Forbidden (Devil's Sons Motorcycle Club Book 1) (6 page)

She frowned and took his keys to the door to let him in, running back out to the car to close and lock the doors and set the alarm. She made sure he was at least stretched out on his couch before dropping the keys on the coffee table and tiptoeing out. Hopefully, at some point, he would come to his senses enough to slide the deadbolt.

Afia skipped down Rayan's front steps and moved to the side of the sidewalk to hail a taxi, realizing for the first time how late it was and how deserted the streets were. Her amber eyes darted from left to right. Not a taxi visible. She saw a suspicious looking character walk by on the other side of the street, and she clung to her purse. She waved her hand again. A taxi passed, but it kept going.

"This is ridiculous," Afia muttered. She ran back up the stairs and let herself into Rayan's house. She thought about calling her parents, but she didn't want to make them leave the party. She just didn't trust lingering on the side of the road, waiting for a cab on the dark, questionable street. Instead, she pulled out her phone, and her thumb hovered over a number she had shied away from calling.

Feeling like she had few other options, (although she technically could've called Bionca, who was likely lounging around their apartment without much to do), Afia impulsively hit the call button for Sam. She stood with her back against Rayan's front door, her eyes never leaving her sleeping brother's face. When Sam answered, she kept her voice hushed.

"Sam?" she whispered.

"Hey, you." He sounded pleased to hear from her.

"I'm in what you would call a bit of a bind."

"Oh, yeah? Anything I can help you with?"

She heard the sound of music playing in the background, people laughing. She closed her eyes and shook her head. "No...no, never mind."

"Hey," Sam halted her before she could hang up the phone. "What's up? You okay?"

Afia opened her eyes, as she heard a rustle from the couch, but it was only Rayan turning over in sleep. "I could use a ride?" Her voice lifted at the end of her statement in question. Only if he wasn't too busy, she thought.

The music faded to a distant buzz, and she got a mental picture Sam was leaving wherever he was. She heard the distinct sound of boots crunching over gravel. "Where are you?" he asked.

She murmured Rayan's address.

Sam climbed on his bike and fired up the engine. "Stay there. I'm twenty minutes out."

"Don't knock!" she hurriedly added. "I'll hear your bike. Just park outside."

He sounded concerned when he said, "Okay."

Sam hung up the phone and stared at it for a second before pushing it into his pocket. Kaleidoscope dashed up to him and put her crimson nailed hand on his arm. "Babe! Where are you running off to? We got business to take care of tonight."

Sam grimaced. "Q-ball knows how to handle everything. Tell the fellas I'll meet you guys back at HQ. I've got some business of my own to tend to." He kicked up the kickstand and gunned the engine, shifting into drive and tearing away from the parking lot, leaving a trail of dust. He hated to leave in a hurry, but Afia had sounded urgent over the phone.

Sam avoided speed traps and took a shortcut where he could race full throttle to the address she had given him, familiar enough with the city to find the place on his first pass. He slowed his bike some and coasted past townhome after townhome, wondering which one was the right one. Suddenly, a door flew open to his right, and he braked. He swooped the bike up to the side of the road, blocked from getting directly next to the sidewalk by a parked Camaro. He dropped his feet to the ground and flipped back his vizor.

She looked amazing. The rose-hued, loose-fitting garment gave her normally modern style an exotic tweak. He smiled at her as she eased up her flowing robes and maneuvered herself onto the bike behind him. Sam handed a helmet over his shoulder, which she remembered how to put on correctly. As soon as the helmet was in place, he had questions.

"This is my brother's place," she replied before he could ask. "So, you have to get away from here. Hurry. If he hears the motorcycle, he might wake up."

Sam nodded and kicked off, accelerating down the empty street to turn around at the corner and make his way back to the freeway.  "Where to?" he asked.

"My place. Where else? Did I steal you away from anything?"

"Nothing that couldn't wait. I was thinking I'd never hear from you again. Thought maybe you had gotten hip and realized I was the wrong bad decision to cut your teeth on." He chuckled. Afia clasped her hands together against his abdomen, resting her head against his back in answer.

