Broken Crescent (Devil's Sons Motorcycle Club Book 2) by Kathryn Thomas Read Free Book Online

It’s not like the usual center.”
     
    “Thanks for the offer, but I better do this alone. He’s not going to take it well coming from me. I can imagine how he’ll take it coming from a complete stranger. His problems have always been deep, dark family secrets, and he won’t appreciate me telling you.” Afia melted butter on the stovetop, dissolving slivers of fragrant, colorful saffron with the butter. She pulled a few metal skewers from under the kitchen counter, just enough for her and her brother.
     
    “In that case, I have a couple of spare pamphlets in my bedroom you can use to show him about the place. Check in the top drawer of my dresser. It’s my junk drawer. In the meantime, I’ll linger out instead of coming right home.”
     
    “Where are you going to go?” Afia asked in curiosity, as she threaded the chicken pieces onto the metal skewers.
     
    “Met a guy,” Bionca said mysteriously. Afia could hear the smile in her friend’s voice. “I ended up leaving the bar in a hurry to get to you, but now that I know it might be better for me to linger out for a while, consider me off the radar for the night. Call me if you need me though. I’ll keep my ringer on.”
     
    Afia preheated the countertop grill and placed the chicken skewers on it, brushing marinade on top. “Will do. I’ve got this covered though. I’m taking off the gloves. If Rayan wants to fight dirty…then, he’s about to see I can do the exact same.”
     
    “That’s it, baby! Fight like a girl. Kick his ass!”
     
    “It was a metaphor,” Afia giggled, lightening up. “I’ll talk to you later, friend.” When she hung up the phone, she felt a bolster of confidence. She threw a bag of quick rice on the stovetop to boil and placed a bag of veggies in the microwave to steam.
     
    Afia left the chicken skewers, planning to come back and baste after she checked in Bionca’s bedroom for the pamphlets to show to her brother. Bionca’s room was orderly and well-organized. It was often odd to think of her flighty, free-spirited best friend as the neat-freak of the household. As Bionca had said, Afia found the pamphlets in the top drawer. The junk drawer was laid out like an office desk with coupons clipped together next to a ball of rubber bands, a handful of writing pens bundled with a band, spare lighters, a few boxes of playing cards, and other knickknacks. What she sought was a stack of glossy folded papers in the bottom. She tried not to displace Bionca’s things as she slipped a brochure from the stack.
     
    Afia padded back into the living room while reading. The facility was private-run and staffed by local physicians and psychiatrists, offering both detox and recovery programs with the option to stay on-grounds after detox or come in for daily check-ups. She could imagine the benefit her brother would get from therapy and counseling sessions. What Rayan needed most was new ways to cope with the problems he faced living with a strong sense of entitlement but a very poor work ethic.
     
    The mouth-watering aroma of chicken wafted through the apartment, and she stepped back in the kitchen to turn and baste the food and check the rice and vegetables. She pulled out plates and set them on the bar where she and her brother would eat. Tiptoeing into the living room, she peeked in to see if he was awake, but he was snoring softly. Afia wrung her hands, wondering if she should abandon the plan. Maybe she should just accept that she couldn’t be with Sam.
     
    But that wasn’t acceptable. Besides, if Rayan didn’t get help for his drinking, his life would be ruined by it. The two seemed tied hand-in-hand in her mind. She knew if her brother’s personal life hadn’t been destroyed by his drinking, then he would be more rational and logical about her relationship with Sam. They had both grown up in this country. Muslims married secular partners every day in America, didn’t they?
     
    She sighed and nudged Rayan’s shoulder to