Broken Crescent (Devil's Sons Motorcycle Club Book 2) (3 page)

Afia almost had to laugh at herself for her antics. Bionca wrapped her arm around Afia’s shoulders and gently, but firmly, pushed her toward the entrance. Afia had chosen dark denim jeans and long sleeved kiwi green shirt with a gray hijab, and she hadn’t come dressed to impress. Bionca sported a miniskirt and tank. They couldn’t have been more different. “Bionca, how could you do this to me?” Afia whispered, getting distressed as they neared the door. “What if he’s in there?”

“People break up every day and survive, remember? You’ll be fine.”

Afia groaned, shrinking into herself. “This can’t be happening.”

CHAPTER 3

They got past the bouncer and into the crowded club where the weekend regulars were already going strong. The club’s layout included a handful of tables positioned to the right of the entrance. Further inside, the space was wide open. Then, to the left, was the bar. At the back of the club, there was a makeshift stage that wasn’t in use on this night.

It was nine o’clock at night, and the dance floor was packed with women in tight, revealing clothes and men enjoying the temptation. Instead of live music, the DJ was playing a mix of popular and alternative music with a little country-pop thrown in for kicks.

Afia tentatively stepped across the hardwood floor, making her way to a table. She was sure Bionca would disappear off to the bar or the dancefloor, and she was surprised to glance back and find her friend following her. “Just to make sure you don’t try to escape,” Bionca said with a grin. She had to shout over the sound of the music. They pushed past a throng of folks congregating in the middle of the walkway and took seats at the bar height tables at the side of the club where Afia felt most comfortable, away from the crush and press of bodies.

A server made his way over to them at Afia’s beckon. She remembered that was how Sam had gotten the guy’s attention the last time. When Bub drew closer, his eyes lit up in recognition. He was wearing a greasy black vest with The Wisecrack written on back. It was open in front, and his bald head gleamed under the dim light. “Hey! Middle Eastern Girl! I didn’t think I’d see you in here again. Figured the biker boys scared you off last time. Giving us another try?” he teased. He smiled, revealing gold teeth and kind eyes.

Afia smiled good-naturedly. “I was, um, coerced into giving the bar another try. Let’s just say my friend here made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

He chuckled. “What you ladies drinkin’ tonight? Lemme see if I get this right. Coca-Cola for you, huh?”

Afia flashed a thumbs up and gestured to Bionca. Her friend supplied, “I’ll have a vodka shot with a splash of grenadine.”

“You got it!” Bub ambled back to the bar.

Bionca swayed to the music, getting into the groove. She was glad she had come out and doubly glad she had convinced Afia to come out with her. Her sparkling eyes roamed over the bar looking for familiar faces. Bionca crossed her hands on top of the table and turned her gaze back to study her best friend. “Feeling anxious? Loosen up, darling. You know the rules. We give it a half hour, and if you absolutely hate it, we leave.”

“You know I’m anxious. You’re a horrible, horrible friend,” Afia fired back with a grin. “Thank you for getting me out of the house, but you should never have brought me back here. Of all the places, Bionca! I mean, come on! There are too many memories.”

“Cause you’re not over him! Afia, I know you’re not. It’s obvious as fuck. He was good for you. You liked him. He liked you.”

“And, we didn’t work out. You’re meddling with people’s lives here, friend.” Afia frowned gently and placed her hand on top of Bionca’s.

Bionca shrugged ruefully. “I thought maybe if I brought you here, it would spark something. Maybe get you to at least give him a call. Think about it, Afia. You got closure. You instituted the closing of the chapter by opting not to talk to him again, but what about Sam? Don’t you think he deserves a chance to at least hear why you can’t be together? It’s only right. You basically just dropped off the face of the earth to him. Who does that?”

Bub came back over with their drinks, and Afia reached into her clutch to pay him. Handing off the money absently, she kept her eyes on Bionca, addressing her, “I’m pretty sure he got the point. He knows my brother saw us, and he knew my family would have a problem with us dating. He probably put two and two together.”

“I did,” he murmured.