She smiled. He felt the bulge of the apple of her cheek between his shoulder blades. Sam shut his mouth before he talked himself out of a good thing. He broke the speed limit to get her home.

Once they were outside her apartment, he felt his anxiety level diminish a little. The call in the middle of the night had made him worry. His helmet rested atop his head. Hers was buckled to the back of the bike, and she stood close to him, staring boldly into his eyes. "You're good, now? Need anything else?"

"No, I'm sorry. I was out at a gathering with my family, and my brother got uncharacteristically wasted; so, I drove him home to save him some embarrassment. I just had a hard time flagging down a taxi, and I didn't feel safe out there by myself." Afia looked down at her hands.

"I'm glad you called," he said. "Call me whenever you need me. Call me when you don't need me. Call me."

His smile was infectious. She blushed and backed away from him. "Well, thank you," said Afia. She waved goodbye and ran to the steps of her apartment building. When she looked back over her shoulder, he was speeding away. She sighed in pleasure at the unexpected episode that had allowed them to see each other, and she pushed open the door and went inside. There was no way around it, she mused. She liked him.

Miles away, Sam gritted his teeth as he rushed onward to the location where he was supposed to be for a very important business transaction with the rest of The Devil's Sons. He was glad that he had been able to wrap up things with Afia in time to get back. He had left in a rush from the biker bar, and he trusted, as he'd told Kaleidoscope, that Q-ball could handle things. However, it was better if the leader of the gang was present. When money, like the amount involved, changed hands, Sam liked to be the one making the drop.

As he cruised away, he shook his head. He could tell Afia wasn't about to let him ride out of her life any more than he wanted to ride of it, but was that wise? There were things the motorcycle club ringleader was into that could shatter her innocent world. It was up to Sam, however, to make sure that no matter what happened between them, she didn't suffer the consequences for his alternative lifestyle.

CHAPTER 6

Afia cradled the cellphone, speaking softly deep into the night for the third night in a row. Not even early classes could keep her from talking to Sam. It was amazing how she had gone from trying to avoid him to surrendering to her desire to communicate with him. Afia struggled to fit him into her busy schedule, and he made room for her, despite his demanding job and what he called his hobby bike club. She giggled and glanced at the clock again.

"Well, time isn't on my side," she murmured sleepily.

"Did you get that homework done, at least? I'd hate to keep you from something that important."

"I happen to be a master multitasker," she replied, giggling. "I finished that hours ago. If I don't get some sleep, though, I won't make it to my first class."

"What are you doing tomorrow?"

"Mmm, I have to go to worship service tomorrow. Friday is a sacred day for Muslims." She reluctantly added, "Plus, my mother set up a dinner date for me with a friend of the family."

"Should I be jealous?" he asked jokingly. She didn't answer. He whistled. "Alright, then. Can I see you Saturday morning? Weather's supposed to be nice out. I want to take you on a ride."

Saturday morning, Afia got up early and got dressed for Sam, who arrived exactly on time. Bionca waved her out of the apartment with a playful warning to "be good," and Afia shushed the voice in the back of her head that whispered she was already breaking the rules.

He took her an hour's ride out of the city, letting her get the feel of the bike. Gone was the well-dressed businessman. When he took her out, he was the biker of her fantasies, and she was falling in love with traveling by motorcycle. There was nothing like it. The couple pulled off on what looked like a forgotten stretch of road flanked on each side by flat, dusty desert as far as the eyes could see. The dome of the sky was a rich, saturated blue. Afia shaded her face and peered at the hazy mountains in the distance, white sun beaming down hotly. She was thankful for her protective headwear.

The bike was parked on the side of the road, and Sam ambled over to her with the keys. "Want to learn how to ride this thing?"

"What? You're joking, right?"

"Nope." His eyes danced mischievously, and he smiled, daring her to do it. Afia reached for the keys, against her better judgment. He pumped his fist in the air and led her back to the bike, showing her what to touch and how to operate the thing. For good measure, Sam hopped on behind her to help her out, but he let her stay in control.

