Betrayed: Book Two - The Road to Redemption

by Nicky Charles

  “Not so fast. Dante isn’t ready for you yet.”

  His arm was grabbed roughly and cold metal was clamped around one wrist. A growl rumbled in his chest. There was no effing way he was going to let this human cuff him! He gathered his strength, preparing to surge upwards and deal with the annoying twit, when a loud metallic screech filled the room followed by a reverberating bang as steel hit steel. Someone had entered the warehouse making no attempt to conceal their presence.

  “At it again, Wes?” The sound of Sam’s voice had both men freezing in place.

  “Shit!” The man, Wes, cursed.

  For a split second, Damien wondered what the hell Sam was doing here, then used the distraction she’d provided to twist over and grab the douche bag’s leg. Wes gave a yelp of surprise and then a grunt of pain as he landed on the cement floor. Damien scrambled to his feet, the world spinning wildly as his head protested the movement. He swayed and braced himself with his hand on a barrel.

  “Damien?” Sam called his name as she crossed the floor. There was no doubt that she hadn’t expected to find him there.

  He flicked a glance her way, blinking rapidly to clear his vision, then swung his attention towards the back of the building, wondering whether or not Dante was still in the building or if the sound of Sam’s voice had scared him off. His stomach lurched, apparently in cahoots with his head about the inadvisability of moving too quickly. He took a deep breath, willing the contents of his stomach to stay in place.

  “Damien?” Sam said his name again. “What’s going on here?”

  At the same time, somewhere near his feet, he could hear Wes cursing, scrambling to get to his feet. Hell, there was no time to explain, he was sure he’d caught sight of a wolf skulking in the shadows. “Watch the dickwad. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Dante was not getting away from him this time.

  Damien approached the piles of pallets and boxes with caution. They formed a maze of short corridors and Dante could be hiding in any one of them. He sniffed the air but there was no scent of wolf, not even lilacs. Damn, the hit to his head had really messed him up. His vision was clearing but now his nose wasn’t working.

  Behind him, he could hear Sam chewing out his attacker, Wes. A glance over his shoulder showed them facing off, but it wasn’t anything Sam couldn’t handle. Wes was a skinny little runt and, from the look on her face, Sam had a bone to pick with the man.

  Now where was Dante hiding?

  A grunt, a scuffling sound then a crash sounded behind him. He turned to see what Sam was doing and a wave of icy fear washed over him. Sam and Wes had careened into the barrels, which were now teetering precariously over the grappling couple.

  “Sam!” Even as he shouted out the warning, the topmost containers began to give way to gravity. Without thinking, he raced towards her, envisioning her being crushed under the heavy weight.

  Everything seemed to happen at half speed. Each step he took was impossibly slow. He stretched out his arms to grab her. The first barrel came closer and closer to where she stood, her eyes widening in shock as she looked up and realized the danger she was in…

  And then time returned to normal. Grabbing her by the waist, he jumped to the side, wrapping his arms around her in an attempt to shelter her. His momentum had them hitting the ground and sliding along the concrete floor. The metal containers crashed to the ground, the cacophony of sound drowning out all else. Damien winced as a barrel bounced off his shoulder, then another landed inches from his head. He could feel Sam clutching his leather jacket, her face buried in his chest. Ducking his head, he pressed his face to hers, the scent of her calming him despite the hell that seemed to be breaking loose all around them.

  It was likely only seconds, but seemed longer before the cascade of barrels finally stopped and the warehouse grew quiet except for the pounding of his heart. Damien exhaled and loosened his grip on Sam before lifting his head and looking around. Barrels were strewn over the warehouse floor, a domino effect seeming to have taken place. He sat up and pushed away a barrel that rested against them. Sam got to her feet and he did likewise.

  “Thanks.” She brushed the dirt off her pants and jacket, her face pale, her voice not quite steady.

  “No problem.” He rolled his shoulder wincing as it protested the movement. A barrel landing on him, skidding along the ground, or being hit by a two-by-four; who knew what was the cause of the injury. At least nothing seemed broken.