Bionca finally moved her gaze from Afia’s face, having kept it there the minute she saw Sam approaching the table out of her periphery vision. Afia felt her breath hitch in her chest at the familiar voice. It raised goosebumps along her skin and sent her heartbeat spiraling out of control. Hairs on the back of her neck stood up in awareness. Her nipples even tightened in response. She looked down at her hand where the money she was holding out for Bub to take was still dangling, and her eyes slowly rose up to her ex-boyfriend’s face. He had already gestured for Bub to put it on his tab.

Sam casually rested his elbow on the table and leaned across the table between the women, staring Afia in the eyes.   “I put two and two together, and it still didn’t make any sense to me, but I accepted it because I didn’t have any choice.”

“Um, do you hear that? Yeah, Afia, I think the dance floor just called me,” Bionca said, popping her head over Sam’s shoulder to wave goodbye to the hapless Afia. Afia’s eyes widened, and she gestured for Bionca to stay, but her bestie shot off and disappeared in the midst of dancing bodies. Afia dropped her face into her hand, shaking her head.

“Why does this feel like a conspiracy?” she muttered into her palm. When she looked back up, Sam wore a half-smile.

“More like a happy coincidence. Imagine my surprise when you walked into the building. I thought I’d never see you again…But, it seems that fate would have otherwise, and who are we to question the machinations of the universe, right? What do you say we step out back and catch up on old times?” he asked. His tone was light and not the least bit pushy. He almost sounded like he thought she’d say no.

Afia got the distinct impression she could turn him down, no harm, no foul. Fact was she
wanted
to go out back and talk with him. She had missed their conversations, his perspective and ways of thinking.  He was close enough in proximity for her to smell his spicy, enticing cologne, and the memories that flooded back were erotic and intense. She struggled not to breathe, but she couldn’t hold her breath forever.

She rose from the chair, undecided, her eyes locked with his translucent blues. His lips were pressed together in a straight line, and her mouth remembered the exact texture and pressure of those lips against hers. The cleft of his chin begged to be caressed. He was still sporting the stubble of a beard she was most familiar with, and his gold rimmed blue shades clung to the neck of his t-shirt, which clung to the chest her hands recalled intimately. His jeans hung from his hips, and beneath the worn, faded denim she knew the rest of him. She blushed at the knowledge.

Afia had never known her body could be just as capable of retaining impressions of past events as her mind. Her body remembered him in vivid detail—from the satiny feel of his short, wavy hair between her fingers to the heft of his nearly six foot frame rising and falling between her legs, their limbs intertwined like sticks starting a fire. Her thighs tightened, as she stood before him and contemplated going outside. Moisture instantly collected, as her gaze drifted down his taut stomach and stopped at his pelvis. She knew she should stay right where she was, in the crowd where she was safe from herself.

“I’ll come with you,” she murmured, and he couldn’t hear, but he seemed to understand, following the movement of her lips with eyes that looked as if they yearned for her. From the very first time they’d met, he had had that look in his eyes. It made her skin burn and her heart beat faster. Sam turned away, releasing her from the potent spell of eye contact, and when he headed to the double doors that led to the back porch of the biker bar, she followed.

There weren’t many others outside. Those seeking a quieter place to chat, or those wanting to smoke cigarettes—the loners and the lovers were there. The night was hot and humid, and citronella candles burned quaintly on the picnic tables that lined the rustic back porch. The view from the back of The Wisecrack looked out on a distant, shadowy mesa. It was a hot and humid night, but pleasant with the breeze. Fireflies could be spotted, as the back of the bar was less illuminated than the front.

Afia and Sam took a seat at one of the picnic tables furthest from the door. It was at the edge of the porch where they could look out at the night, see the stars, and converse without anyone overhearing. There was a definite illusion of being alone. Afia knew she should feel uncomfortable with the situation, but she strangely wasn’t.