At first, she burst forward in leaps and sputters; she was too heavy-handed and too tentative with the accelerator. With his calm voice giving her instructions, however, Afia gradually grew more comfortable at the helm. She managed to drive a few passes a mile up and down the black road. Laughing and breathless with pride at what she had accomplished, she finally tried to park the bike. In her haste, the wheel squealed and slid forward, causing her to yelp in surprise. Sam chuckled and reached around her to steer, easily bringing the vehicle to a stop.

"Wasn't bad, was it?" he asked.

"Did you see me? I drove this thing! I'm bad ass!"

"Ha!"

Afia covered her mouth at swearing. Sam helped her off the bike, and she easily took his hand. "I loved it," she admitted. "I see why you like it. What do you do with your bike club?"

He wrinkled his nose and avoided giving a straightforward answer. "The usual shit. Ride bikes. Get more tattoos. You know what I want to know about, though? This guy I need to be jealous of." He made the statement in a casual tone of voice, but his thumb caressed her palm as he spoke, and he looked Afia intently in the eyes. Sam wasn't the jealous sort. He abhorred men like that. But, in this case, he damned sure wouldn't be happy if she was seeing somebody else.

"How best to explain? My mother and father expect a traditional Muslim marriage. Appearances have to be kept up."

"Appearances, huh...you're not really interested in this guy, are you?" He heard himself, and Sam bit his inner cheek to keep from sounding like a jackass. "What am I saying? You're an adult. I'm sorry. That was completely out of line of me."

Afia hiccupped in laughter, squeezing his hand. "For the record, I would rather kiss a slimy toad than marry Jabar. You have to understand...I'm only seeing him to keep them happy...so I can have the space and freedom to sneak around with you. What a misleading word...sneak. Here we are in the open for the world and Allah to see. If this is wrong of us—well, I just don't see how it can be wrong."

She thought about the conversation the next day while she dozed and whiled away her free day from work, school, and worship. The evening before, Sam had driven her home and hadn't tried anything improper. In many ways, he was the model suitor. He had an excellent career. He adhered to her boundaries. The only problem was he wasn't the sort of man her parents would choose for her. As she turned over in bed and drifted back to sleep, she couldn't help but think that wasn't a good enough reason not to be with him.

Around noon, Bionca slipped into her bedroom and sprawled out on the bed next to Afia. They jointly gazed at the ceiling, each in thought, with Bionca's slender fingers loosely gripping Afia's. Her rainbow tipped dreadlocks fanned out around her pale face next to Afia's dark brown waves. Her multihued tattoos stood out in stark contrast against her milky arm, her milky arm next to Afia's dusky skin in contrast, too. They were very different women from very different backgrounds, but they were best friends. So, Afia puzzled, what was so wrong about her fledgling relationship with Sam? Wasn't it similar?

"You like him a lot, don't you?" Bionca seemed to read her mind. Afia turned her head away. Bionca wasn't in the mood to tell her the usual, to tell her she needed to make her own choices in life. She held silent and simply made her presence felt. Whatever Afia decided, her friend would be there for her.

***

Afia sat in her parents' living room. Her feet were up on the lip of the chair, face rested on her knees. She secretly had been seeing Sam for almost a month, and the weekly visits home were beginning to feel more and more like a burden. She closed her eyes and pictured speeding around winding curves with her arms wrapped around him. She squeezed her legs together, imagining she was gripping his firm, muscular thighs with hers. A smile flitted across her face. The sunlight slanted through the blinds and gave her a dreamy, sepia-toned appearance.

Rayan paused at the threshold to the living room, studying his little sister intently. She sighed lushly, heavy-lidded eyes sweeping open slowly, and her golden irises stilled when she caught him staring. "What?" Afia frowned at being scrutinized.

Rayan took a seat on the edge of the sofa. "Why did you miss family dinner last weekend?" He had a suspicion he couldn't put his finger on, knowing she was up to something.

"I told Maman. I had to help the professor grade some papers and file some things. Why is it such a big deal?"

"That was the second time this month." Rashad called Rayan's name, and Afia looked in the direction of her father's voice with relief. Rayan's mouth set in a firm line, and his jaw hardened. "This isn't over. We'll discuss this later."

