Betrayed: Book Two - The Road to Redemption

by Nicky Charles

  “As you said, Deirdre taught us not to waste an opportunity.” Damien looked at the man writhing on the ground, and casually taking a wad of bills from his pocket, dropped them on the ground beside the injured Lycan. “Sorry, but you wouldn’t have passed Harper’s test anyway. That should be enough to cover your out of pocket expenses.”

  “What the hell…?” Dante struggled to get up, anger contorting his face.

  Placing his foot on the man’s throat, Damien pressed down just enough to cause the man’s eyes to widen in distress. “Just a reminder, this is my job now. My territory. Stay the hell out of it.” He eased off the pressure and gave the man one final warning. “And stay away from the girl or I will kill you.”

  Shoving his hands in his pockets, Damien walked away whistling softly. Dante would know better than to show his face in Chicago again. If there was one thing Damien had learned over the years, it was to never leave potential enemies in doubt as to your intentions.

  Sam sat astride her Harley, waiting for her new Beta to appear. She’d had reservations about taking a rogue into the pack but, after consulting with the others, it had seemed to be the best solution. He was younger than she’d anticipated; the experience he’d outlined in his emails seemed to belong to someone older. Most likely he’d exaggerated hoping to impress. An inelegant snort escaped her. As if.

  The street was almost empty. A few cars passed by, a group of teens roughhousing. It was late enough that the majority of people had already headed for home, only a few hard-core revellers remaining in the various establishments that lined the streets. She tapped her fingers on the handles of her motorcycle, impatient to be on her way. It had been a long day and she was tired, not that she’d let anyone know. An Alpha had no weaknesses.

  Sitting up straighter, she took a deep breath. Fall was almost upon them, but the unseasonably warm weather belied the fact. Heat and humidity made the air seem heavy to breathe and caused her clothing to stick to her. A cold shower or a cold drink; she’d take either of them right now if only she had the time.

  A glance at her watch revealed it was exactly twenty-nine minutes since she’d left the rogue in the alley. Where the hell was…? The sound of an engine approaching stopped her mid-curse. A motorcycle pulled up beside her. Dante.

  His bike matched him perfectly. Big and black. Powerful. It was an older model that had some signs of wear, but the engine purred like a well maintained machine should. Light from the overhead street lamp bathed them allowing her to see the dark stubble showing on his firm chin. His silvery blue eyes were topped by strong brows. There was a coldness about him, an ‘I don’t give a damn if I live or die’ look. Men with that attitude were dangerous and it had her once again rethinking her decision to hire him. Was she bringing trouble into her pack? She hoped not.

  A whisper of a breeze caused a lock of his black hair to fall over his forehead. It added a contrasting hint of vulnerability, as did his slightly fuller lower lip. Which was the real man, she wondered, an unexpected thrill coursing through her as she studied him. She gave no hint as to her interest, though, keeping her face impassive.

  He flicked a glance at her wrist and Sam realized she still had her sleeve pulled back to reveal her watch. “Am I late?”

  As she looked down, the numbers changed. Exactly thirty minutes. She didn’t say anything however, merely letting her sleeve drop back into place and starting her engine. “Ready?”

  He nodded and they set off.

  Sam led the way, knowing the streets of Chicago like the back of her hand. She’d been prowling the city ever since she’d been old enough to leave the house on her own and knew every back alley and short cut. Of course, she wasn’t going to reveal that to the rogue. He was an unknown entity and her knowledge of the city was an ace up her sleeve.

  Instead, she took more traditional routes, winding her way past businesses and factories, abandoned lots and housing complexes. She could feel Dante’s gaze on her, a distinctive twitch between her shoulder blades letting her know he was assessing her, no doubt noting the incongruity of a small woman manoeuvring a big Harley.

  Too bad.

  She loved the big machine, the idea of controlling so much power.

  They paused for a traffic light and she glanced in her rearview mirror, catching Dante’s gaze. He nodded, acknowledging the eye contact, his face expressionless.

