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

appliance as he watched Avery work.
    Her posture had changed from a relaxed fatigue to alert and on edge. Two feet away from her in the small kitchen, Joe put the beer to his mouth, his lips moving in speech before he took another sip. Avery reached into her pocket and took some money out. Placing it on the counter without looking at her father, she went back to cleaning the dishes. She hadn’t spoken to the old man since he entered the room.
    I closed my eyes, tried to let the black behind my eyelids wash down the anger rising up inside me. Instinctively, I knew what would come next. The signs were there. Long sleeves on hot days, the occasional scarf knotted around her neck when she was not the kind of woman who added flare to her outfits. If anything, Avery Watkins tried to be invisible.
    Chest growing too tight to breathe, I opened my eyes.
    Joe had his hand around Avery’s throat, just enough strength in his drunken arms to spin her. Her back hit the refrigerator door and then her head bounced hard against its surface. I stepped away from the tree and into the exposed area of the driveway, only Joe’s truck sheltering me from being seen by anyone out so late.
    Somewhere in the few steps I’d taken, my hands had gnarled into fists. They started shaking as the old man’s free hand -- the one he wasn’t using to choke his daughter with -- went under Avery’s shirt. I staggered from the truck to the side door, losing sight of Avery and what Joe was doing to her as I slid the blade of my buck knife between the door and its frame. The old wood gave way with a quiet groan masked by Joe’s yelling.
    You don’t keep money from me, you dumb cunt!
    My lips pressed tightly together, my teeth threatening to penetrate the flesh. I wanted to bellow from the doorway, to roar at the old man to get his fucking hands off her. But if he knew I was there, his fate was sealed. I hadn’t killed a man, not yet. But it wouldn’t take much for me to kill Joe Watkins.
    I don’t care if you got it down your bra or up your snatch -- it’s my money!
    Yeah, I could kill him for that alone. If he saw me tonight, he was a dead man. But I didn’t want Avery to see me coldblooded or in a rage. If I murdered Joe Watkins, she would be too terrified to leave with me.
    The door between the kitchen and dining room slammed and I heard a small sob break from Avery’s throat. I eased into the dining room from the dark hall and silently pushed the kitchen door open. She stood with her back to me, her shaking hands once again busy with the dishes and beer cans littering the counter.
    I crept closer, not wanting to startle her but knowing she might scream when she saw me. As near as I was, I could smell a mix of her flowery scent and the stale sweat and beer of Joe from how he had his hands on her. It was blasphemous for those two smells to mingle.
    She hadn’t stopped crying. Her rough breathing and the clatter of dishes and flatware as she rinsed the soap off camouflaged my footsteps and the rustle of my clothing. Without thinking, I quickly reached around and clamped my hand over her mouth.
    I expected at least a small struggle, but the knife surprised me.
     

Avery
    Back to dole out more abuse, my dad covered my mouth with his hand, his body behind me. Fresh tears stung my eyes and blurred my vision. It was too much -- the words he’d said earlier, the way my throat still hurt from how he’d held me against the refrigerator, or the way his knuckles had grazed the underside of my breast as he rooted around the bottom band of my bra for my tip money. On top of all that, I felt more alone in Thunder Valley than I had since my mother died, maybe even lonelier. Callan was gone, without knowing or caring what I’d done for him.
    Every last drop of poison I’d ingested over my life bubbled like acid to the surface of my skin, the hiss and pop rising in a chorus of NO! No, I would not allow the old man to touch me again. No more punches, no hair