Broken Crescent (Devil's Sons Motorcycle Club Book 2) (9 page)

“Afia,” Sam moaned against her ear.

She gasped his name in response, squeezing him to her, and Sam let go.

CHAPTER 10

He woke up with Afia in his arms, her weight easy, her lithe body nubile. The early morning, late summer sun slanted through the blinds in shards of honey light that illuminated the bedroom and fell across her face, turning her skin a pale brown against his tanned shoulder.  The contrast of their skin tones was less stark in such a light.  Her closed eyes, heavy-lidded and slanted upwards at the corner with exotic beauty, and her soft, full lips were pressed against the roundness of his arm. Without her hijab in place, many of the differences between them disappeared.

They were an illusion, he thought. Sam shifted under the comforter and reveled in the texture of the high thread count sheets. It was Sunday morning. As a juvenile, one of the correctional facilities he had spent time in touted religion as a powerful motivational tool to get residents on track to a more positive life. He had spent a number of Sundays sitting in the facility’s Baptist church, listening to a youth pastor preach about forgiveness, love, and redemption.

Sam had never taken to religion in any more than a philosophical sense. His childhood had been too unstable for his mother, raising a child alone, to bother with going to service once a week or Bible study or even teaching him how to say Grace. Charlotte Elison had worked two part-time jobs and juggled five or six men, trying to keep a roof over her son’s head.

Even in his adulthood, Sam had never pursued any type of structured spiritual awakening experience. He believed in a Higher Power, but not in a dictatorial God waiting to condemn the unwary to hell. He didn’t have room to find sin in every good time. He felt God was Love, and right and wrong were subjective, but a soul knew the difference, if it listened…which brought him back to his current state.

Afia’s religious upbringing no longer served to create a boundary between them. She was showing him and telling him in loving ways that she was comfortable, at ease in their relationship, and he was sure she had found some way to reconcile her spiritual beliefs with her love for him. For the first time in his life, when Sam thought about his tomorrows, someone else was in the picture. It would be damn near impossible to re-envision his life without her. So, if Afia could make the leaps of faith necessary to be with him, then the only thing standing between them was her family.

Sam wanted no more boundaries.

She stirred, as if his deep thoughts had roused her. Her silky hair slid across his skin as she gazed up at him with a sleepy smile. “Good morning,” she whispered.

“Good morning, beloved,” he answered back. “Did you sleep well?”

“Like a dream.”

“Perfect, because you needed all that rest for what I have in mind for today. I want to take you out to meet my motorcycle club and show you some of what we do. It’s a small race amongst friends, but it’ll give you a taste of what my lifestyle is like.”

She sat up in the bed, her hair falling over her shoulder. Her naked skin glowed. Sam felt a clutch of desire, but tempered it, smiling and sitting up to face her. He kissed her lips tenderly. “That sounds exciting,” Afia murmured against his mouth. “Are you racing?”

“I am. Afia, I need you to get a clear understanding of every aspect of my life. That includes my work world and my bike world and my world with you. So far, you’ve only seen the fringes. I’m giving you the opportunity to decide if you can be with a man like me…permanently.” Sam looked down, the corners of his lips upturned slightly. He knew he sounded vague, but he equally knew she could read between the lines. What he intended to show her was what she would be committing to—if she committed to him. Because, Sam desperately wanted Afia to commit.

Afia crawled out of bed, dragging the sheet with her to cover her nudity. “Well, then, I guess I better get ready for this momentous event.” She winked and sauntered out of his bedroom and into the guestroom to get dressed. Sam stretched and got up to get ready, too. She hadn’t declined his invitation. That was a damned good sign in his book.

***

“You’ve seen them all before, but I don’t think you’ve ever properly met them. Afia, this is my close friend, Quentin Pipit. We actually grew up together.”

She stepped forward shyly and shook Quentin’s proffered hand. It was something she never would’ve done in the past, but she knew Sam had no qualms about her making contact with his friends. It was okay to shake his hand.  Q smiled welcomingly and nudged Sam in the ribs. “I see why you’ve been keeping us from her. She’s a treasure. Nice to meet you, Afia.”

