Read Online Sweet Submission (Devil's Sons Motorcycle Club Book 3) by Kathryn Thomas - Free Book Online
Book: Sweet Submission (Devil's Sons Motorcycle Club Book 3) by Kathryn Thomas
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Authors: Kathryn Thomas
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comfortable jeans hung low on his hips. He was wearing combat boots, and his black tattoos glistened against his dark brown skin. He looked like a bad ass, which belied his waning interest in the lifestyle.
“Not just yet,” he muttered. “Convincing Rei to get out of the game too is about like you convincing Afia’s brother to straighten up and fly right…but, I’m pretty close to having her sold on the idea. So, maybe there’s a chance for you after all.”
Sam nodded with a soft chuckle. “I hear you.” They’d had the talk about Quentin getting tired of the lifestyle of a biker. He didn’t know how he would handle it when his best friend and confidante walked away from the motorcycle club, but Sam figured he’d better start coming up with an alternate wingman soon. He could see by the way Quentin dragged and stalled about heading out to meet with the gang that the drive just wasn’t in him anymore.
He followed Q out the bedroom door and down the stairs to the living room. It was around six in the evening, and Sam had to leave, but Quentin paused at the threshold before leaving the house and turned back to Sam with a warning. “Just be careful with that brother of hers. Word around town is he’s a desperate man. Got people after him and shit. He really doesn’t have much to lose if he decides he wants to come at you the wrong way.”
“Rayan is the least of my concerns. He’s a bully, but he’s not a threat.”
“He’s a petty thug who knows people that know people. I wouldn’t trust him. For his reputation’s sake alone, he might end up cornering you into a fight you don’t want—just to make himself look better in front of his friends. You know how to reach us if you need us. We’ll be on standby. Anything go left, call us, and we’ll get it right.”
“If I smell a fight, I surely won’t let you fellas miss out. I’ll shout you a holler,” said Sam, as he flung his car keys in the air and caught them, smiling. He waved goodbye to his friend and locked up after Quentin left. He threw on the alarm and jogged to the garage, climbing into his classic 1969 Pontiac GMO.
He would’ve preferred to tear down the highway on the back of his Victory Cross Roads, but he knew, for appearances sake, he had to take the car. When he pulled up in the driveway in front of the Amini house, Sam took a deep breath and mentally prepared himself to enter. “Just stay cool,” he said to himself. “Say what you have to say. Don’t be temperamental.”
He chuckled to himself as he climbed from the car and stood to his full height, his shoulders squared to do battle. They weren’t expecting him, and he didn’t know what to expect. When he made it to the door, he rang the bell and clasped his hands behind his back, rocking on his heels and waiting for someone to open up and let him inside. Ostensibly, one peek through the peephole by whoever was on the other side could lead to the door not being opened, but he saw the cars in the parking lot. He knew someone was home. Sam wasn’t leaving until he had his chance to at least talk to Afia, if not her parents.
The door was swept open by a middle-aged man with full, fleshy features and suspicious eyes. Rashad Amini looked the gentleman at the door over. He didn’t know him. “May I help you?” he asked politely. Perhaps the fellow was looking for a neighbor’s house. Rashad glanced out at the classic car parked in his driveway. Definitely not someone there for Rayan. His son’s friends tended to be a little showier.
Sam stuck out his hand and put a relaxed smile on his face. “How are you? I’m Sam Elison.”
Rashad’s ears perked up at the name, and his eyebrows came together in a scowl. “Sam Elison?” It was the name Rayan had given as the man Afia had foolishly gotten herself involved with. Rashad crossed his arms and barred Sam’s entrance. “What do you want?”
Sam squinted, undeterred.
“Not just yet,” he muttered. “Convincing Rei to get out of the game too is about like you convincing Afia’s brother to straighten up and fly right…but, I’m pretty close to having her sold on the idea. So, maybe there’s a chance for you after all.”
Sam nodded with a soft chuckle. “I hear you.” They’d had the talk about Quentin getting tired of the lifestyle of a biker. He didn’t know how he would handle it when his best friend and confidante walked away from the motorcycle club, but Sam figured he’d better start coming up with an alternate wingman soon. He could see by the way Quentin dragged and stalled about heading out to meet with the gang that the drive just wasn’t in him anymore.
He followed Q out the bedroom door and down the stairs to the living room. It was around six in the evening, and Sam had to leave, but Quentin paused at the threshold before leaving the house and turned back to Sam with a warning. “Just be careful with that brother of hers. Word around town is he’s a desperate man. Got people after him and shit. He really doesn’t have much to lose if he decides he wants to come at you the wrong way.”
“Rayan is the least of my concerns. He’s a bully, but he’s not a threat.”
“He’s a petty thug who knows people that know people. I wouldn’t trust him. For his reputation’s sake alone, he might end up cornering you into a fight you don’t want—just to make himself look better in front of his friends. You know how to reach us if you need us. We’ll be on standby. Anything go left, call us, and we’ll get it right.”
“If I smell a fight, I surely won’t let you fellas miss out. I’ll shout you a holler,” said Sam, as he flung his car keys in the air and caught them, smiling. He waved goodbye to his friend and locked up after Quentin left. He threw on the alarm and jogged to the garage, climbing into his classic 1969 Pontiac GMO.
He would’ve preferred to tear down the highway on the back of his Victory Cross Roads, but he knew, for appearances sake, he had to take the car. When he pulled up in the driveway in front of the Amini house, Sam took a deep breath and mentally prepared himself to enter. “Just stay cool,” he said to himself. “Say what you have to say. Don’t be temperamental.”
He chuckled to himself as he climbed from the car and stood to his full height, his shoulders squared to do battle. They weren’t expecting him, and he didn’t know what to expect. When he made it to the door, he rang the bell and clasped his hands behind his back, rocking on his heels and waiting for someone to open up and let him inside. Ostensibly, one peek through the peephole by whoever was on the other side could lead to the door not being opened, but he saw the cars in the parking lot. He knew someone was home. Sam wasn’t leaving until he had his chance to at least talk to Afia, if not her parents.
The door was swept open by a middle-aged man with full, fleshy features and suspicious eyes. Rashad Amini looked the gentleman at the door over. He didn’t know him. “May I help you?” he asked politely. Perhaps the fellow was looking for a neighbor’s house. Rashad glanced out at the classic car parked in his driveway. Definitely not someone there for Rayan. His son’s friends tended to be a little showier.
Sam stuck out his hand and put a relaxed smile on his face. “How are you? I’m Sam Elison.”
Rashad’s ears perked up at the name, and his eyebrows came together in a scowl. “Sam Elison?” It was the name Rayan had given as the man Afia had foolishly gotten herself involved with. Rashad crossed his arms and barred Sam’s entrance. “What do you want?”
Sam squinted, undeterred.
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