Page 8 of Submit (Two Wheeled Psychos #3)

“I doubt…” I begin to say before looking over, but my words freeze in my throat when a familiar and stunning woman sits down in his lap.

It’s her. The beauty from the alley. The one with the long chocolate hair, and emerald eyes.

The one who’s been digging through my trash and eating what I’ve discarded.

The one who I haven’t been able to forget since the first time I saw her, then watched her flee.

The one I fucking chased down last night with my cock hanging out like a crazed lunatic.

My heart skips in my chest, missing a couple beats to the point it makes me cough and rub at my sternum with the heel of my hand.

She’s even more beautiful in the light, in a ruby red, halter dress crusted with shimmery sequins.

Her hair is in a single thick braid, and her makeup is flawless with blood red lips.

Oh hell no. She can’t be with him. No fucking way.

Her eyes stay downturned, her gaze focused on the top of the bar, looking at nothing.

I can see the brokenness in her, and the fear of the man who sits under her shapely ass.

It makes sense why someone so clean, well dressed, and pretty was digging through my garbage.

He made her. He probably told her to pick mine on purpose.

The idea of him using her as a spy, or a pawn makes the pain in my chest increase a thousand-fold, and even worse when I imagine it’s nothing more than to degrade her while fucking with me.

“We’ve met.” I say without looking at her.

Instead, I stare him down. Boring into his little black eyes with my clear blue ones.

If he sees the desire I have for her, he’s going to abuse her for it.

He’ll beat an imagined confession out of her.

He’ll break her just to get to me, and that I can’t have.

I’m going to take her from him, by will or by force, however I have to.

She’s mine now, all mine, not his. He just doesn’t know it yet.

“You ready to go and play, my dear?” He whispers in her ear loud enough for me to hear, and it makes my skin crawl like it’s infested with insects underneath it.

I watch from the corner of my eye as she stiffens and flinches at his words and touch when he asks her again, rubbing his hands down her bare arms. The pulse in her neck picks up, and I know it’s not wanting or desire, it’s terror.

“You want to go with him, little bunny?” I ask without looking at her, instead keeping my gaze on the liquid in my glass. “You don’t have to, you know.”

She remains speechless, but I can feel the answer radiating from her body that shakes ever so slightly. It’s a resounding no.

“She wants everything her master gives her. Don’t you babygirl?” He hisses in her ear, and I want to reach over and deck him in the stupid fucking face.

When she stays silent, he wraps his hands around her biceps and gives her a squeeze, making her gasp quietly.

“Tyler.” I say his name slowly and low, my single word gravely and threatening, but quiet enough that no one around us can hear except him and her.

“Adrian.” He responds, looking over at me, and sneering silently, curling his upper lip like a fucking twat. “Answer me, my dear.” He says to her, squeezing her harder, his fingertips pressing into her soft skin.

“Yes…yes, Sir. Everything.” She stammers, and her shaky response is even prettier than the sight of her, minus the fear shrouded in it.

She sounds like an angel with soft words that fall from the prettiest lips, and it shoots a visceral need straight to my heart and cock at the same time.

“Good girl.” He says to her, rising from his seat quickly, making her yelp slightly as he lifts her and places her on her feet, before staring at her, and then tossing her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “In case you change your mind.” He says, then swats her ass right in my face.

My knee-jerk response is to fly up off my stool, knocking it backwards, causing a loud clamor that brings the attention of the entire bar onto us. But before I can grab him and strangle the ever living fuck out of him, Max reaches across the bar and gently grabs my arm.

“Mr. Lambert. Adrian.” He says, tugging on my forearm, telling me that I need to calm my shit down.

“Yes. Right, Max. Sorry.” I say to him, shaking his grip from me. “I’m okay.”

“You’re not. Neither am I, but you know the rules.”

“What the fuck does he do to get those women, especially one like her?” I ask Max as he goes back to tending the bar, shaking his white head.

“Damned if I know. But if you’re going to take her, do it outside of these walls.”

“Yeah, I hear ya old man.” I laugh, slapping the bar once with my palm, laying down a hundred-dollar bill for his tip. He did in fact just keep me from getting banned for life from Kelly’s.

I can’t just let them walk away though. I need to make sure that sadistic bastard isn’t doing anything to her that he shouldn’t, especially with how afraid she seemed of him.

I just know he’s hurting her in private.