Afia, dressed in flowing robes of dark brown and gray that looked completely natural against the desert backdrop, felt immediately at ease by the welcome. They had taken Sam’s bike out on Lucy’s Long Shot, a place Sam had taken her several times before. It was where she had learned how to handle his motorcycle. Only, this time, the rest of the gang was waiting for them when they got there. At first, she had been nervous that his friends wouldn’t like her. She could see now she had worried needlessly.

She liked Quentin immediately. “Thank you,” she murmured modestly, dropping her gaze respectfully.

Sam put his arm around her waist and introduced her to Brick, who pumped her hand enthusiastically. With Southern charm, he commented, “Pretty as a magnolia. Sweet Lord, Sam, you better be glad you got to her first.”

“Cut it out, old boy,” Sam grinned. “This is Tokyo. He’s the baby of the family.”

Tokyo grinned and waved. His curly black hair fanned out around his face in the breeze. His diamond-shaped eyes looked her over appreciatively. “I hear you’re getting your master’s in physics. You’ve gotta be, like, a genius or something.”

She smiled. “I’m very studious, you could say. It’s hard work, but I hope rewarding eventually.”

“I’m in information tech, about to graduate. This is my little brother, Philip. We call him Manga for kicks.”

Manga stepped forward and bumped fists with Afia. She giggled. “Nice to meet you, Manga. You must be into graphic novels.”

“All things Japanese actually,” the eighteen year-old responded. He held up his arms and displayed an anime themed t-shirt. “Me and Tokyo got the best of two worlds, half black and half Asian.”

“What’s it like? Do you get to explore both cultures equally?” she asked, curiously. Sam chuckled. It was possible someday they’d have children who could say the same. It was a mind-blowing thought he hadn’t yet considered.

“Put it like this. I grew up on Jimi Hendrix and Geinokai,” he answered, grinning.

“And, last, but certainly not least, the lovely Kaleidoscope.”

Kalei stepped forward and shook her hand, giving Afia the once over. Her serious face broke into a warm smile. “She’ll do, I guess,” Kalei said cheekily. 

Sam rolled his eyes, knowing Kaleidoscope had really just given her approval. Everyone had been skeptical about Afia. He could tell his gang had taken to her, now that they had finally met her. “Alright, Sons, let’s get this shindig going. Races are one on one. Winner against winner until the last man standing takes the pot. The pot is set at a thousand. You guys ready to choke on my blowout?”

The day was a laidback kind of Sunday by the bikers’ standards. They raced and did daring tricks, stoppies and wheelies, jumps and slides that left Afia breathless with awe. Her heart hammered in her chest each time a near collision or flip seemed eminent, but somehow all of The Devil’s Sons kept their parts intact, and by late afternoon when the desert sun was at its worst, they called it a day and took her out to the hideout.

It was a trailer tucked at the base of a plateau, easy to miss, a beige speck against a sable desert.  When all five bikes pulled up to it, Afia hopped off excitedly. She felt a part of the gang.

“Is this what it’s always like?” she murmured to Sam.

He unlocked the door and the crew filed inside, taking up seats and digging through the fridge for beers and food. Brick got a camp meal going on the gas stove. Kalei popped on the television. “I’ll be out back, guys,” Sam told them, pulling Afia with him through the back door.

They took a seat on the back steps, gazing up at the rocky cliff that loomed overhead. The shadow of the plateau fell upon the trailer, giving some respite from the blistering heat. He swiped sweat from his brow, and Afia let down her hair coverings, hoping for a breeze. “Most times,” he finally answered her. “Sometimes there’s violence. Fights, rivalries, accidents. It’s dangerous. I admit I showed you the PG version. Some of these biker clubs…they’re more like thugs on wheels. There are drug dealers, human traffickers, extortionists. Mostly, the Devil’s Sons stay on the right side of the law though.”

“You’re worried I’m going to tell you I don’t like you doing this.”

He studied her. “Maybe you should.”

“I’m not going to run your life, Sam. It seems you get a lot of pleasure out of this. Why would I tell you to let it go?”

Her simple statement sent a thrill through him, but Sam was careful not to get his hopes up too high. “I could die out on that bike. Or worse…live to suffer with lifelong injuries. Are you prepared for that?”

