle that will now live on this country road for eternity, forever forgotten just like the man who once drove it.

I’m not worried about evidence of him in his car, they’ll never find the body. No body, no murder, no case. Simple.

“It’s easy. You’ll put your foot on this peg, and once I’m seated you’ll swing your leg over and put your other foot on the other peg. Use my shoulders to lift yourself up.”

She stands next to me, watching intently as I pull my once discarded helmet onto my head. It’s still covered in blood and brain matter, with cracks and chips in its formerly smooth surface. I don’t need it for my head, all I need is the visor so I can see where we’re going. Besides if I drop the bike and we die, oh well.

“Up.”

I tell her as I settle on my seat, turning the key in the ignition, and flicking the switch to fire up the bike.

“Good girl. Arms around me, hold onto me, and follow my movements. When I lean you stay with me. When we stop push yourself back a little so you don’t slam your face on my helmet. Got it?”

“Yes Sir.”

She giggles, wrapping her arms around me, her hands snaking down my front to my crotch.

“Up here baby girl. Can’t have me distracted by that.”

With a disappointed groan she lets me put her hands further up on my abdomen, but she quickly changes her tone when her fingers gently play with my abs through the very little protection of my wife beater.

“Mmmm.”

“Easy there girl.”

I chuckle, kicking up the kickstand and tapping the shifter with my foot.

“Here we go. Hold onto me just like that. Give me directions as we go okay?”

Her hands flatten on my belly, her fingers pressing between the ridges of my six pack, and her front leans against my back, warming me with her body heat, making my insides melt.

The lane is bumpy, but she stays put on her seat, with no shifting or bumping into my back. When we break out onto the main road, she squeezes me tighter, leaning her cheek on my shoulder and we take off.

The trees fly by as I kick us up into second gear, then third, then fourth, racing us away from the scene of our crime like a bat out of hell, just wanting to get back into the city, and where I’m more comfortable. There I can hide in the masses of people, blending in and going unnoticed, expect for that is, the woman clinging to my back.

The engine and exhaust scream loudly through the tunnels heading southeast, echoing off the concrete walls like a banshee, high pitched and eerie. It’s like they’re telling a wordless story of what has just transpired and how I feel about it. Leave it to my bike to scream for me. That’s what she’s best at.

The wider country lanes narrow onto the turnpike, and I open the throttle more, tapping the shifter with the toe of my shoe, careening us through the lanes, passing cars and rigs, splitting through them when the flow of traffic slows. It’s dangerous, and irresponsible with a passenger, but I’ve never cared about that. She’s accepting the risk getting on the back of a death trap with a man she just witnessed kill another.

“Slow down.”

I hear her voice in the wind as her arms tighten around my middle, squeezing me tightly.

She sounds afraid, but I can tell by the scent wafting through the air and the hammering of her heart against my back that she’s enjoying it but refuses to let herself admit it. Under that innocent looking face lies a woman who craves the adrenaline and danger that I do. That’s why I’m so attracted to her, she is me, in female form. Even her name is perfect for me. The Phoenix, the bird of fire that arises from the ashes.

Fucking perfect.

Instead of reducing speed, I tap us up into fifth gear and twist the throttle back. The bike lurches forward, already going over a buck ten, taking us up even higher on the digital speedometer. She clings to me, her wails of fear and excitement rushing from her mouth to my ear, then gone on the wind.

It’s a ride of all rides. With the open air, the speed, the night sky above us, and her wrapped around me. To say I’m not rock hard in my leathers by the time we pull up in front of her apartment would be a lie.

“Baby girl. We’re here.”

I say, rubbing her knees and thighs while she buries her face in my shoulder.

She stays put, her grip on me tightening, her cheek brushing back and forth on my bare skin, leaving wet trails from her eyes. She sniffles and sighs, not moving, not getting off the bike, not letting me go.

“Zeph?”

“Yeah baby?”

“Don’t go.”

She pleads, squeezing my hips with her thighs, grabbing the front of my tank with balled fists.

“I can’t be alone after…after what…”

“Okay.”

I’m stupid. A fucking idiot if I ever did meet one. I should be running far away from her, forgetting her, keeping my distance, disappearing from her eyes forever, but I simply can’t.

Her hand is in mine, and I’m following her into her apartment before I know what the fuck I’m doing. Like a puppy following its new owner, I wait as she unlocks the door then leads us inside. But unlike an innocent puppy, the second she closes us into the quiet privacy, I’m on her with my hands and my mouth, tossing my busted helmet across the room with a loud clatter.