Blood Ties, Love Binds

by Alexa Whitewolf

  Once he reached the door, Damon knocked three times. Noises came from inside, but they were too faint to identify. A heartbeat later, the door opened, and a blonde girl in her teens appeared, dressed in pyjamas.

  “Err,” Damon hesitated, wondering if he had the right house. A quick glance at the number confirmed he did. “Is your dad in?”

  She frowned, looking him up and down with narrowed eyebrows. He repeated his question in French, and her expression turned even more confused.

  “Je n’ai pas de père.” Without a backwards glance, she returned back inside, leaving the door ajar. I don’t have a father, she’d said.

  Damon stood aghast, trying to understand her response when a male shape entered the hallway instead. The kid was fifteen at most, but one look in his eyes confirmed he’d seen much more than most others his age.

  He murmured something to his sister, then headed towards Damon and closed the door behind him. “C’est toi, Damon?”

  Damon inclined his head at the question, pulling out his badge. After a quick inspection, the young kid moved to the corner of the patio. One foot bounced uneasily off the ground, and his eyes darted around.

  “You’re Christian?”

  The kid gave a curt nod, avoiding his eyes. He wrung his hands for a few seconds, crossed and uncrossed his arms, then finally settled for leaning against the wall.

  He nearly jumped out of his skin when Damon placed a hand on his shoulder. “You’re safe with me, kid.”

  His firm voice got through the nerves, and Christian met his eyes. “Who told you to find me?”

  Damon shrugged. “I have my sources. Interpol, remember?” He flipped the badge once more to reassure Christian, then put it in his back pocket. It was expired, but Christian couldn’t know that. And Damon had meant what he’d said: he was safe.

  He turned his unblinking gaze to Christian, silently willing him to speak. After a brief moment of hesitation, Christian inhaled deeply.

  “A year or so ago, I had a friend in high school. He, um, he got really into drugs, and lost control. Started gambling, selling stuff to pay off huge debts.” Another big gulp of air, and he continued, “He landed in juvie a few times, but Viktor Beauchamp always pulled him out. I didn’t know why, at first. Then my friend told me he dealt drugs for Viktor. I'm not sure what happened after that, but a few weeks later he was dead.”

  Damon pondered the information, hesitant to ask the obvious question. Christian appeared to have been through enough, but he had to know. “Why didn’t you go to the cops?”

  “They’re paid off in this town, man.” He grimaced, eyes darting around again. “I wouldn’t even have talked to you, if you hadn’t tracked me down. I don’t want to be involved!”

  Panic echoed in his raised voice, and Damon tightened his grip on him. “You won’t. Nothing you just told me will go to court. I only needed confirmation I’m after the right guy.” Damon reached in his back pocket, pulling out a piece of paper with a phone number written on it. “Call this number. The guy who answers is named Derek, and he’ll make sure you and your sister are escorted somewhere safe.”

  Christian reached for the paper, jaw agape as if not believing his eyes. His hand shook, but he pulled back before taking what was offered. “What’s the catch? I can’t testify, man. If I do, they’ll kill me like they did my dad, and Gen’ll be all alone.”

  “I promised you’d be safe, Christian.” Damon squeezed his shoulder, emphasizing his statement. “Derek will make sure of that, and you don’t have to testify. I swear, there’s no catch to this.”

  “So what, you’re just a Good Samaritan?” There was wariness in the kid’s voice, but less than before.

  Damon sighed, wishing he could take his pain away, but knowing there was nothing he could do about it, other than ensure Christian had a future and didn’t end up another dead teenager. “You could say that, yeah. I also happen to hate criminals like Viktor, and young kids getting hurt. He’ll get his due.”

  Christian searched his gaze, lower lip trembling. In that moment, he finally looked his age, and Damon’s chest tightened. “Take it.”

  With trembling hands, Christian reached for the paper. Damon nodded and moved away, heading to his car. “Take care, kid.”

  “Wait!” Christian called out. “How will you get this guy, when he has all the cops in his pocket?”

  Damon grinned as he answered over his shoulder, “Because I have a personal stake in this.”

