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

planted his meaty hands on his hips and glared at Afia, not even wanting an explanation for why she had invited over the disrespectful American, knowing fully well there was no way they could accept him.  Nothing she could say would make the situation any better.
     
    Rashad was livid. Sam Elison look like a gentleman, but he was no more that than a dog could be a man. He had come into Rashad’s home and spouted nonsense about being in love with his daughter, only to have it revealed that he had already deflowered her.  Rashad wouldn’t abide it.  Afia tried to speak again. Rashad shook his head viciously, pointing a finger at the girl standing in the center of the main room of the Amini house. “No,” he spat.
     
    “Maman,” Afia turned to her mother, who had materialized back at the kitchen archway at the sound of the scuffle between Rayan and Sam.  
     
    Fatima, too, couldn’t seem to hold her gaze. The diminutive housewife studied the floor, wringing her hands, refusing to talk for fear of what angry words would fly past her lips. Fatima had always had the hardest time bridling her tongue. She had suspected, nearly known, her daughter was out defiling herself. A man like Sam Elison wouldn’t have gotten up the courage to come to their door if he hadn’t at some point sampled Afia’s now tarnished goods. Fatima ground her teeth, suffering in silence, her expectations and hopes dashed.  Her daughter would never get a fine husband after this. 
     
    Afia’s bitter hazel eyes flew to Rayan, the culprit in this. While her parents glowered at her like she was vile, her brother was openly drinking from his flask, leering at her with a smug grin. Rayan was back sprawled out on the living room couch with his shirt half open, a scruffy beard covering his handsome face, his dark brown eyes beady with malice.  His hand shook as he lifted the silver canteen to his lips and gulped the whiskey down. He gestured to her with the hand holding the flask. “You should have listened to me,” Rayan slurred.
     
    “I have half a mind to put you out of this house myself,” Rashad growled to Afia. “But, that would only give you license to run back into the arms of your filthy lover. I will not condone it! I will not abide it! Not of my child.”
     
    “Baba, I love him!” Afia shouted. “Tell me the wrong in a love that is sincere and all-encompassing, a love that would sacrifice so much and break so many boundaries just to flourish. You can lock me away in this house. You can send Sam away, but you can never take away the love that I have for him in my heart.”
     
    She fled the room. She couldn’t stand beneath their accusing looks any longer. Afia pushed past her mother and through the archway of the living room. She raced down the hall to her bedroom. As she ran, tears cascaded down her face and sobs were torn from her chest. She couldn’t understand them, and it was clear they were making no attempts to understand her. Afia pushed open her bedroom door and slammed it shut behind her, marching to her bed and throwing herself down to the mattress.
     
    She sniffed, eyes blinded by sorrow, and she tried to stop crying. Over and over the scene replayed in her head. Sam had been so respectful. He had pleaded his case so eloquently, merely asking them to give him a chance to show he would be a good husband to Afia. She had given up any hope of having him as her husband, so she hadn’t even broached the idea to her parents after the fall-out. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined he would show up at her house and ask her parents outright for her hand in marriage, but he had.
     
    The interminable future lie ahead of her, a future in which he couldn’t take part. It was the hardest thing that Afia had ever had to encounter. She had endured the month of separation the first time when she had stayed away from Sam, trying to follow Rayan’s orders. She had almost been torn apart by missing him when her parents