Sweet Submission (Devil's Sons Motorcycle Club Book 3) (4 page)

CHAPTER 4

Fatima passed behind Rayan again, and she smelled the alcohol plainly. He wasn’t even wearing any cologne to mask the odor. She shook her head and hurried away, feather duster in hand, to grab the vacuum and set about cleaning the already clean living room. Rashad was sitting in his favorite chair having a conversation with Afia, who sat at his feet, about what she planned to do with her degree upon graduation. Rayan was sprawled out on the couch watching television while Fatima busied herself throughout the room. As she worked, she watched them all. It was her job to watch.

She saw how Afia shot surreptitious glances in Rayan’s direction. Fatima had noticed her daughter’s unusual nervousness and guarded responses upon her arrival. The girl made it obvious enough she was phishing when she pulled Fatima aside and asked pointed questions about Rayan’s health and any conversations they might have had regarding his alcoholism. Her concern might have seemed sincere—had she not asked twice, “Did he tell you anything else?”

Yes, Rayan was hiding something, and it wasn’t just his drinking. He was hiding something on Afia’s behalf, and Fatima intended to find out. She hummed to herself as she pushed the vacuum cleaner across the carpet, idly insinuating herself into the scene. Rashad glared at her for the noise, but Fatima pretended not to see the look. She hummed louder. When she was sure she had their attention, she powered off the machine. She beamed at her family and replied, “I just love it when we all get together like this. It’s the highlight of my week. What’s that new cologne you’re wearing, Rayan?”

“I’m not wearing any cologne, Maman,” he said sullenly. He had been sulking since she’d taken away the credit card. She had started noticing small items of value disappearing around the house in the past week. He was definitely drinking and gambling again.

“Forgive me. Must be my nose,” she muttered. “And, you, Afia.”

“Yes, Maman?”

“Come help your mother cook for the menfolk, eh?”

“Yes, Maman.” Afia rose from the sofa and followed her mother in the kitchen, suspicious of Fatima’s suddenly bright tone after her mother had been scowling all afternoon. “You want to speak with me?” she broached.

Fatima turned away from the stove and pierced Afia with shrewd eyes. “What’s going on between you and Rayan?”

Afia looked down. “He’s angry at me for telling you about his drinking.”

Fatima rapped the countertop to draw Afia’s gaze back to her. “Is that all?” she asked. Afia hesitated. She opened her mouth to talk about Sam, but the words wouldn’t come out. She saw the look on her mother’s face, a look that begged for no more bad news. Afia nodded mutely. Fatima turned back to the stove. “I’m telling Rashad about his drinking,” Fatima replied.

Afia rushed across the room and confronted her mother. “Maman, no! That will only make Rayan more upset. You said you would handle it. I asked you to try rehab if your solutions didn’t work.”

“Yes, I took away my credit card, but it wasn’t enough. He reeks of alcohol right now as we speak. I’m telling Rashad. Only he can get Rayan to act right. That’s final.”

Afia pleaded, “Please, don’t. You don’t understand how Rayan can be. You remember the sweet boy, the loving teenager. You don’t know the man he is becoming. He gets angry and destructive and vindictive, and he’ll turn that rage against me!”

“What can he do to you, Afia? What can he say against you?” Fatima probed.

Afia shut her mouth, shaking her head. Fatima felt she had her answer. She was right. Rayan was hiding some information about Afia, and there was only one way to find out what it was. She marched back into the living room to face her husband. Putting one hand on her hip, she pointed at Rayan. “He’s drinking again, Rashad. Smell him.”

“What?” Rashad tugged off his reading glasses and set aside the paper he had been reading. His eyes darted from Fatima’s angry face to Rayan’s startled expression. Behind Fatima, Afia looked ready to cry. “What are you talking about, woman?”

Fatima paced the living room. “It was Afia who came to me and told me he started back drinking. Your daughter had been keeping his secret, but she voiced her concerns—although I didn’t want to believe her. Now, I suspect it’s true. I tried to do what I could for him, but I’m afraid I am incapable of stopping Rayan, Rashad. You have to do something! The sound system is missing. So are your electric tools. He’s been pilfering items from around the house again. All the things he was doing before when the drinking got so bad that we had to send him away.”

Rashad struggled to his feet and glared down at Rayan, who sat up on the couch looking as if he would spew fire if he could. Rayan stared at Afia. Afia averted her gaze. “Rayan, I asked her not to tell him,” she murmured to her brother. Rayan shot to his feet.

Turning to his father before Rashad could have a chance to question him, Rayan defended himself. “She tells you these things because you are a woman and weak-willed without the leadership of a man, Maman. You should have taken her message to Baba straightaway, rather than do as she asked and keep it a secret. She told you and not Baba because she knew he would see through her lies.”

“I haven’t lied,” Afia shook her head vehemently.

Rashad silenced her with a swift chop of his hand. “Speak, son.”

“She had been consorting with a man named Samuel Elison. Afia grew perturbed when I confronted her and made her swear to stop seeing him after I found out about their inappropriate relationship. Look at her face. Does she look innocent to you now? She’s saying this stuff about me drinking to put a rift between us so that the distraction will deter you from finding out about her own wrongdoing. There you have it, Baba. The truth is made plain. She’s a liar and in danger of being much worse if we don’t confine her to this house and get her married off quickly before she shames us all.”

Afia’s mouth dropped open in outrage at the blatant twisting of the facts. “That’s not what’s going on here, and you know it,” she countered.

