Page 9 of Submit (Two Wheeled Psychos #3)

The garage doors close quietly behind me and the car, but they’re not going to stay down for long.

Oh no, they’re coming back up, just as soon as I pull the cover off the bike and fire her up.

To hell with the snow, slush, ice, salt, and all the other shit the winter has brought.

She’ll clean up nicely when done, but my attitude won’t, not unless I do something to bring my brain back to a normal level of functioning and away from the rage that toils in it.

The noise echoes in the large space and warms a little part of my soul that’s been icy since seeing that pretty little thing on that snake’s lap at Kelly’s and not being able to do a goddamned thing about it.

Even worse was, I couldn’t even drag his ass outside and beat the snot out of him because he had a car waiting at the entrance and slipped into it with her before I could get my hands on him.

Another time. You’ll get him.

“Damn right I will.” I answer my thoughts out loud, revving the bike again, getting her nice and toasty before I take her out into the cold night.

I need the stress relief that my girl brings me, the calm in my chaos, and the way she screams for me when I can’t. She has taken a lot of pain from me already, but tonight I fear I’ll push her to the limits of what even she can take with her perfect German engineering.

My helmet, blacked out with a mirrored visor has seen and heard more than her.

It’s older and is the only thing in this world that has seen and heard all the problems in my life.

I have cried, yelled, and laughed inside the thing more times than I could count, and it’s about to hear more as I slam it down on my head and buckle the strap under my chin before sliding on my leather riding gloves and stomping into my boots.

I should gear up the entire way, in the leathers made to protect my skin from a slide, but I’m too pissed and just need to get out there on the road.

So bearing the cold I open the doors with a click of the switch on the wall, pull my jacket tighter around me, tying the belt nice and snug, then swing my leg over the bike and sit myself down on her vibrating seat.

The frigid December wind blasts my face as I walk the bike down the small decline onto the driveway, then disappears as I slap the visor on my helmet shut and pick my feet up, taking off down the quiet street with an earth-shattering racket and wailing engine.

It’s loud enough that I’m sure it’ll wake up the entire block, but I don’t give a fuck.

The bike pulls towards the curb, the tires trying to grab onto the slush, but I avoid an immediate wreck by the skin of my teeth and straighten her out just in time to launch out of the neighborhood and onto the main drag heading from my little community into New York City and her more openly plowed streets.

The salt on the road kicks up off the rear wheel, pelting my pant legs, but I could care less. Being sandblasted by sodium chloride isn’t anything that’s going to stop me from riding out my anger.

What exactly I’m pissed about is a mystery, or should I say who I’m pissed at.

Is it him, Tyler for his behavior to something so precious?

Is it her, for allowing him to treat her like that?

Or is it myself, for not breaking the rules and stopping him when I should have?

I mean who knows what he’s doing to her right now.

He could be beating her, raping her, using her until she bleeds.

All things that in a willing participant is so fucking sexy.

But she’s not willing. I could smell the fucking fear bleeding out of her pores, and I could hear the tremble of her voice with just those four little words that play over and over in my head.

Yes, yes Sir. Everything.

The sound of her in my mind makes me crank back on the throttle and lurch the bike forward.

To hell with letting out the clutch slowly, I’m not riding for fun, I’m tearing through the streets to quiet the shit inside of me.

I weave in and out of traffic, the bike kicking back and forth on the slick roads like it wants to dump me off.

I won’t let it. I’ve been riding too long to be taken out by a little winter weather.

Hell, I’ve raced the Autobahn in a squall in my younger years.

The frigid wind stabs through my coat, piercing me with its iciness as I careen through the city, blowing around cabs, and splitting lanes at each intersection.

I can feel it deep in my bones, as much as I feel the shit tearing through me from the thoughts racing through my head as fast as my girl takes me down the blacktop.

I’m not even half way to midtown when the urges overtake me.

I can’t NOT do anything, but I need to make sure that I’m doing it for all the right reasons.

I need to see what is happening inside that house.

What is he doing to her? How badly is he destroying the sweet little bunny who can’t hop away from him like the prey she is.

With a hard braking and a slide in the slush on the road, I slow the bike just enough to plant my foot down and turn, banging a u-ey in the middle of the road. Blowing a red light, I take back off towards home and to where I know the weasel lives, just a block away from me.

The ride back seems to take twice as long as it did on my way out. I just want to get there, and breaking every law of the road still has the trip seeming like an eternity.

When I finally arrive outside his place and park the bike along the curb, I look into the front windows, seeing them illuminated by the golden lights from his chandelier that screams “I have money and like to waste it”.

But under the glow, that’s what I’m interested in.

The figure on her knees in the center of his den, with her head bowed and her body swaying from front to back like she’s either exhausted or intoxicated.

Her hands are restrained behind her bare back, her ankles are crossed, and all her limbs tied together with a thick, rough, sisal rope.

She’s naked as the day she was born, except for that damned leather collar, the one that is way to plain for something as stunning as her.

Climbing through the front brush in his yard, I sneak up to the window for a closer view, like a deranged peeping tom, with my eyes fixated on her.

My cock grows in my pants, straining against the zipper while I watch her, alone in the room, trying her best to stay upright.

She’s the perfect picture of submission, even if it is most likely against her will.