“Just promise me you’ll do your best not to,” she smiled. “I love you. All that you bring to the table. I met you in a biker bar. I accept all of you. When you’re ready to walk away, I’ll be here for you, and as long as you feel the need for speed, I’m here for you. Just try to be careful, okay?”

He chuckled, dropping his hand on her knee. “I’m gonna marry you one day.” He laughed again, staring out at the view. “Watch and see.”

CHAPTER 11

Afia had been summoned. Her parents rarely called her through the week, so when her cellphone rang the next Tuesday evening, she knew something had to be gravely wrong. Afia answered with trepidation, and her father’s wavering voice sounded alarmed. “Afia, have you seen your brother?”

“Rayan? No, I haven’t seen him.” Her heart raced, and she sat up in bed, looking at the time. It was almost nine on a Tuesday night.  It wasn’t that unusual for her older brother to be out at that hour. “He’s probably just out with his friends, Baba. Is something wrong?”

Rashad sighed, turning to Fatima and shaking his head regretfully. “She hasn’t seen him.”

“Tell her to come home. I need to touch my children. I need to know everything is alright,” Fatima sobbed. She had a feeling. There was a churning in her gut, and her heart fluttered in her chest. Rayan had been missing since Sunday night. She hadn’t heard from him in three days.

Rashad pressed the phone to his ear and sighed wearily. “Afia, we need you to come.”

“Baba, what’s happened?” Afia asked, getting nervous. Had Rayan made some snide comment about her that had put her parents on edge? She needed to know what was going on. It wasn’t like them to call in the middle of the night, much less request her presence.

“I’ll explain when you get here. Just come.” Rashad hung up the phone. He had a heavy weight on his shoulders, being the head of household where his children respected their parents less and less. Rayan was up to no good. He was sure of it. Rashad was keeping his suspicions to himself until he had some proof though. No sense in stressing Fatima, with her fragile health. Neither of the children were aware of how serious their mother’s heart condition had gotten.

“Lie down, Fatima. Stop pacing. Walking a hole into the carpet won’t bring him home any sooner.”

“It’s been three days, Rashad. You tell me don’t worry. Don’t worry, Fatima! How can I not? My only son!” She dashed tears from her eyes, bowing her head and taking a seat on the side of the bed as her husband had instructed. “I am sorry, my love. I mean you no disrespect.”

Rashad laboriously kneeled his heavy weight down on the floor beside her and looked up into his wife’s still quite lovely face. In all their years of marriage, he had been a generous husband, understanding and kind. But, in this, he needed to stand firm. “I will not have you waste yourself with worry. You must rest. The boy is no longer a boy. Although he acts like an insolent child, he’s a grown man. What he does with his life is up to him now.”

“And, Afia?” she lamented. “There is something up with our daughter, Rashad. A mother knows.”

Across town, Afia left a note on the kitchen counter telling Bionca where she was going and slipped out the door to run to the elevators. She willed it to move faster, a sense of urgency in her step as the doors finally eased open and let her out into the lobby. Afia jogged through the doors and down the sidewalk to her car, unlocking the doors and climbing into the driver’s seat with a jangle of her keys and breathless sigh.

She drove quickly to her parents’ house. When she entered the place that had been her home prior to getting her apartment with Bionca once she started graduate school, she sensed the change in the atmosphere of the house. It wasn’t something that could be touched or directly pinpointed, but there was a feeling in the still, empty living room that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand at attention. Something was wrong.

She closed and locked the front door behind her. She strolled through the archway into the hall. “Baba?” she called uncertainly.

Rashad stepped out of his bedroom with a relieved expression. “She’s here, Fatima. Come, Afia. Your mother is resting. She wants to see you.”

At the expression on his face, the sad, weary eyes and tense frown lines at the corner of his mouth, Afia threw down her purse and rushed up the hall to her parents’ bedroom, a room of the house she seldom had cause to enter. She saw her mother lying in bed, looking frail and worn, and her heart leapt in her throat. “Maman!” she said in alarm. “What’s happened to you?”

