Rage (A Thunder Gypsies MC Outlaw Biker Romance) Read Online Free PDF

clamped a hand around my mouth.
    “If he touches you--” Callan warned.
    “I know,” I answered softly. “He’s dead.”
    **********
    I took the beer out to my dad. He couldn’t keep his eyes open. I handed the can to him, the tab already popped. He pulled it slowly to his mouth, his eyebrows lifting like they were attached to his top lip and that was the only way he could get his mouth open enough to pour anything into it. He slurped some in, swallowed, then let out an exaggerated sigh as he melted into the ratty old recliner he’d had since before I was born.
    “I’m sorry about what I said.” He pushed the beer can between his thighs so it wouldn’t spill, and then he patted aimlessly near his chest for the pocket holding his cigarettes.
    “I know,” I answered and leaned forward to pluck a cigarette from the pack. Knowing he was too drunk to light it on his own, I struck a match and puffed on the end a few times before handing it to him. “I’m gonna throw on a jacket so I can take the trash out.”
    If he hadn’t been two sheets to the wind, he would have wondered why I wanted a jacket when the temperature hadn’t dropped below sixty all month. Instead, he nodded as if it made perfect sense. Surprising me, he captured my wrist and gave my arm a little jiggle.
    “You’re a good girl, Avery.” Letting go of my wrist, he reached for his beer. “Not at all like your mom.”
    I thought I was done crying for the night, but fresh tears swam along the bottom rim of my eyes and threatened to escape. He rollercoastered like this depending on where he was in his drinking cycle. Before tomorrow afternoon rolled around, I would once again be a worthless bitch.
    My head bounced in acknowledgement while I searched for my voice. “I know, dad.”
    I fled upstairs as quietly as I could. No dummy, Freya made all her waitresses wear yoga pants on duty. No skirts, no jeans, just a well-hugged and high lifted ass that left nothing to the imagination. I stripped them off, shoved a clean pair in my backpack and slid on some jeans and a worn pair of low-heeled boots I’d purchased second hand. I slid a denim jacket over my t-shirt, tossed a few more tees into the bag, a pair of slip-ons, some panties and one bra, although I had so little up top I could get by without one. On my way into the bathroom, I stepped into my dad’s room. He’d trashed my room any number of times to see if I had hidden any cash. He never thought to check his own room, didn’t know about the loose board under his dresser or how the little space beneath held almost eight hundred dollars of my money.
    One hairbrush, toothbrush and a tube of paste later and I was downstairs.
    I peeked around the corner to find my dad passed out, his body miraculously upright in the chair. The cigarette I had lit for him five minutes earlier hung from his lips. Without him puffing on it, it had a few more minutes of life before it died out. I crossed the room, my backpack over one shoulder. I leaned forward, ready to gently remove the cigarette so I wouldn’t wake him and have to explain the bag.
    My hand hovered, waiting for me to decide whether I would take the cigarette and extinguish it or let it burn down. I dropped my hand to my side and turned, unsurprised to find Callan watching me. Like my hand, he’d been waiting to see whether I would protect the old man from himself one last time. Seeing that I hadn’t, approval lit his gaze and he gave a small jerk of his head toward the hallway that led to the side door and the driveway beyond it.
    Outside, I waited to see which direction he would take, but he opened the truck door for me.
    “Climb in.” He waited while I obeyed, then softly shut the door. Instead of walking directly to the driver side, he went to the trashcan next to the back of the house, lifted the lid and scooped out a grocery store bag. He peeled the bag off to reveal another store bag wrapped around what looked like a brick.
    “Put this in