  ♥∞♥

  A chuckle escaped Cassandra once she pulled in the parking lot of the club. Downtown Montreal was always packed, and Fire & Ice was one of the most outrageously popular clubs in the province. Still, what her eyes registered was something straight out of a movie.

  A long line of people stretched from the entrance down the block, and disappeared around the corner. She’d passed the line-up on her drive, and it went on for a few kilometers.

  She recalled the first time she’d come with Renzo, on the club’s opening night. He hadn’t revealed the club was his until a few drinks later, complaining instead about anything and everything from the size of the tables to the uncomfortable bar stools.

  When he’d finally been honest, Cassandra had offered to help him redecorate and it had been the beginning of a great friendship. The club’s popularity had only grown over the last winter months, and it seemed the summer season would be very profitable.

  Renzo must be hiding somewhere inside, poor guy. He tended to avoid the public as girls latched onto him, attracted by his charm, good looks and money. Much like Cassandra, he was a slave to his fortune and last name.

  Cassandra got out of the car and walked to the entrance where Benny, the main bouncer, was attempting to manage the crowd. He had two junior bouncers with him, not that it seemed to help with the bells and whistles that were vibrating through the mass.

  Benny took one look at Cassandra, recognition flashing in his expression, then turned to one of his assistants. “Let her through, she’s a regular.” He offered one of his rare smiles. “Nice to see you could make it, Cassandra. Renzo mentioned you’d be coming tonight.”

  She returned his grin, squeezing his arm as she passed by him. Tough-looking but with a heart of gold, Benny had grown on her since her first time at Fire & Ice.

  “Looks like you'll have a busy night,” Cassandra nodded to the crowd.

  Benny rolled his eyes. “You’re telling us. Summer’s definitely here.”

  She waved goodbye, then stepped in the club. The indignant voices outside faded as soon as she was inside. Cassandra inhaled the perfume-laced air, then wrinkled her nose and followed the lit hallway.

  After a few seconds, she emerged onto a balcony that offered a view of the entire club. Set on two levels, it had a general population area, and a VIP section off to the second level. It was only last winter that Renzo’s dad had added another level to the club, and she now understood why.

  Bodies occupied every inch of the dance floor below, moving to the fast-beating rhythm, no worries on their minds. When a quick head scan confirmed her friend was nowhere to be seen, Cassandra followed another path that led to the upper level where all the regulars VIPs were.

  Unlike last time she’d been there when they’d had a semblance of privacy, the secondary level was also packed that night. Upon her entrance, two men from the bar turned their attention to her.

  Not good, but it's not like I didn't expect it.

  “Cass!”

  ♥ Chapter 7 ♥

  The voice came out of nowhere, and before Cassandra could scan for it, someone engulfed her in a hug. After a moment of surprise, she hugged back, recognizing the arms around her – and the cologne of the person.

  Any other male touching her without permission would have gotten injured for their effort. But Renzo was pretty much family. Cassandra might’ve missed her romantic happy ending, but at least she had a brother. Even if they weren’t blood-related.

  She inhaled Renzo’s scent, t
hen smiled and pulled back. His arm stayed around her shoulders, enough of a deterrent for the guys at the bar, who turned their attention elsewhere.

  “I didn't think you'd miss me so!”

  Renzo rolled his eyes at the teasing, then grabbed Cassandra’s hand and led her to the only empty booth left in the area. “Are you kidding me? Everyone at The Gazette’s missing you, and it’s barely been a few hours. When the boss realizes what he’s lost, he’ll come begging at your door. Man, what I wouldn’t give to see that!”

  It was Cassandra’s turn to roll her eyes. Renzo and the editor of The Gazette were like cats and dogs. His lack of leadership skills aside, the boss had poor hygiene and leering eyes. As far as Renzo was concerned, the man needed a long vacation on a very deserted island – permanently.

  “Honestly, Renzo, I don’t even get why you work. It’s not like you need it.”

  He shrugged, meeting her gaze in that disconcerting direct way of his. “For the same reason as you, Cass… Something to do.”

