Sweet Submission (Devil's Sons Motorcycle Club Book 3) by Kathryn Thomas Read Free Book Online Page B

eat,” Fatima called through the door. She knocked again, but her daughter didn’t deign to respond. Sighing in frustration, the middle-aged housewife shuffled from the door.
     
    Afia glared out the window of her bedroom, refusing to acknowledge her mother’s attempt to pretend like nothing was out of the ordinary. She was lying in the bed she hadn’t slept in since she was in her teens, surrounded by the accoutrements of a former life. The bedroom walls were papered in cool hues of green and ivory damask with a gauzy pink valance cascading down around the picture window. She couldn’t escape through the window because the night of her “house arrest” her Baba had nailed the sill shut. 
     
    The white bookshelf next to the bed was crammed with dolls and teenage romance novels, old toys, and a piggybank. An ivory armoire placed against the wall facing her bed was still crowded with clothes from high school, and she could tell none of her things had been touched in years.  It should have made her feel sentimental. Instead, it made her feel like her parents had been keeping the asylum waiting and ready for her all along.  The décor screamed adolescence, and as much as she had loved her elegant, hand-carved, full-sized bed when she was growing up, the sight of the pink and mint green bedspread for the third day in a row made her want to set the room on fire.
     
    She missed her apartment. She missed Bionca.  Her Maman had confiscated her cellphone and her car keys, leaving Afia with no way to get in touch with Bionca or Sam. She could only imagine how worried they must be, and her rage boiled hotter. She had never imagined things would come to this. Rayan’s betrayal was a blow, but her parents had hurt her even more by accepting his explanations and thinking the worst of her.
     
    It was true that she was in a relationship with a man her parents might not accept, but Afia was an adult. She was sick of following orders. She wanted to make her own decisions now. Even if she made mistakes, they would be her mistakes. Instead, she was being forced to cater to Rayan’s whims—when, in fact, she was sure he was only doing this to keep her parents from realizing his new lows.  The drinking, the gambling, the detrimental habits would be his undoing, and while they were busy bothering with keeping tabs on Afia, they were missing the warning signs.
     
    “They can’t do this.” She swung her legs around to the side of her bed and pushed to her feet, marching over to her door with a determined stride. She opened it, seeing the plate on the floor she stepped over her dinner and boldly walked down the hall. She made it as far as the living room before her mother stepped out of the kitchen with a cold stare.
     
    “You’re not going anywhere without Rayan,” Fatima replied.
     
    “Rayan isn’t here. He’s never here these days, or have you even noticed? He’s probably at the pool hall or a bar, someplace where they’ll keep the cheap liquor flowing, Maman. You should be worried about him, not me!”
     
    “You will not disrespect me.”
     
    Afia spun away from the front door and threw up her hands in despair. “Is it disrespect that I just want to live? This is crazy, Maman. We are a progressive family! This isn’t like you and Baba. What do you think keeping me here will do? Do you think it will make me more prone to do as the three of you say? And, at what point does what I want come into play?”
     
    Fatima closed the distance between them and slapped Afia. She pointed a sharp finger at her daughter and spat, “You should want to honor and obey and respect those who have sacrificed so much for you to live this life you think you have a right to, ungrateful little girl. Your father is out right now working to earn money to support you! Yet, you stand here and speak to me like this? Have you lost your mind?”
     
    “Maman, I’m losing more than my mind here,” Afia ground out, clutching her face. Tears