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

pulling or slaps or pushing my face into a cushion until I passed out.
    No!
    My hands searched in blind fear through the water in front of me until my fingers closed around the handle of a steak knife. God help me, I wanted a bigger knife -- one like the carving knife with its long blade and sharp point, but that was in the cutlery block a good three feet out of arm’s reach.
    The steak knife would have to do. I jerked it from the water, quickly transferred it to my right hand and flipped it so the tip pointed at me. Before I could jab at my father’s arm, he captured my wrist.
    “Damn it, Avery,” a masculine voice growled low in my ear. “I’m not here to hurt you.”
    My fingers went numb, either from Callan’s hard grip or the realization that it was him.
    Crap, I’d almost stabbed him!
    The knife dropped into the sink. I started to shake, my body’s reaction as violent and exaggerated as if I’d had gallons of ice water dumped on me or fallen in the lake mid-winter.
    Removing his hand from my mouth, Callan spun me then wrapped his arms around me. He pushed my face against his chest, muffling any chance I had of screaming had I wanted to.
    “Just listen to me,” he whispered. “If you don’t like what I’m saying, I’ll go.”
    I nodded against his chest, his hand still pinning my head to his body. He relaxed slightly, his fingers knotting in my hair as a precaution. The decrease in his tension didn’t stop my shaking. If anything, I shook harder.
    Callan probably had the entire Gypsy horde out looking for him and he was in my house.
    Why?
    “Shh,” he soothed. He released his light grip on my hair to run both hands over my back.
    I pressed closer to him. I clutched at his t-shirt. I tried to say something, to ask him why he was there, but my lips quivered too much to shape the words and I knew I couldn’t control the volume of my voice. Anything I said would come out as a shout and potentially draw my dad into the room if he was still conscious.
    Callan grabbed my face and forced me to look at him. “I would never hurt you. But if he comes in here, he’s dead. So you have to calm down.”
    I nodded again, still not trusting myself to speak. Rage burned in Callan’s eyes, showing me the danger to my dad’s life was real. My cheeks burned as it dawned on me why Callan was threatening to kill him.
    “You saw?” I whispered.
    “Saw...yeah.” His hands gripped my head a little tighter, scaring me for a second before he dropped them to his side. “Heard him, too.”
    His gaze cut toward the kitchen door. Seeing the anger that heated his skin and narrowed his face, I had a moment’s vision of Callan grabbing the carving knife from the block and going into the front room. He was at the tipping point of losing it, the assault he had witnessed just one component of a day that would send anyone else over the edge.
    Reaching up, I placed my palms flat against his massive chest. “Forget him. Tell me why you’re here.”
    His eyes softened when he looked back at me. His mouth opened, then closed in reconsideration. I could see him talking to himself inside his head, maybe rehearsing what he wanted to say to me.
    “Please,” I prodded, my hands lightly rubbing at his chest. My body had stopped vibrating but the tension of needing to hear why he was standing in my kitchen would quickly prove too much for me to bear. I could feel my body starting to wind up again, the violent shaking just a few seconds away if he didn’t speak. “Tell me.”
    Callan backed up a few feet, pulling me with him so that we were out of view of the windows and door into the dining room.
    “You called the cops out to Freya’s, didn’t you?”
    “Yes.” I gripped the collar of his shirt, wanted to rip it from him to ease my frustration. If this was just a “thank you and good-bye,” I might take the steak knife to him after all. When he said nothing, I pounded one impotent fist against his shoulder. “Bolo was going to