  She nodded at his honesty, understanding more than words could express, but ready for a change of topic nonetheless. “So, any conquests tonight?”

  Renzo burst out laughing, leading Cassandra to raise her eyebrows. “Not yet… But I bet it won’t be long. There’s a huge crowd outside, did you see it?”

  “Yup! Benny has his hands full tonight. Maybe your dad should consider adding another level… Or building a second club next to this one. You’ll have a hell of a clientele this summer.”

  Renzo grinned. “That’s what I’m counting on to find the girl of my dreams.”

  Cassandra avoided his gaze, reaching for the water glass a waitress had set in front of them. Renzo’s words only made her think of Damon. He’d been the guy of her dreams, once. And look how that turned out: an epic fail, as far as choices are concerned.

  She’d underestimated Renzo and his perceptive skills. Even as she looked around the club in a vague attempt at hiding her thoughts, he wasn’t fooled. He leaned over, catching her chin with his index and forcing her to meet his gaze. The gentle brown eyes widened as he read through her.

  Cassandra sighed and pulled out of his reach. “Ok, spit it out. My eyes betray me, right? You’ve only mentioned it about a thousand times by now, as you did your Italian grandma’s precognitive skills. So?”

  Renzo narrowed his eyes, all trace of humour gone. “Cass… Did you… Is there someone in your life?” His voice was soft, but the booth muted some of the noise, at least enough so she could hear him.

  “No,” was Cassandra’s deadpan answer. “Why?”

  Renzo’s frown deepened. “There’s something different about you. I’d say it’s just that you had a bad day, but it’s so much more than that. It looks like you have things to think over… Am I right?”

  Touché, was what she wanted to say. Instead, Cassandra expelled a breath and whispered a small, “Yeah, Renzo. As always.”

  Concern shone in his eyes, and she nodded at the unspoken question. “Don’t worry, I’ll be ok. Like you said, I need to think. But first, I also desperately want to relax and forget this pathetically bad day.”

  Renzo tilted his head to the side, a half-smile tugging the corners of his lips. “Dance?” Things were always so easy with him.

  Cassandra grinned her answer, then Renzo whisked her away on the VIP dance floor. In a matter of minutes, girls dragged him away and she ended up partnering with strangers. Not that she minded, as long as the guys kept their distances. The music surrounded her, its deep-set vibrations thrumming through, unwinding her body.

  Even as she moved to the beat, Cassandra found her thoughts drifting to Damon, wondering what had lured him away – or whom. An unfamiliar hand on her hip had her whirl around. The guy was young and handsome, but nothing about his easygoing smile appealed to her.

  Shaking her head, Cassandra moved away and to the side of the dance floor. She caught Renzo’s questioning expression and smiled in what she hoped was reassurance, then walked away. For the time being, he seemed to accept her change of mood.

  Yet Cassandra had no doubt that once he got bored with the sirens surrounding him, he’d be more persistent than ever. And this time, he would want answers.

  Her gaze raked through the club, still looking for a distraction, and it settled on the bar. Renzo would definitely approve of his best friend getting wasted for the first time in ages. A nagging voice at the back of her head whispered it was a bad idea, but Cassandra ignored it and made her way through the crowd.

  The bartender, Sam, smiled at her. All staff and most of Renzo's friends knew her around the club. She was his best pal, the one who always got his ass out of trouble… And hers into plenty.

  “Cass!” Sam shouted over the music, waving her over. “Want a drink?”

  “More like need one!”

  Sam held a finger up, then disappeared for a few moments. When he reappeared, he pushed a glass filled with an orange concoction towards Cassandra. She scrunched up her nose at it when a strong smell of fruits and alcohol assailed her senses.

  “Really, Sam? This is girly as all hell.”

  His boom of a laugh washed over her, and a few heads turned in their direction. “Try it first, then talk.”

  Cassandra scowled at the drink as if it had personally offended her, then shrugged. “Goodbye stress, hello hangover.”

  She tipped the small glass and gulped down the whole thing. At first, all she could taste was a mix of peaches and raspberries. Then fire burned a slow path down her windpipe and into her stomach, where it seemingly exploded into smaller flames.