With me baby, you’ll want everything I can and will do to you. You’ll see.

I need to get her out of there, and to bring her to safety, with me. A safety that she’ll crave. One that will show her what it’s like to be with a real dominant. One that will teach her how submission can be more pleasureful than what she’s ever seen.

I’ll do it. I just need to figure out how to do it without getting my hands too dirty, even though I will coat them in his blood if I have to.

My fingers squeak on the glass of the window, the cold air making my gloves stick to it as I flex them, wanting to reach through and touch her, to feel her skin, to squeeze her flesh under my warm palms. My breath comes out from under my helmet in puffy clouds of white, and I need to lift the visor to release some of the heat brewing inside.

I can’t hear her, but I can tell she’s been crying.

Her lips tremble as she sways, and her eyes lift up to the ceiling a moment before she falls backwards, her hands and feet being crushed under her until she rolls on her side.

She’s broken in spirit, and the new position of her body threatens to break her limbs too.

Growling, I push myself away from the glass, completely prepared to bust into the house and take her now, but the sound of a door slamming brings my eyes back to the room and the figure stalking up to her with a look of disdain on his face.

“Tyler, you prick, fucking pick her up.” I say quietly, not wanting to bring his attention to me on the other side of the glass.

Just like in the club, if he knows I’m watching, he’ll punish her worse, although I don’t know how much worse it can get, she’s already on the floor crying hard enough that her body wracks with her sobs.

“Get her the fuck up, before she breaks a wrist or ankle.” I mutter under my breath, yanking my helmet off my head, gripping it hard, preparing to use it as my only available weapon if he refuses to help her.

I should feel relief when he finally reaches down and grabs her elbow, yanking her up to her knees, but the look on his face, the one of utter disappointment tells me that she’s going to suffer no matter if he knows he has an audience or not.

“You stupid bitch!” He yells at her, loud enough that I can hear it as if I were in the room.

She screams out a painful cry as the back of his hand connects with her face, whipping her head to the side. If it wasn’t for his hold on her arm, she’d be back down on her side.

“After all I do for you, and it’s him you want.”

“No, no, I promise. There’s nothing.” She cries out, her body lurching, her face twisted in pain and agony.

“Fuck you. I saw the way you looked at him.” He barks at her, shaking her, making her head flop back and forth. “You were only supposed to get his attention, not fucking fall for him.”

“I didn’t. I did what you ordered, nothing else.”

“Do not lie to me! I saw the looks; I saw his jaw ticking. There’s something there.” He yells, pulling her roughly to her feet, making her stumble on her already weak ankles that are still tied together. “What happened the other night? In the alley? Did he touch you?”

“No!” She wails out as he roughly drags her over to a plush sofa on the left side of the room, kicking a coffee table out of his way in the process.

A glass falls from the table and crashes on the floor, but he pays it no mind, throwing her down face first onto the couch, yanking her ass up in the air. His hand connects with her rear, pushing her farther in the seat, making her cry out into the pillows.

My knuckles crack as I squeeze the carbon fiber helmet in my fist. I would love to just swipe it across the side of his head, cracking open his skull, making him bleed out his grey matter and blood all over his polished floors.

I’m twitching inside, waiting for the moment he oversteps, and I get what I need to bust into his home and do what I’m desiring to do.

If she’s in mortal danger, I can get away with it.

Even if his cameras and security system record me breaking, entering, and killing, I could still beat the wrap.

Defense of a woman in danger will always be an easy get out of jail free card.

“Come on, you prick.”

As angry as I am, waiting and watching for him to do something too harsh to her, I’m also fucking aroused, way more than I should be. My cock is hard and throbbing in my pants, pressing at the zipper, wanting to be the one behind that shapely ass as he reddens it with his bare hand.

It’s a conundrum, wanting to bust in there and toss her over my shoulder, rescuing her from his violence, yet at the same time wishing I could be the one delivering the punishment to her, making her cry out for me instead of him.

Maybe because I know that with me she’ll enjoy it and be begging for more, instead of pleading for it to stop.

You’re in over your head here already.

“I know. I know.” I sigh to myself, watching her squirm in the couch, taking all of it like the good little bunny rabbit she is. “But I can’t help it.”

He’s rough with her as he yanks down his black slacks and frees his cock, one much smaller than mine, which makes me chuckle to myself.

Rough, but not actually causing her permanent physical harm, so I stand my ground, not making any mistakes that could tie me up with the cops before I make my real move.

Instead of busting in there, I break open my pants and grab my rock-hard dick like a common pervert, making myself the actual peeping tom I look like to any passersby.

It’s thick and pulsing in my hand as I stroke it in time with the thrusts he pounds into her, taking her like a dog over that seat.

I’m lost in the moment, watching, touching, not paying attention to my surroundings, until the quick flash of red and blue lights illuminates the house and reflects off the window in my face.

“Fuck.”

With a quick yank of my zipper and a slam of my helmet back on my head, I dip between the bushes in the front yard and stealthily return to the bike, firing it up with a thunderous roar as the police car comes to a stop at the curb, and a uniformed officer steps out.

“Stop!” He yells after me, but it’s too late. I’m already in second gear, tearing down the street into the cover of the dark night.