Broken Crescent (Devil's Sons Motorcycle Club Book 2) by Kathryn Thomas Page B
Authors: Kathryn Thomas
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her mother had warned her not to let her father know about Rayan’s drinking. She bit her lip, ready to give up.
Then, it occurred to her that Sam had a checkered past. He had been in and out of correctional facilities in his younger days. Maybe, just maybe, he could tell her what to do. She reached for her phone again, stealthily dialing his number. Afia kept her eyes on the kitchen entrance and prayed neither of her parents decided to make an appearance. As the line connected and Sam’s sultry, sleepy baritone spoke from the other end, she felt a thin tendril of hope. “Sam…I need your help.”
Read on for an excerpt from the thrilling finale
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CHAPTER 1
Afia sat at the kitchen table, staring at the cellphone after hanging up with Sam. She was flooded with contradictory emotions—relief that he had somehow managed to get Rayan out of jail, anger that he’d had to do it, embarrassment at the situation, and love for the man who would do anything for her. Most of all, she felt love, and she was finding it harder and harder to understand why it was that she wasn’t supposed to be with him.
Her eyebrows lifted as she sighed and gave up pondering the questions that had been plaguing her from the moment she realized she was falling for Sam Ellison. Earlier in the night she had brought Rayan’s drinking problem to her mother’s attention, and Maman had turned on her, accusing Afia of frequenting the wrong sorts of establishments if she was running into Rayan drunk. Fatima made it clear she thought Afia was the one up to no good. All Afia had been trying to do was get help for her brother. Yet, Fatima had rebuked her and forbade her from telling Rashad.
Now, she wondered if she should brave her mother’s wrath and go back to the bedroom to tell the resting matron of the household that Rayan was on his way home. “Better not,” Afia mumbled to herself. Chances were, Rayan would stop at a bar or liquor store before coming home.
She put her elbows on the table and covered her face with her hands. She wondered if, while she had been struggling with the unfairness of falling in love with a man she wasn’t allowed to have, she had truly neglected her brother. Bionca, her roommate and best friend, had suggested Afia get Rayan into rehab again, but Rayan had resisted. So, Afia had used the knowledge of his drinking as leverage to keep Rayan from telling her parents that she was seeing Sam.
At the rate her brother was going, his alcoholism was becoming more than just an annoyance. He was in trouble, and Afia knew it. “I should’ve worked harder to convince him to go,” she murmured to herself. She was more determined now to get her brother treated than she had been before, with or without her parents’ help or blessing. She owed it to her sibling to be there for him in his time of need.
Afia looked up at the sound of footsteps in the hall. Her eyes flew to the entrance to the kitchen where her mother steadied herself with a hand to the doorjamb, looking wan and pale. “Maman,” she whispered in concern. The last Afia had seen her an hour prior, Fatima had been visibly sickened by the knowledge Rayan was drinking again and the suspicion her daughter was leading a secular lifestyle at graduate school. Afia half-rose from the kitchen table, but Fatima gestured for her to sit. “I thought you were sleeping.”
Fatima exhaled wearily as she sat down across from Afia. She reached for her daughter’s hands with a sad smile. “I was wrong to berate you for telling me about Rayan,” Fatima murmured.
Afia looked down, apologies rare coming from her mother. “I understood you were worried and concerned, Maman.”
Fatima nodded, rubbing Afia’s slender, soft hands with her own work-roughened fingers. She was a wife, after all, and a mother. She had callouses from sweeping, mopping, wiping tears, wringing her hands, pacing the floor, and praying for her
Then, it occurred to her that Sam had a checkered past. He had been in and out of correctional facilities in his younger days. Maybe, just maybe, he could tell her what to do. She reached for her phone again, stealthily dialing his number. Afia kept her eyes on the kitchen entrance and prayed neither of her parents decided to make an appearance. As the line connected and Sam’s sultry, sleepy baritone spoke from the other end, she felt a thin tendril of hope. “Sam…I need your help.”
Read on for an excerpt from the thrilling finale
Available Now!
CHAPTER 1
Afia sat at the kitchen table, staring at the cellphone after hanging up with Sam. She was flooded with contradictory emotions—relief that he had somehow managed to get Rayan out of jail, anger that he’d had to do it, embarrassment at the situation, and love for the man who would do anything for her. Most of all, she felt love, and she was finding it harder and harder to understand why it was that she wasn’t supposed to be with him.
Her eyebrows lifted as she sighed and gave up pondering the questions that had been plaguing her from the moment she realized she was falling for Sam Ellison. Earlier in the night she had brought Rayan’s drinking problem to her mother’s attention, and Maman had turned on her, accusing Afia of frequenting the wrong sorts of establishments if she was running into Rayan drunk. Fatima made it clear she thought Afia was the one up to no good. All Afia had been trying to do was get help for her brother. Yet, Fatima had rebuked her and forbade her from telling Rashad.
Now, she wondered if she should brave her mother’s wrath and go back to the bedroom to tell the resting matron of the household that Rayan was on his way home. “Better not,” Afia mumbled to herself. Chances were, Rayan would stop at a bar or liquor store before coming home.
She put her elbows on the table and covered her face with her hands. She wondered if, while she had been struggling with the unfairness of falling in love with a man she wasn’t allowed to have, she had truly neglected her brother. Bionca, her roommate and best friend, had suggested Afia get Rayan into rehab again, but Rayan had resisted. So, Afia had used the knowledge of his drinking as leverage to keep Rayan from telling her parents that she was seeing Sam.
At the rate her brother was going, his alcoholism was becoming more than just an annoyance. He was in trouble, and Afia knew it. “I should’ve worked harder to convince him to go,” she murmured to herself. She was more determined now to get her brother treated than she had been before, with or without her parents’ help or blessing. She owed it to her sibling to be there for him in his time of need.
Afia looked up at the sound of footsteps in the hall. Her eyes flew to the entrance to the kitchen where her mother steadied herself with a hand to the doorjamb, looking wan and pale. “Maman,” she whispered in concern. The last Afia had seen her an hour prior, Fatima had been visibly sickened by the knowledge Rayan was drinking again and the suspicion her daughter was leading a secular lifestyle at graduate school. Afia half-rose from the kitchen table, but Fatima gestured for her to sit. “I thought you were sleeping.”
Fatima exhaled wearily as she sat down across from Afia. She reached for her daughter’s hands with a sad smile. “I was wrong to berate you for telling me about Rayan,” Fatima murmured.
Afia looked down, apologies rare coming from her mother. “I understood you were worried and concerned, Maman.”
Fatima nodded, rubbing Afia’s slender, soft hands with her own work-roughened fingers. She was a wife, after all, and a mother. She had callouses from sweeping, mopping, wiping tears, wringing her hands, pacing the floor, and praying for her
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