  “Your face is covered in blood.” Sam reached up and smudged her thumb across his cheek. Her touch made his skin tingle and his breath catch. He leaned into the warmth of her palm for a moment before catching himself and stepping away.

  “A face plant on concrete will do that.” He touched his nose experimentally. It seemed to be intact as well. “Any sign of that guy, Wes?”

  Sam stared at his blood on her fingers before wiping them off on her jeans. Without comment, she began wading through the barrels, finally calling out when she found his assailant. “He’s here. Alive, but out cold.” She fished through the man’s pockets and pulled out his cell phone. “911? Yeah, we need an ambulance.” After giving the address, she dropped the phone at his side.

  “We should get out of here.” Damien gestured towards the door.

  “Yeah. Cops mean questions. Speaking of which,” Sam gave him a sideways look. “Why were you here letting Wes use you as a punching bag?”

  He thought quickly. “I was trying to track down Sinclair’s spy. I thought this might be a good place for him to hide.”

  “And you were so busy, you let a two bit thug jump you?”

  “I thought I saw someone near the back of the building.” He shrugged. “Everyone makes mistakes.”

  “Likely you saw one of Wes’ flunkies rather than Sinclair’s spy.” She snorted and Damien gave a silent sigh of relief that she mustn’t have noticed the scent of lilacs.

  As they left the building, Damien took one last look back. His sixth sense was telling him someone was still there, that being watched feeling was back again. It had been too much to hope that the bastard had been crushed by one of the falling barrels.

  “You into kinky games?”

  Her non-sequitur had him turning to her in surprise. “What?”

  “The cuffs.” She gestured towards his arm. “You and Wes role playing or something?”

  He glanced at the handcuff that was still attached to one of his wrists then gave her a filthy look. “Not even remotely funny, Harper.”

  “Sorry, nearly being crushed by a gazillion barrels messes with my sense of humour.”

  Giving the cuff an experimental tug, he scowled. “I need to go back and see if Wes has the key on him.”

  Sam shook her head and urged him to keep walking. “Too late, I can hear the sirens already.”

  “I hope I can pick this with my left hand then,” he muttered, studying the mechanism.

  “Don’t worry.” She gave him a friendly shoulder nudge. “I’ve picked my share of locks.”

  “Why doesn’t that surprise me?” He grinned at her, liking how she was bouncing back from her near death experience so quickly. No crying or going into shock for Sam Harper.

  He gave her a ride back to the pack house. She sat behind him, lightly holding his waist. The feel of her body, so close to his, played havoc with his concentration. When he took a corner too sharply, she asked if he was concussed.

  “No, my head’s harder than that.” He didn’t add that the problem was his pants were too tight. Their brush with danger had excited him; a natural response, or so he tried to convince himself.

  As Sam prepared for bed that night, she paused in front of the mirror and experimentally, prodded the bruises that adorned her body. None were serious and would likely fade by morning, but they were still tender to the touch. She could have been hurt a lot worse if Damien hadn’t pulled her out of the way of the greatest danger.

  She relived how it had felt to be held tightly in his arms, her head
pressed to his chest. Being protected, sheltered, was an unusual experience for her. It had felt…good. Not that she wanted to be treated with kid gloves, she assured herself, but once in a while, with the right person, it was a nice change.

  Unbidden an image of Damien appeared. She envisioned him standing behind her, his hands lightly holding her shoulders as he pressed tender kisses to her bruised flesh. What would it be like to feel his hands stroking her body? She narrowed her eyes and tried to imagine him removing her hot pink bra, replacing the cups with his palms. His hands would be work-roughened, manly, and he’d demand a response from her. The idea made her shiver in anticipation.

  The right person. Was it Damien? Her wolf seemed to think so. And the pack liked him. He was good with the older members and patient with Chris. He’d risked himself to save her tonight, and she’d actually missed him while on patrol. A smile widened her mouth and stayed there as she climbed into bed and shut off the light.