“Shush, I’m fine,” Fatima smiled, easing up on her elbows and sitting up in the bed. “Your brother has been missing since the weekend. I’m worried sick, but I’m fine.” Fatima waved Rashad out of the room, and he left, albeit reluctantly. She had things to discuss with her daughter. She patted the bed, and Afia tentatively stepped deeper inside.

The walls were painted a deep burgundy, and authentic Persian rugs covered the floor in various patterns and rich hues; each rug overlapped the other haphazardly. Upon the rugs rested a hand-carved, skillfully built four-poster bed with delicately painted panels stenciled with a “Tree of Life” motif. Taupe bedding patterned with dark red roses covered the mattress. She stepped past an intricately designed dresser with mother of pearl inlay topped with ceramics and a vase of silk flowers. A wand of incense burned aromatically from a Qajar incense burner filigreed with peacocks and parrots.

Afia sat on the edge of the plush, comfortable mattress and put her hand on Fatima’s slippered feet. It was time she told her mother what she knew of Rayan’s recent descent into debauchery.  The thought of him missing for several days sent fear through her. He could be hurt. There was no telling what had happened to him, roaming drunkenly around the city at nights.

“Maman, I didn’t want to tell you this because I didn’t want you to get upset…Rayan has been drinking again, only it’s much worse than before. I’ve seen him around town, drunk and picking fights.” She held up her hands as Fatima sat forward, shocked by what she was hearing. “Now, don’t let your imagination get away with you. He’s probably just spent the last few days with his friends. I’ll call around and see if I can locate him for you, but I needed to tell you in confidence about his alcoholism. I don’t know what else to do. Perhaps with your help we can convince him to go to the rehab center I told him about.”

“Afia,” Fatima said her name sharply. “What places have you been frequenting that you might stumble into your brother in such a state anyway? It’s true, isn’t it? You’ve been living like the loose women you go to school with.”

“What?” Afia was taken aback. “No, Maman, I’m trying to tell you—“

“You will not speak of this to your father, you understand me? You speak ill of your brother to take the scrutiny off of yourself. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you spend less and less time here at home with us. If I find out you have been living in
ithm
…” She tapered off the threat. Her heart couldn’t handle the strain. Fatima slumped back tiredly. “Leave me,” she said weakly. “Let me rest.”

Afia rose to her feet, feeling like she had been pummeled by her mother’s words. She had come seeking to unburden her conscience and get help for Rayan, but her Maman had turned the admission against her.  She fled the bedroom, fighting sobs. Rashad was in the living room trying to read without his glasses. He looked up when she entered. “Afia? What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing. It’s nothing, Baba.”  She found a shaky smile and pasted it on her face, sniffling discreetly and ducking into the kitchen away from his close watch. Afia sat at the kitchen table. She took her cellphone from her pocket to call around and locate her brother. She didn’t know many of his friends, but she decided she should eliminate the jails and hospitals. It was a starting point. With a sigh, she waited patiently for the hospital receptionist to go through the patient list.

“Sorry, ma’am, we don’t have anyone by that name here.”

“Thank you,” Afia replied. Hanging up, she dialed another medical center and got the same response. Fingers shaking, she dialed the police department. Afia had to go through several channels to get to the person she needed to speak with about recent arrests. She struggled to explain that her brother was missing and had a drinking problem. “His name is Rayan Amini. Do you have…record of him coming in?”

“You’re in luck. We got him down here.” The woman on the other end chuckled in a raspy voice. “I don’t even have to look him up. He’s made quite a name for himself, spoutin’ off about his wealthy daddy and the shit we’ve gotten ourselves into by arresting him.”

Afia squeezed her eyes shut, embarrassed. “Can you tell me why he was arrested?”

“You said you’re his sister? Public drunkenness and disorderly conduct. He would’ve been out by Monday if he hadn’t earned himself another charge, assaulting an officer. Now, he’s gotta post bail to get out.”

Afia had no idea about anything dealing with the legal system. She had never gotten into that kind of trouble and didn’t know anyone who had. As she hung up the phone, she wracked her brain for solutions to the problem. She could tell her Baba, but it would only make him angry to know that Rayan had acted so immaturely, and 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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