But here, in the club, if he disobeys the rules, or ignores her safe word, or anything like that then I CAN step in, and step in I will.

I stay a few paces behind them as he carries her back down the center hallway, looking for an empty playroom.

Keeping my fingers crossed behind my back, I hope he picks a room with a viewing window, where other patrons can look in and observe the play time.

That way I really can keep my eyes on her and watch him like a freaking hawk.

She struggles in his grasp, until he sets her down, and practically drags her behind him.

At one point the heel of her stiletto catches on the burgundy rug making her trip up, and he just keeps pulling on her little wrist. I want to reach out and just swoop her up, carrying her out of here, but I fucking can’t, and it’s really pissing me off. He doesn’t deserve her and never will.

I will kill you for her if I have to. Don’t think I won’t.

I’m no angel. I’ve done things in my life to get where I am, things that I can never speak of.

Murder, that’s one. I’ve done it, but only when necessary.

I have no problem ending the existence of a shit stain of a man.

I just haven’t needed to do it often. I’ll definitely break out my killer with him if he pushes it that far.

I’ve never been caught, and I never will.

I’m too smart for that. So he’d better mind his fucking manners with her.

I sigh a little breath of relief when they finally find a vacant room, and yes, it has a window. He pulls her in and slams the door shut, grabbing her and shoving his weasel tongue down her throat before her feet even stop moving.

He kisses her like he’s never kissed anyone before, messy and wet, drooling down her fucking chin like an animal, and she just stands there, her wrists in his calloused hands and takes it like the good slave she is, or at least should be, for me.

Her and the playroom are too pretty for him.

She shines like a gem under the mellow lighting, her dress glimmering with all its shiny sequins, casting red flickers on the cream walls and dark wood flooring under the shaggy sheepskin rugs.

I thank fuck that the room is a lovers’ room, with a large king bed dressed in fancy linens, and not a torture room.

To have a sawhorse and whips at his disposal would be detrimental for her.

The gaze he throws at me through the window tells me I’m right. And even in this subdued space, he’s going to do something foul to her, and not in a fun way, just because I’m watching.

Fucking prick.

She’s like a ragdoll in his arms, not fighting, not pushing back, yet also not submitting and dropping to her knees like a good submissive.

She’s either untrained or just that scared of him.

Either way it’s not good, and it makes the anger boil inside me as I lean my forehead against the glass watching every touch, kiss, and grope closely.

My breath fogs up the glass, then disappears as I practically pant in rage watching him grope her, but when he grabs the front of her dress and rips the material like a barbarian, my breathing stops and my insides flip.

Uncalled for. You just signed your death certificate.

It’s not one of those “I can’t wait to get you naked” things the way he tears her beautiful dress. No, it’s the “I’m an asshole and want to ruin everything nice about you” thing. I’m going to ruin him.

The room seems to stand still as I lean on the window, my forehead pressing the pane hard enough to crack it, if it weren’t bulletproof for safety.

It flexes with the force though and I push even harder, wanting it to break so I can climb in through the open hole in the wall, drag him out by his greasy hair, and beat the fuck out of him.

“Easy there killer.” Max says, placing his aged hand on my shoulder, gripping me loosely. “I know what you’re thinking, and that’s why I’m here. To keep you from doing something stupid.”

“You should be behind the bar.” I grumble at him but allow him to keep his hold on me.

“Nah. I’m where I’m needed the most right now.”

“Thanks, old man.”

“Hey, you’re getting up there too ya know. I mean you have a ways to go before you reach my stage of ripeness, but you ain’t no baby anymore.”

“Yeah.” I sigh, rolling my head back and forth, pressing the glass harder, feeling it shift but not break.

He stands with me and watches the same scene unfold as I do.

We stay stoic as Tyler uses her and berates her, slapping her and hitting her, until she cries real tears.

It’s not a show from her. It’s real pain and fear, but for him, it’s a fucking display of what he assumes is his “power”.

Instead it’s just another nail in his coffin when I get him out of these four walls.

“You’re gonna end him, aren’t you?” Max asks, finally taking his grip from my shoulder as we turn away from the scene.

“You know I can’t answer that.”

“Do me a favor?”

“Yeah old man?”

“Make it from me too.”

With a pat to his chest in a silent agreement, I drop my head and stare at the floor for a moment before walking away.

My night is ruined, and there will be no play for me. Only thoughts of revenge and pain.

Fuck, I need my bike.