  Chapter 17

  “We have to what?” Damien looked at Sam, sure he’d misheard.

  “Pick apples. Jonah is going to make us apple pie for dessert tonight.”

  “That’s what I thought you said.” He looked back at the newel post he was tightening. The banister for the staircase to the second floor was too loose for safety so he’d toenailed a few screws into it. “Why can’t you buy them from the store?”

  “I could, but we have that old apple tree in the backyard and it’s loaded with fruit. Plus, they’re free. And it’s fun.”

  “Fun?” Damien wasn’t in the mood for fun. Dante had eluded him last night and, as a result, he’d spent much of today waiting and watching for the bastard to appear.

  He gave the post a final tug before turning to give Sam his full attention. That she was obviously anticipating the chore with glee surprised him. Apple picking didn’t fall under any Alpha duties that he was aware of, yet her eyes were definitely sparkling, the unusual violet shade seeming lighter than normal.

  “Of course picking apples is fun!” She gave him a look as if he’d said he didn’t know Harleys were the best ride. “Picking apples is a fall tradition. And even in the middle of the city, it does you good to ‘get back to nature’ for a while.”

  “If you say so.” He didn’t try to hide the doubt in his voice and she cocked her head to the side.

  “You’ve never picked apples?”

  “Nope. I’ve led a deprived life.” He began to pack away the tools he’d been using.

  “Deprived or depraved?”

  Damien straightened as he heard the teasing tone in her voice. So they were back to where they’d been. Apparently sleep had mellowed her mood. Good. Tension between the Alpha and Beta wasn’t healthy for the pack. The fact that he found bantering with her enjoyable was merely a side benefit.

  A smile twitched the corner of his mouth. “Which do you think?”

  Sam shook her head. “I’m not touching that one. Come on.” She headed to the backdoor and Damien followed, her happy mood causing his own to lighten.

  A large apple tree stood near the back of the property. It was gnarled with age and leaned precariously towards the fence, almost half the branches hung over the alley that ran behind the pack house. He’d noticed the tree before, only vaguely registering that it was an apple tree. As he examined it, sure enough, he could spot apples festooning the branches and the ground below.

  With his foot, he nudged one of the apples that lay neglected on the ground. It was decidedly squishy and a small swarm of fruit flies arose from it, protesting his disturbance of their home. They swirled around his foot for a moment before returning to feed on the fruit. This was going to be dessert? “A lot of these are rotten.”

  Sam was placing a ladder against the fence. She glanced at the ground and shrugged. “We don’t spray for bugs so yeah, we lose some, but there are plenty of good ones still on the tree.”

  Damien didn’t argue the point. It was her tree so she must know what she was doing. “Do you want me to go up?” He gestured towards the ladder.

  “No. I’ll go. The higher branches are pretty thin. They’d never support your weight.” She rested one foot on the lower rung of the ladder. “You steady the ladder for me, and hand me the baskets.”

  He wanted to protest, but as he studied the tree from the ground, he recognized the truth of her statement. While he was stronger and taller, this was one case when that wasn’t an advantage. The upper branches were skinny things. Resigning himself to the role of assistant, he positioned himself at the base of the ladder holding it steady while she ascended. Once she was seated on a branch, he climbed a couple of rungs and stretched to hand her a basket.

  “You must have some monkey in you,” he commented, watching her as she nimbly moved from branch to branch.

  “I love heights.” She grinned down at him before continuing to pluck the fruit.

  In no time, the first basket was filled and she handed it down to him and accepted a new one. She began edging out farther and farther on the branches trying to reach the fruit.

  “Be careful.” He felt the urge to caution her. The branches were beginning to bend even under her slight weight.

  “I’m fine. I’ve been climbing this tree my entire life. It’s like walking through my bedroom; I can do it with my eyes closed.” As she spoke, she leaned out, one apple mere inches from her fingertips.

  “Sam…” Damien issued a warning.