  Sam watched him, watching her. His gaze was intense, just bordering on being challenging. Then, slowly, he shifted his focus, his lids lowering as he slid his gaze down her body. Her muscles tightened. She could almost feel him touching her, trailing his fingers down her spine, lingering on her waist. What would it feel like to have him slide his hands around her, to pull her back against his hard body? Their earlier fight had brought them into close proximity and she was well aware that he was a fine physical specimen. Exploring him more intimately might be very rewarding.

  The idea had tension coiling inside her as heat pooled low down in her belly. She swallowed hard, her hands inadvertently tightening on the throttle. The engine roared, the big machine throbbing with suppressed power between her legs. In the mirror, Dante locked eyes with her again. Was there an added heat in his gaze?

  Sam broke eye contact and almost gave a sigh of relief when the traffic light changed from red to green and she had to concentrate on the road once again. Being attracted to Dante wasn’t a good idea. She’d have to watch herself around him. Damn.

  As they approached the neighbourhood that she and her pack called home, Sam lowered her speed and scanned the area. In its day, it had been a prestigious area, but time and changing economic fortunes hadn’t been kind. The once grand houses were tired and in need of repair, many now converted into multiple family dwellings. In a way, it served as a kind of camouflage for her pack. A snooty neighbourhood might question the number of persons who came and went from her home, but here, no one noticed or cared. Minding your own business was the motto.

  Sam swung her bike into an opening in a rusty wrought iron fence. The brick pillars that flanked the entrance were crumbling, the house number hanging crookedly from a rusty screw. She kept meaning to fix it, but there were always too many other jobs that took priority.

  The driveway wasn’t long. It curved around the front of the house and then along the side to the back. Years ago, this would have been the servants’ entrance, but now it was the door they used most often given that the boards on the front porch were partially rotted.

  Thankfully, it was dark, and Dante wouldn’t notice the outward appearance of the pack house. That gave her time to establish herself with him before he started to form any kind of judgement. Some might think that a rundown house indicated a weak Alpha, but she’d prove him wrong. Economic hard times had nothing to do with her abilities as a leader. She wasn’t the one who had run the pack bank balance into the red.

  Compressing her lips at that thought, she turned off the Harley’s engine and swung her leg over the seat. Dante parked beside her.

  “We’re here.” Sam kept her voice gruff, her words clipped. Her momentary attraction to him had left her out of sorts and she wasn’t about to hide the fact. Being a bitch helped keep the pack members in line, and they knew enough not to cross her when she was in a mood. Someone else could do the social niceties.

  Damien sat astride his motorcycle, a dark cloud settling over him. Following Samantha had given him a perfect opportunity to study her as she controlled the massive machine she rode. The way she’d leaned into the curves showed she was sure of her abilities, the way her ass wiggled as she’d adjusted her seat at a traffic light revealed her love of creature comforts. It had caught his attention and reminded him of how her lithe body and toned muscles had felt against his when they’d been locked in battle. It had been ages since he’d experienced even a stir of interest in another woman and now guilt over that interest ate away at him. He scowled, damning her and himself.

  Samantha didn’t look his way after parking her Harley, me
rely heading towards the house. He knew she was expecting him to follow, but a perverse need to command her attention had him staying where he was. Besides, he was a rogue; since when did he do anything the easy way?

  Her foot was on the top step before she paused and cocked her head to the side. Good. She’d noticed he wasn’t trotting after her like some pup. He waited smugly for her reaction.

  “You coming, Dante? Or have you seized up already from our fight? If you have, you’re obviously the wrong rogue for the job and you might as well head on your way now.” She spoke without turning, her tone hard. Even her hand remained resting lightly on the railing, no sign of it clenching in tension. Damien silently acknowledged her self-confidence. Turning would have meant she needed eye contact to enforce her authority. And her question was phrased to goad an answer from him. Smart girl.

