Page 16 of Submit (Two Wheeled Psychos #3)

The smell of asphalt and gasoline is thick in the hot and humid Florida air as I roll the bike out onto the track.

Daniel is already waiting for me, in full gear with his Hayabusa, when I get to the checkered painted line on the blacktop.

The bright blue bike is one of the fastest production bikes for its year, but my newer BMW is faster on time trials.

Today we’ll find out who the better rider is, because it’s not just the machine that calls the shots, but more importantly the man riding it.

“Finally. I thought you were gonna forfeit today.” He calls out to me as he adjusts the tinted visor on his AGV and wipes away any smudges from its smoked finish.

“Fuck no. I just needed to get my dick wet one more time, you know in case I don’t make it back from this.”

“You planning on dropping the bike?”

“No, but who knows if you’ll do something stupid like tap me or cut me off.”

“I would never.” He says in a high-pitched voice, feigning innocence at the idea of him messing with me while we’re going almost two hundred miles per hour.

“Yeah okay, dick.” I laugh, giving him a fist bump, then adjusting my gloves. “God it’s hot out here in all this.”

“You’re the one who insisted on Miami. We could have done like Raleigh or somewhere warm but not a freaking inferno.” He bitches, wiping his hand under the chin strap of his helmet to remove the beads of sweat already forming on him.

Looking down the track the horizon ripples with the mirages created by the heat. It may be uncomfortable, but it’s the perfect weather to let the bikes rip. The blacktop will be soft, and the tires will grip nicely, especially around the corners.

No chicken strips today, baby.

Normally the place would be bustling with people, food truck vendors, and other riders in the paddock.

Trucks with trailers would be lined up with people waiting their turns, but today, it’s quiet.

Just Daniel and I, and Millie on the sidelines watching in her pretty little yellow and white sundress that I’m going to destroy once I beat Daniel.

Having rented out the entire track for the afternoon, I have plenty of time and space to finally beat my best friend and his Busa.

“You ready to eat my dust?” I ask him, tightening the strap on my helmet and running my hands down my all-black leather gear.

“Yeah, you wish. You’ll be swallowing my exhaust by the first turn.”

“I love you man.” I say, grabbing him and pulling him in for a back slapping hug, knowing that this very well could be the last time we speak to each other if anything goes wrong out there on the triangular shaped track.

“I love you too dickhead. And if you die, that makes me CEO and VP.”

“I guess I should try not to die then. The Japanese family wouldn’t be too thrilled doing business without me.”

I’m laughing and enjoying the banter with the man who is as close to me as a brother while I swing my leg over the seat of my RR and fire her up with a turn of the key and a push of my thumb on the ignition switch.

She sounds like a dream, all rumbly and throaty as I crank back on the throttle and rev her up.

The harder I twist back, the louder she screams, until flames spit out the end of her exhaust and she’s hot enough to take the competition with Daniel and his old girl.

With a quick snapping of my head, I close the visor on my helmet and look over to him, signaling to him to make sure his Cardo is on and linked to mine. When he gives me a thumbs up and I hear his voice in my ear we’re ready to go.

I take off like a bat out of hell with him right next to me.

The bike lurches forward as I twist the throttle and let out the clutch more, wanting to jump ahead like the fast bitch she is, and I let her, opening her up more, pulling in front of Daniel and his Busa, listening to him curse me out in my helmet.

I let out a hearty laugh as I take the first turn, leaning into it, pressing my right thigh to the tank and lowering my left knee to the ground. My girl takes it smoothly, and I’m back upright in less than a second, careening towards the next turn with my best friend right on my back tire.

The track is sticky, letting the bike get an amazing grip, and I race faster and faster, shifting up in the straightaway, then letting the bi-directional quick shifter slow me down just enough before each turn without the need for adjusting the throttle.

When I’m out of the corner, the bike rights itself seamlessly and I’m going faster again.

This is what I live for. The adrenaline, the speed, the excitement, and the thrill of being on the edge of death with a piss missile between my thighs and not a care in the world except to not die.

It’s what I’ve worked my ass off for all these years, to have the liberty to do this, on my terms, while I continue to build my wealth in my absence.

We tear around the track not once, not twice, not three times, but countless times, until my hands are sore and the cap on the knee of my race suit is abraded from scraping the ground in each turn.

It’s liberating, every turn I make, every apex I hit feels like freedom.

Every time I hit the ground with my pegs or knee, it feels like I’m one with the bike.

It’s amazing and something you could never understand unless you get out here and do it.

Each turn, and each touch down of my knee brings me closer to completeness, except for the one thing that’s been missing.

But it, or should I say she, is no longer absent.

Every time I pass by the paddock I see her there, a blur of yellow and white that appears and disappears in milliseconds.

I can’t see her face, but I know she’s watching and waiting for me to finish, and I hope that even as just a spectator that her heart is in her throat just like it is for me.

“Hey dickhead, you almost done whooping my ass for the day?” Daniel calls out into the Cardo.

“You’ve had enough huh?” I laugh back at him, slowing the bike down enough that I can lean side to side and showboat a little for him and her.

“I’m tired, hot, and hungry, so I’ll give you this one.”

“Oh, giving it to me huh? I’ve been one length ahead of you this whole time.”

Our fists come together in a brotherly bump as he pulls up next to me, his blue bike so bright compared to my black one, and we dip into the final curve together, our knuckles pressed against each other.

Braking a bike from speeds upwards of a hundred and fifty miles per hour takes time, and as we slow down together, passing the painted checks on the ground, I wave to Millie as I pass her one final time.

I can see her smiling ear to ear now, and when I come to a full stop, I open my arms and face her, inviting her to come out to us.

She hops over the cement barricade that separates the track from the paddock and jogs over, her hair fanning out behind her, her little sandaled feet bringing her as fast as they can.

“That was amazing!” She exclaims, wrapping her arms around my neck, letting me lift her against my leg. “I want to go that fast.”

“One day bunny. But not today. You need gear and practice being my backpack before I’ll ever consider letting you ride like that with me.”

“Party pooper.”

“It’ll really poop on your party if you fall off and die, baby.” I say, yanking off my helmet and shaking my head to keep the sweat from dripping into my eyes.

“Mmmm now that’s sexy.”

“What is?”

“You, all sweaty and hot.”

“Just how I like you too.” I say, pulling her further onto my knee so she straddles it. “Kiss me.”

“Yes, Sir.”