She felt butterflies, sweaty palms, and electric desire. His body was too close to hers to ignore. Their thighs almost touched, and he was looking at her so intensely that she felt like not a day had elapsed since the last time they had seen each other. She remembered waking up beside him that final morning nearly a month ago and slipping out to the cab to leave, thinking she could stay away from him. She had been wrong. There was no staying away when given the chance to see him.

“I missed you,” he whispered. He couldn’t resist. Sam turned to her and grasped her chin, smoothed his thumb against her lower lip. Afia inhaled slowly, eyes fluttering shut reverently. He didn’t dare kiss her. He didn’t think he would be able to stop at just a kiss; but, he had to touch her and make sure that she was real. The ache in his throat felt scarily like tears. He swallowed, pushed down the pain of feeling abandoned by her. 

He had overhead her friend telling her he deserved an explanation. It was true. He needed to understand why Afia had left him high and dry. “Why did you stop talking me?”

“You must know,” she said in a small voice. “Rayan saw us together, Sam. He made me swear not to see you again.”

“I thought you were going to tell your parents about us. I thought we were going to try to make this work. Instead, you bailed on me without even a backwards glance. Do you know how many sleepless nights I’ve spent? How many days I’ve tormented myself wondering what I could have done differently? I realize…I realize that I might not be the best man, Afia, but I was the best man I could be for you, and you walked away from us. You ended us.”

Afia dropped her head desolately, trying to find the words to convey the thought processes that had led to her actions. “I never wanted things to end that way. I care very much for you, Sam.” She sighed and grabbed his hand to run her fingers along his palm. “You have to understand. If I hadn’t made that promise to Rayan, he would’ve tarnished your image for my parents. Nothing I would have told them about you would’ve mattered. I had to let you go to keep you from that, and I don’t regret it, Sam. I don’t regret saving us that battle.”

“So, you let us lose the entire war.” He frowned. Her eyes downcast, she gnawed on her bottom lip uncertainly. She had given up on them. They were over, but the closure he had heard Bionca mention was closed to him because he was discovering some events in life were more like the close of the book than the mere opening of a new chapter. Anything that came after Afia would be a new story entirely. She had changed him, and he didn’t want any other narrative. He wanted her. “What if I told you I’m not ready to stop fighting?” he whispered.

She lifted her eyes and met his. “What are we fighting for?”

“A word? A week? A kiss? Afia, I don’t know, but there’s an entire revolution in my being for you. I can’t pretend I’m okay with the powers that be telling us we can’t be together. This doesn’t feel like it’s a decision you or I made, regardless of your argument to the contrary. You did it to save us the hardship, but, babe…what’s a little hardship if I’ve got you?” He gave a half-smile. He didn’t know exactly how much of what he was saying was able to be back up, but he was willing to give it 100 percent to show her that he was willing to keep going if she was.

She licked her trembling lips. Her fingers moved over his hand, and she cupped his palm to her cheek, inhaling deeply for the first time since he showed up at the table. His familiar scent clouded her thoughts and made her sigh in surrender because everything he was saying made perfect sense to her addled mind. She just wanted the contact, to touch him, caress him, and remind him of the things she hadn’t forgotten.

“We’d have to be careful,” she whispered furtively. “We couldn’t be seen in public. We’d have to sneak, and everything would have to be done in secrecy. Could you handle that?”

“Baby, I’ve handled far worse. Trust me,” he said with a grin. Hope winged upwards within his fragile heart. Was she really telling him there was a chance they could get back together? “I haven’t been able to get you out of my thoughts, Afia. I’d walk over hot coals for you…well, figuratively.” He chuckled. Sam stole a kiss, a small one. Afia giggled and blushed, kissing him back.

“Bionca is going to be pleased; I can tell you that. She’s been advocating for you.”

“I knew there was a reason I liked your friend.” He grinned and rose from the picnic table. “You’ll have to indulge me, beloved. I just want to see you dance one time.” He gathered her in his arms, Afia’s eyes skating nervously to see if anyone was watching them.  He directed her gaze back to his. “And, then I plan to whisk you away on the back of my motorcycle and show you, beautiful girl, just how much I genuinely appreciate a second chance with you.”