  He could remain silent, turn this into a battle of wills, but that wasn’t his purpose. Some defiance was expected from a rogue, but he needed to stay within the pack’s good graces if he was to carry out the mission Kane had sent him on. Going against his natural instincts, he answered her.

  “Coming. Just admiring the view.”

  “View?”

  Mentioning her ass in her snug pants would have been too cliché and, from the slight stiffening of her shoulders, he could tell that was what she was expecting. Instead, he kept things neutral. “The moon. It’s full.”

  She glanced upward, but that was all the acknowledgement she gave the statement. “Hurry up. I still have things I need to do tonight.”

  Her dismissive tone irked and he compressed his lips to hold back a snarl. Why the hell had he agreed to do this job? Weeks of acting subservient to a slip of a girl and her ineffectual Alpha wasn’t going to be easy. Did he really need the aggravation? Then he thought of Kane and Elise and sighed. He’d given his word and he’d stand by it…even if it drove him insane.

  Damien shoved his keys in his pocket and grabbed his pack. No point in prolonging things any longer. “I’m ready. Lead the way.”

  He eyed the house as he climbed the steps, noting loose bricks and missing mortar. It was an old building, rundown and in need of some serious repairs. Once inside it was easy to see the same applied to the interior as well. It was clean but begging for a facelift.

  “The pack office is over there.” Samantha gestured towards the front of the house. “Common rooms, kitchen and dining room are all on the main floor. Bedrooms are on the second and third levels.”

  “Has your pack been here long?” He asked the question idly as he peered into the rooms they passed. Most of the furniture he saw had been elegant in its day, some were even antiques but much of it was long past its prime.

  “We’ve occupied this particular house for over a century. Why?” Samantha shot a look at him over her shoulder, a mixture of defensiveness and suspicion lacing her voice.

  “No reason. Just wondering.” Damien shrugged and said no more. She seemed prickly and he could imagine it would be all too easy to get into a meaningless fight.

  She led him to the second floor and then the third, the stairs creaking with age beneath their weight. Damien listened carefully, trying to detect how many other wolves might be in the house, but he only heard the quiet drone of a TV in some far off room. Nor was the air laced with a multitude of scents; a dozen wolves lived here at best. Strange. For a pack house of this size, he’d have expected more.

  “You’ll be staying here.” Samantha opened a door near the end of the hallway and gestured for him to go ahead.

  Damien brushed past and her scent teased his nostrils; leather and a touch of exotic spice. It stirred his interest, and his inner wolf perked its ears wanting to linger and test her scent again. Too bad, boy; it’s not happening. He continued on into the room.

  Trying to occupy his mind with practicalities, he glanced at his surroundings. The bedroom was a decent size with a double bed, dresser, table and chair. An old armoire filled most of one wall and windows flanked either side of the bed.

  “You have your own bathroom.” Samantha jerked her chin towards a partially open door. “Towels and sheets are on the end of the bed. If you’re hungry feel free to raid the kitchen. Just follow your nose and you’ll find it.” Her tone was abrupt, her expression impassive save for a few lines of tension around the corners of her mouth.

  Damien wondered what her problem was, not that he really cared. All he wanted was to be away from her and the uncomfortable awareness she stirred in him.

  “I’ll be fine.” His words were clipped and to the point.

  “Good, I’ll talk to you in the morning.” With one final assessing glance, she turned and left.

  After pushing the door shut, Damien tossed his bag in the corner and checked the windows; old habits were hard to forget. The panes slid open with little effort and revealed that a branch from a massive chestnut tree was within reach, as was the downspout from the eaves trough. If need be, either could provide a means of escape. Satisfied, he shut the window, stripped and flopped down on the bed willing himself to rest.

  The cross country drive from Kane’s home in Oregon had been long and he’d pushed himself to complete it in as few days as possible. Hours on his motorcycle followed by a good fight had the old injury on his leg throbbing dully. Come to think of it, his other muscles weren’t that happy with him either. When he’d left Smythston, he’d jokingly told Kane he was on the road to redemption. He hadn’t expected quite these types of road bumps, though!