Rashad took a threatening step toward her, but Fatima got to her first. “A woman I am, and in need of my husband’s sound judgement, yes. But, I’m not as simple as you would have me be, Rayan,” she replied to her son. She grabbed Afia. “I think what Rayan is saying makes sense. What say you, Rashad?”

“Afia, you will remain in this house and not leave this place without Rayan to escort you. Am I clear?”

“No, Baba. I have my own home. I have my own life. This is not right!”

“This is right and righteous!” he father roared. His voice boomed through the room, and she shrank into herself at the ferocity of his command. “You will remain in this house!”

“Go to your room,” Fatima replied coldly.

Afia stared incredulously from her mother to her father. They couldn’t be serious! Rayan smiled smugly, and she struggled not to hit him in his arrogant, handsome face. She spun away from them all and fled to her bedroom, incensed by the outlandish order.

Fatima turned to Rayan. “You’re not completely off the hook either.”

“You will see in time you are wrong about me, Maman.  You always suspect the worst of me. As for the missing things around the house, yes, I took them! I pawned them to acquire the money necessary to set up a meeting with Jabar at a nice restaurant. You wouldn’t have me meet him in a dump while wearing rags, would you? I convinced the young doctor to accept Afia’s hand, despite her rebelliousness and questionable moral character. He has agreed on the grounds that she accept his proposal before the end of next week.”

“You did this?” Rashad said in surprise. He had thought Afia’s chances of pairing with the wealthy merchant’s son after unceremoniously snubbing him were all but nil. A marriage with a man like Jabar would be the perfect alliance for her. She needed a firm but gentle hand. The Pahlavis were a proud, prosperous lineage of good standing within the community. Rashad looked at Rayan with new respect. All this time he had lamented his wastrel son’s bad attributes, yet it seemed Rayan was only trying to do what was best for the family.

Rayan’s chest puffed out. “I may not bring much to the table, but I am trying. And, now it’s up to us as a family to ensure that Afia’s virtue remains intact. She must not leave this house. She must meet with Jabar and accept his proposal. I assure you, the more she toys with men, the more of a reputation of fickleness and irresponsibility she attains. It’s not lost on our peers that my sister grows older and wastes her time in secular pursuits. She needs to be curtailed before the damage done is too much to repair. At this point, Jabar may be our only hope.”

“He’s right,” Fatima replied softly, nodding. “She’s running out of options.”

“Then, we know what we have to do,” said Rashad. “We’ve been too gentle on her, too quick to let her have freedoms that have perhaps gone to her head. Rayan, you go to her apartment and have her roommate pack up some things for her. Take my bank card and pay out the rest of Afia’s portion of the rent.”

“Of course, Baba,” Rayan replied demurely. He had no intention of paying the rent. He’d pocket the money. He needed it. “I’ll go right away.”

“Hurry home,” Fatima replied with a warning glance.

Rayan accepted his father’s debit card and strolled out of the house, feeling the weight roll off of his shoulders. Without him even working hard, things were falling into place. Afia had intended her revelation about his drinking be his downfall. Instead, it would be the tool Rayan needed to hoist himself up out of the hole completely. He would make sure she married Jabar so his debts could be erased. After that…Rayan wasn’t sure what he would do with his own life, but he knew exactly how her future was going to play out, and she deserved it for causing him so much trouble. Afia would live a cold, unloved existence at Jabar’s side.

“What’s the saying? Better to have loved and lost.” He chuckled nastily to himself, as he hit the start button of his Camaro and headed off to Afia’s apartment to pack up her things. His will would be done.

***

Bionca opened the door and looked up with a start to see Afia’s older brother standing there with a self-satisfied smirk. He stared past her disdainfully, pushing into the apartment. “I’m here to collect some things for Afia,” he muttered.

“Excuse me?” Bionca retorted. “You can’t just barge in here.” He walked past the kitchen and strolled through the living room like he had every right to be there. Bionca followed him with a scowl. She jerked at his arms, and he shook her off. “I said you can’t just barge in here!”

“Where is Afia’s bedroom? You need to pack her a bag. She’s moving out. Just the essentials, and hurry up. I don’t have all day.”

She made a sound of disbelief. “Where is she? What have you done to her?”

“She’s safe at home where she belongs instead of gallivanting around the city with a strumpet like you. I tried to give you a chance to be the upstanding friend she needed, but I should have known you American women don’t have the moral fortitude. I warned you to be a better influence,” he said, pointing a finger in her face. Bionca shoved his hand aside and rushed ahead of him to try to disbar him from traveling any deeper into her sanctuary until she understood exactly what was going on. “Fine, I’ll get it myself,” he said with a sigh when she didn’t follow his commands to pack for Afia.

Bionca had spent the morning out with her boyfriend, and when she had returned, Afia was away. Bionca knew her roommate had made the trip across town to visit her family, and she also knew Afia had been planning to break the news of her engagement to Sam to her folks. Rayan showing up unannounced didn’t bode well. Bionca stretched her arms out at the entrance to the corridor that led to her bedroom and Afia’s and stared at Rayan, challenging him. Her blond eyebrows clashed together over the bridge of her sharp nose, and her lips were firm, straight line. She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin.

“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what happened. You orchestrated this, didn’t you? Couldn’t stand to see your sister happy, so you made sure your parents would keep her where you wanted her! What’s wrong with you, you sick bastard? You can’t convince me she’s moving home of her own accord.”

“Move,” he commanded.

“What did you do to Afia?”