  Cassandra coughed violently, trying to calm the irritation in her throat. She was vaguely aware of Sam laughing at her.

  “Hell, woman. Drink it slow!”

  Shaking her head, Cassandra swallowed a few more times then met Sam’s gaze again, raising her index to show she wanted a second one. When he seemed doubtful, she scowled. “Don’t argue!”

  He rolled his eyes, and served her a refill. This time, she drank it sip by sip, and the cough wasn’t as bad. Within moments, the liquid spread like wildfire through her veins, creating a pleasant buzz.

  “I must say, you learn fast.” The voice was deep, silky and faintly accented.

  Cassandra turned on the stool and met warm, black eyes, in a very European face. The guy could have been a model with his aristocratic cheekbones and fine-chiselled features. Everything in him screamed money and ease, from the tip of his designer shoes, to the starch white that was clearly made of fine material, hugging his muscles like a lover.

  “It’s sort of my motto,” Cassandra said while taking another sip of her drink, refusing to be impressed by his choice in style. “Never make the same mistake twice.”

  “Ah, but how old are you?” The stranger smiled. “Young in body, old at soul?”

  His grin was engaging, and Cassandra responded despite her usual reservations about strangers. Still, a sense of unease settled over her, though she couldn’t pinpoint it.

  This man didn’t seem to have any bad intentions. A French intonation tainted his accent, marking him as out of place among the regular clientele with their Quebec dialect. Without her good ear for languages, Cassandra never would have noticed.

  He was handsome, well-built, young – roughly her age – and interested in her. Add to that a great sense of style and the cutest dimples when he smiled, and you got a full picture of Prince Charming himself.

  So why the awkwardness?

  The answer dawned on her with all the grace of a cold shower. His confidence, the way he towered over her and the glint in his eyes… It all reminded her of Damon.

  The realization made Cassandra choke on her next sip, and she coughed again. For Pete’s sake, am I going to die because I can’t stop thinking of the most stubborn guy I’ve met in my life!?

  Luckily, it didn’t get to that. The Frenchman gave her two strong pats on the back, and she inhaled air with the desperation of the drowned. When her teary e
yes met his, the newcomer was smirking.

  “Think you need some CPR?” His innuendo couldn’t be missed.

  “I’ll survive,” Cassandra retorted, feeling more confident as she threw back the last of her drink. She signalled Sam for another refill.

  Before he could lecture her as his disapproving face warned, a different voice echoed behind her. “Cassandra, but what a sight you are for sore eyes!”

  Cassandra whirled around with wide eyes, her drink forgotten. “Uncle Fabio!”

  A full six feet tall, with sleek black hair, olive skin and dressed in the latest-fad suit money could buy, Fabrizio Moretti was still a striking man in his forties. Cassandra had only ever known him as Uncle Fabio since Renzo introduced them.

  Sliding off the bar stool, she moved into his arms, chuckling at his overdramatic entrance. Fabio hugged her tight, lifting her off her feet and placing her back down. His cologne was overpowering – more the type to turn one’s head quick. It didn’t help the devil had a silver tongue.

  “What are you doing here?” The question escaped her when she pulled back, but Fabio kept an arm draped over her shoulders.

  “I'm paying a visit to the place,” he murmured, glancing around until his gaze sharpened on the bar. His next words made her cringe like a little girl caught at fault. “Having fun?”

  Cassandra knew he was referring to the empty glasses, and her unsteady feet. Before she could do otherwise, he snapped his fingers towards Sam. “Take that crap away and don’t serve her another one.”

  There was a steely tone to his order she wasn’t used to, and she tried to move again. His arm only tightened. “Where did your friend go?”

  Go? Cassandra turned around at that, but sure enough the Frenchman was gone. Odd…

  “He’s not, um… I’m not sure exactly who he was.”

  Uncle Fabio met her eyes, his expression unreadable yet intense. “You should be very careful whom you associate yourself with, my dear.”

  Then, as if he hadn’t just delivered a cryptic warning, he kissed her cheek and let her go. “Say hi to Lorenzo for me, I have to go.”