  Being thirty wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, he thought as he rolled onto his side and punched his pillow. Better than being dead, he supposed, though there were days when he questioned that. Another muscle twinged in his leg and he wondered if Samantha was feeling any aches and pains from their encounter. An evil side of him hoped she was. And with that he closed his eyes and tried to sleep.

  Chapter 2

  Sam stood at the far end of the hallway, listening to Dante move about his room. He’d opened and shut the windows and then faint rustling sounds followed. She assumed he was getting undressed and refused to acknowledge the visual that came to mind. He was a rogue she’d hired, nothing to get excited about. A thud indicated he’d flopped on the bed and was followed by slight protests from the mattress as he adjusted his position. Then silence. Cocking her head, she waited for five minutes until she was confident that he was settled for the night, before moving away.

  Dante was on the third floor; it was hardly used anymore and therefore kept him away from most of the pack. Her inner wolf murmured its approval of her decision. It was suspicious of the man. More importantly, Dante’s location kept him away from her grandfather and his querulous moods. Her mouth tightened as she thought of her patriarch, and giving a sigh, she headed down the stairs to the next level.

  Her grandfather’s room was at the far end of the second floor hallway—exactly in the opposite direction of Dante’s. As she approached, telltale boards creaked preventing her from catching the old man by surprise. She snorted as, after the first squeak, the TV was suddenly turned off and the shaft of light disappeared from under his doorway.

  She paused outside the room and shook her head at his attempt to deceive her before giving a light rap.

  “Enter.” His voice was gravelly with age and fatigue. It was well past his bedtime.

  Sam pushed the door open and then leaned against the jamb, arms folded as she stared at the man in the reclining chair. “Grandfather, why are you still awake?”

  “I wasn’t awake,” he began to protest, but when she raised her brow he paused and rephrased his statement. “I was dozing. Fell asleep with the TV on.”

  “Right.” She rolled her eyes making no attempt to hide her disbelief. “You were waiting up for me.”

  He shrugged. “And if I was?”

  Sam pushed off from the door frame moving to sit on a chair near him. “There’s no need. I’m perfectly capable of carrying out a simple mission on my own.”

  He a
ppeared about to protest but then changed his mind and gave a nod. “I trained you well.”

  “That you did.” She lifted her chin slightly and straightened her spine.

  They studied each other for a moment, the light from the hallway allowing her to see his thin silvery hair, the lines on his face, his faded blue eyes. There were no soft words or hugs between the two of them. That had never been Samuel Harper’s way and, following his example, it wasn’t hers either. He’d raised his namesake to be tough, resilient, to do her duty and show no weakness. She’d spent her entire childhood trying to live up to his expectations and, for the most part, she’d succeeded.

  Finally, he grunted his approval of her and moved on to the real reason he’d stayed up. “Did the rogue show? Did he give you any trouble?”

  “He showed. I tested him and he’ll do.”

  “He’d better. Wasting money on a rogue.” He snorted and shook his head before trying to push himself into a more comfortable position. “Once I’m back on my feet, none of this…” He began to cough, the results of a persistent cold he was still struggling to overcome. Sam instinctively reached out to help him.

  “Let me…”

  “No fussing! I’m not an invalid, you know!” His sharp tone had her freezing in place while her inner wolf shrunk towards the ground in the face of the Alpha’s ire.

  “Of course.” She subsided, biting back the retort that had sprung to her lips. Age and an old back injury had left him mostly confined to his room these past years, but he refused to acknowledge he was no longer physically capable of running the pack. Instead, she served as ‘acting Alpha’ while he retained the official title. It irked that few knew she was really the one doing all the work and calling the shots, but short of publicly revealing his weakness there wasn’t much she could do about the situation. Her time would come; it was just hard to be patient.