He went off in search of their father, and Afia stared down at the carpet, wondering why her brother was suddenly interested in what she was doing. She blew out a breath in exasperation. Surreptitiously checking her phone, she answered a text from Sam asking if she wanted red or white wine for their picnic later that night. She typed back, "Red." She was smiling when she looked back up. The smile froze, however, as she paid closer attention to the gradually increasing volume of the conversation between her parents and Rayan.

"...again, Rayan! Not again!" Fatima sounded disappointed.

Rashad raised his voice. "Be honest with me, Rayan. What did you do with the check? That's all we want to know. Produce the check, and we can settle this."

"I told you," Rayan shouted. "I took the check to the bank! Maybe they made a mistake. Maybe there was a computer glitch. I don't know! All I know is I took it to the bank. What-what are you accusing me of, Baba? You think I'd steal from you? You think I'd stoop to that level."

Rashad cut him off. "Listen to yourself! Have you been drinking?"

"Baba!"

Afia strained to hear as her mother's voice came back softer, "....gambling?"

"Maman!" Rayan sounded angry and wounded.

"Answer her," Rashad commanded.

"No! I'm not gambling again. Heaven help me! You can't make one mistake in this fucking family. I haven't gambled since—"

"Drinking?" Fatima asked in a tremulous voice.

"I don't have to stay here for this. You call me when they find that check so I can tell you I told you so!" Rayan stomped through the living room to the front door, Rashad in pursuit. Rayan forced the door open, though Rashad tried to keep it shut with a large, heavy hand pressed against it. The older Amini male grunted in pain as the door pushed his wrist back uncomfortably, and he released it.

"Rayan," Fatima pleaded. The door slammed behind him. Fatima and Rashad shared a look.

"Is everything alright?" Afia asked fearfully. She had never seen her brother so angry, and never in all her life had she seen him be so disrespectful to their parents.

Rashad flapped a hand in her direction. "This doesn't concern you. Fatima, call the bank again."

"They're closed, Rashad."

"Then, leave a message!" His voice boomed. Rashad never yelled at his wife. Afia stood in alarm and put herself between the two.

"Baba! Maman?"

Rashad flushed and growled, pushing past both women and marching back to his office. Afia stared after him and then turned to her mother with confused eyes. "What happened? Maman, what did Rayan do?"

"No, it doesn't concern you." Fatima stood firm—although she was obviously shaken by Rashad's behavior toward her. She pulled out of Afia's grasp and fluttered away to the kitchen to find something to do with herself. Dinner was cooked, but there had to be something, some busy work. It didn't look like anyone was in the mood to eat.

Afia stood in the middle of the yellow and blue tiled kitchen, watching her mother wipe and re-wipe the counters while muttering to herself in their native language. Afia crossed her arms, wishing someone would just tell her something, but neither of them spoke to her. At length, she finally decided to leave.  She had a date with Sam anyway.

He took her back to the desert by nightfall. With the canopy of the stars above them, the landscape was transformed. He let her ride the bike by moonlight and showed off a few well-timed stunts to her amusement, and when the hour got almost too late for them to be out any longer, Afia slipped into his arms like she belonged there. She presented her face, and the moonlight recast her as silver and alabaster. She was like a statue of a goddess, in Sam's eyes, enchanting and irresistible. Her lips were softly parted, eyes softly closed. Sam gazed down at her, wanting to crush her closer and take her right then and there, but he didn't. He didn't dare. He let her close the gap and chastely buss her lips to his.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"For?" Her head rested against his upper chest. Sam refrained from putting his arms around her. It was almost like foreplay. Letting Afia control when and how their bodies should make contact had him wound tighter than a spring.

"For being a conundrum. For being out of the ordinary." She wrapped her arms around him and lightly pressed her upper body to his.

"You're that to me," he said with a smile. "It's getting chilly. Let's get you home. You have that thesis to work on in the morning."

"Ugh! When will it all be over?"

"When you walk across that stage and get your master's. But, after that there's work, so...when you retire?"

Afia giggled and hopped on the bike behind her boyfriend. Even thinking the word make her feel tremulous with wonder. He delivered her home safely, and she ran inside before she got the nerve to take their innocent kiss from earlier in the night a step further.