Page 21 of Submit (Two Wheeled Psychos #3)

“I can explain.” Millie cries out in a panic, reaching for me and her phone that I’m crushing in a death grip in my fist.

“I don’t want to hear it.” I yell at her, getting the attention of the officers milling around.

I can feel the heat in my face, and the ire raging through me at the messages on her screen.

The lines from Tyler about keeping me happy and distracted, and her response of I will baby, don’t you worry.

It’s enough to break the little bit of trust I have inside me.

My feelings were right. My gut never lies.

She needed the phone to communicate with him, and I fucking bought it for her.

Asking her why won’t do me any good, and I don’t think I even want to know the answer anyways.

I just want peace. It’s all I ever wanted.

To do my thing, to build my life, to do it all for me.

It’s why I think I didn’t want or need a girlfriend all these years, and now that I’ve opened myself up to a woman, I’ve been slapped in the face with the answer to why.

“Adrian, please.” She begs me, stepping closer to me, her hand out, still wanting her phone back.

She’s not upset at my reaction, she’s afraid. It’s not of me though, at least not as if she worries I’ll haul off and deck her, which she deserves. She knows I’m not like that. But she’s afraid of what I’ll do to Tyler, and that makes me sick.

“Fuck you.” I curse at her, my hurt and pain coming out in anger. “Go back to him. I don’t want you anymore.”

I should throw the phone down and crush it with my foot, but I don’t.

I throw it at her, making her try to catch it, her hands fumbling it and dropping it on the ground.

Watching her try to grab it, to save it breaks me even more.

She cares more about that stupid device and the evidence on it than me.

“Adrian, listen, please.” She says, picking it up and holding it to her chest. “I can explain.”

“Go. Leave. Go back to him and your chains.” I say, turning my back to her, staring at the officers that watch me like a hawk for what I’ll do.

“I don’t want to.” She cries out, and I can hear her footsteps in the snow coming closer to me.

“If you touch me, so help me God, I can’t be held accountable for what I do. Go Millie.” I say, hanging my head down, closing my eyes, and taking a deep breath in, trying to calm the rage swirling in me. “The chains weren’t real were they? It was all an act.”

“Just let me…”

“No! I don’t care why you did it. You did, and that’s all that matters. Now go!” I scream, keeping my eyes closed and taking a step forward away from her.

The night falls silent as I stand in the cold, my head dropped, my shoulders slouched, and my breathing ragged.

It’s so quiet you could hear a bird’s wings flapping above, and when her little voice wafts past my ears with a simple “I’m sorry” I storm off into my garage, leaving her there to wallow in what she did. If she won’t leave, I will.

Please be drivable.

My mood worsens when I look at my Porsche, with its broken windshield, its smashed in headlights, and the red paint splashed all over its usually shiny black surface.

Her body is mostly intact, and I pray to God above that she starts up.

I need her to. I need to leave here, to leave the woman standing in my driveway still watching me as I pull open the driver’s door and flop myself into the seat.

It takes a few cranks of the key to get her to fire up but when she does, I close my eyes and slam my head back on the headrest of the seat in relief.

Revving her, I let the sound of her engine calm me just enough that I have the sense of mind to hit the remote for the garage door before shifting her into first gear and stomping on the gas pedal.

Her rear tires spin on the cement floor before they grab ahold and launch me forward, smacking the top of her roof on the door that is still rolling up.

It’s a bad screeching sound of metal car on metal door edge, but she already needs to be fully repaired, what’s a few more dings and scratches, as long as she gets me the fuck out of here as fast as she can.

Sliding on the snow outside, I practically drift out of the driveway, the ass end of the car trying to go before the front, and I fight the steering wheel after I allow her to go into the slide. I finally even her out when the rear tires hit the plowed street and get traction.

The neighborhood disappears quickly, and I leave it behind, along with the police, and Millie. I don’t know where I’m driving to, I just need to go far far away. I need to run away from the hurt that’s twisting in me causing anger and rage that I can’t swallow down.

My fists hit the steering wheel as I punch it over and over again while going down the hill, threatening to put me back into a slide. I don’t care, as long as I keep going. I have to keep going. If I stop I’m going to go back and say or do something I’m going to regret.

“Fuck her!” I scream into the car. “Fuck her and him!”