  She chuckled at his caution. The tree was old but sturdy. Glancing down, she noticed the concern in his face. It created a warm bubble of happiness inside her. Just like last night, he was concerned for her; it was a nice feeling.

  See? He cares. Her wolf prompted her once again.

  She looked down again. Only a faint bit of bruising remained on his face from where he’d been hit. Even with a werewolf’s enhanced healing, injuries were still possible. For a while, she’d even wondered if he’d had a concussion.

  “Sam…” Damien began what was likely another warning, but he didn’t get to finish his statement.

  There was cracking sound, she shouted in surprise, and the entire branch broke under her weight.

  “Damn!” In the nick of time, she grabbed a branch over her head and swung her legs around it, keeping herself from falling. Unfortunately, the branch she’d been on hadn’t fared as well and was now on the ground, surrounded by several baskets worth of apples. She hoped they weren’t too bruised to be used in Jonah’s pie. And Damien…

  He was down! Last night he’d been hit pretty hard on the head and now… Hell! This apple picking adventure had seemed a good way to make amends with him, not get him killed!

  As quick as she could, she scrambled down the tree, jumping the last few feet since the ladder was now on the ground. As soon as she landed, she froze in place, completely shocked by the sight before her.

  Damien was slowly getting to his feet, not seriously injured as she’d first feared. He stood, rubbing his arm, surrounded by apples. His dark brows were lowered in a deadly scowl that would have had most wolves cowering in fear.

  “I… I’m…” Sam tried to speak, but a fit of laughter overtook her. Damien, her Beta, the oh-so-tough rogue, was standing there with the remains of a smashed apple on top of his head and juice dripping down his face.

  “What’s so funny?” He wiped apple juice from his cheek, and kicked at the apples that surrounded his feet. “Being pelted with dozens of apples hurts, you know.”

  “Apple… Head...” She pointed at the top of his head, unable to get any other words out.

  Frowning, Damien reached up and when his hand encountered the apple pulp, a look of understanding passed over his face. Compressing his lips, he snatched the remains of the offending fruit off his head and stared at it as if he couldn’t believe an apple would have had the audacity to hit him and then stick around to gloat. “It’s not that funny,” he growled.

  “Yes, it is.” She leaned back against the trunk, holding her sides.


  “Really? Then let’s see how you like it.” He stalked over, the apple mush in his hand.

  Trying to control herself, she eyed him warily. “Damien, what are you thinking?”

  “Guess.” He was only a foot away, but Sam tried to dodge past him.

  Damien shot out his arm and stopped her. When she would have moved in the other direction, he stepped sideways, fencing her in so she was trapped between his body and the tree trunk.

  “Damien, mashing an apple on your Alpha’s head is not a good idea.” She tried to look stern, however the bit of apple pulp still caught in his stubble had the corners of her mouth twitching.

  “He who laughs last…” Damien leered and raised the crushed apple towards her head. Sam squirmed and grabbed his wrist. He fought against her restraining hand, oh so slowly winning the battle. The mushy apple came closer and closer. In desperation to distract him from the dastardly deed, Sam reached up and licked his face.

  “Hey!” Shocked, Damien stopped.

  “Mmm…fresh squeezed apple juice.” Sam gave his cheek another lick.

  “Sam! That’s…” He paused seemingly at a loss for words.

  “Kind of hot?” Sam suggested. Holding his gaze with her own, she slowly flicked his lower lip with the tip of her tongue.

  A growl rumbled in his throat and she repeated the performance, only this time she didn’t withdraw. Grabbing the front of his shirt in her hands to steady herself, she teased his mouth, placing her teeth over his lower lip and tugging gently before replacing her teeth with her lips.

  “Sam,” he groaned, shutting his eyes. A battle seemed to wage within him until desire finally won. Gathering her close, he settled his mouth on hers, brushing back and forth slowly until her lips were so sensitive even the whisper of his breath over them sent shivers through her. Then he leaned in, kissing her fully, the tip of his tongue teasing hers before sliding into her wet, welcoming warmth.