I’m breaking inside, scorned and damaged by the only woman I’ve obsessed over, and maybe, just maybe have fallen in love with. And it was all based on a fucking lie.

“I’m going to come for you Tyler. Just you wait and see.” I seethe, racing through the suburban streets, heading towards the city. “You’re fucking dead.”

I slam my foot on the clutch and shift the gears up, going faster and faster through the city streets. Cars honk at me, taxis threaten to push me out of my lane, but I don’t care. I’m pushing the car to its limits, just like my patience and love has been.

I’m the smartest person I know in business, building massive wealth and power in not so many years. I’m young for all I’ve done and accumulated, but in matters of the heart, I’m a fucking idiot.

“Stupid, stupid man.” I yell, squeezing the shifter in my right hand and the wheel in my left.

I can feel the leather knob on the gear shifter squishing in my grip, the hard center ready to crack and burst open with how hard I grip it. My knuckles are white, and the ink on my hands looks even darker against the paled flesh.

“Fuck!” I scream, and then to my surprise, a drop of moisture rolls down my cheek.

I don’t cry. I haven’t cried since I was a small child. I scream, yell, fight, everything else except cry. The only one who has ever made me shed tears was my mother, and it wasn’t because of her, it was for her.

“Women. Fucking women.” I say, my voice turning from something thunderous to weak as the pain of betrayal overtakes the anger ripping through me.

I’m spiraling, like my emotions are the core of a tornado, twisting up and spinning down, making a vortex of misery.

The rage and the sadness are fighting each other, and the tears flow down my face as I drive faster, redlining the RPMs on the car before I shift, punching the speedometer to the end of its gauge, with the little indicator needle shaking at the end of its space.

The scenery flying by is just a blur of colors streaked over the blackness of the night.

Lights are trails, and objects are blobs that smear in my vision like wiping your hand across a fresh painting.

I can’t see anything clearly through the droplets that fill my eyes then fall in little streams that keep getting bigger.

My shirt is wet, and sticking to me, pissing me off, but I can’t stop the flow of tears, it’s getting worse.

I’m breaking inside. I’m shattering over a woman I barely know.

In fact I don’t know her at all. Everything could have been lies.

The stories of her childhood, the things her and her sister did when they were kids.

Her family, and the things she’s done, they could all be stories made up to make me fall for her. And I did. I fell for it all.

“Motherfucker!” I sob, hastily wiping at my face, trying to clear my sight so I can see where I’m going, but it just gets worse.

My phone screeches in my pocket and I ignore it.

I know it’s her, ready to spew more lies at me.

I don’t want to talk to her, to hear her lame ass excuses.

I don’t want to hear fake words of how much she likes me or wants me.

I sure as shit can’t handle it right now if she calls me Sir or Daddy.

Those words are reserved for a woman who respects me.

I’m barely aware as I speed through the tunnels out of the city, or cross the bridge into New Jersey. I just keep going, faster than the car should be going, weaving in and out of traffic as if I were on the bike.

City streets and highways turn into country roads when I leave Jersey and pass the blue “Welcome To Pennsylvania” sign and take the first exit. I have no idea where I’m going still, I’m just letting the car take me where she wants to.

The brightness of the street lamps dies and the utter blackness of the night envelopes the car as I race in the dark.

With no working headlights, there’s nothing illuminating the road in front of me, and I can’t see anything or even which way the road turns.

I just follow my instincts without slowing down.

My phone rings again, and I growl as I reach in my pocket, grabbing it and pulling it out.

The screen is a bright blur of the home screen image of her at the restaurant, her lips wrapped around the forkful of cake.

It makes me sick to look at it, and I chuck the phone onto the passenger seat, ignoring the call once again.

“No way. Fuck off, you bitch.” I say to the device as it slides across the leather seat then falls to the footwell when I take a turn way too sharp to avoid a guardrail on the right.

Squeezing the steering wheel hard enough to break it I take another set of curves, pushing the Porsche to its absolute limits, the back tires kick out and I careen around a corner way too fast in a sideways slide.

The phone is ringing again, lighting up the floor, tearing me apart with its shrill tones.

“Goddamnit!” I yell, banging on the wheel, taking my eyes off the dark road, bending down to grab the fucking thing to make it stop.

I don’t see the deer in the road until it’s too late. With no time to brake or steer out of the imminent crash, I lift my arms and cover my face, screaming as the front of the car makes impact.