Betrayed: Book Two - The Road to Redemption

by Nicky Charles

  “No. Just trying to look the part. Tonight’s theme is the summer of free love, drugs, and rock and roll.”

  Sam snorted. “Well, float down off your cloud for a minute. I need some information and I don’t have long.” The music was loud enough that she didn’t have to worry about lowering her voice.

  Tina’s eyes lost their unfocused look. “What’s up?”

  “Another Alpha wants to take over my pack. What do you sense? Does he have a chance?”

  “Perhaps.” Tina stared off into the distance, her eyes unfocused.

  Sam nursed her drink and waited. Exactly how ‘Others’ did whatever it was that they did, she had no idea.

  Eventually, Tina gave a shiver and shook her head as if to rid it of something unpleasant. “A battle will be fought; the lovers’ hearts will be like a phoenix, dying as the masks are torn off. The winner will be the loser and the loser will win.”

  “Say what?” Sam blinked.

  “I know. It’s weird, but that’s what I felt.” Tina made an apologetic face.

  Sam compressed her lips. “I get the battle part, but ‘lovers like a phoenix’?”

  “Have you taken a lover recently?” Tina gave her a speculative look.

  “Let’s say I’m considering it.” Sam took a sip of her drink while watching Tina’s expression. Delighted was too calm a word to describe it; the woman was a romantic at heart.

  “Really? Who? Not someone from the neighbourhood.”

  “No.” She looked over her shoulder to make sure Damien wasn’t nearby. “The rogue I hired; he’s…interesting. Hot.”

  “Wow. First time I’ve heard you say that.” Tina glanced about the room. “I take it he’s here.”

  Sam nodded. “Tall, dark hair. Watch when I leave and you’ll see him.”

  “Not going to introduce us?”

  “No.” She sighed. “And nothing might happen. He’s hung up on his dead mate.”

  “That’s too bad.” Tina made a face and then brightened. “Hey! Remember what I said a while back, when you asked if there was a Lycan in the area? I sensed he had two faces. Maybe it meant your rogue. His past and his future could be what the two was referring to.”

  “Maybe,” Sam said doubtfully. “But I think you’re stretching things.”

  Tina pouted and then sighed when she noticed the other bartender glaring her way. “I’d better get back to work. Gwyneth is glowering at me.”

  “Since she’s the owner, I guess you better.”

  “Yeah.” Tina picked up Sam’s empty glass and wandered off, her ‘Woodstock’ expression in place once more. Sam turned around to survey the room.

  The place was more packed than usual. Rather than fighting the crowd, she decided to stay in her usual spot at the bar and study the patrons from there. She’d let Damien do the leg work. Besides, she wanted to consider the information Tina had passed on—if it could be called information. A poetic prophecy was a more apt term, but it was better than nothing.

  ‘The winner would be the loser and the loser the winner.’ Now what the hell could that mean? Winning a battle against Sinclair would in no way make her a loser; it would secure the territory. That was her prime concern. And if Sinclair lost, how could he become a winner?

  Maybe her grandfather was right and she was a fool to put any stock in the vague mutterings of an Other. She grimaced and shook her head, not wanting to be as narrow minded as he was. After all, Tina was the closest thing to a female friend that she’d ever had and the woman had been useful in the past. Hadn’t Tina’s vision helped locate young Chris last time he’d broken curfew?

  Spying Damien making his way through the throng, she slid off her stool and met him half way. “Did you find him?”

  “Lilac Man?” Damien gave a ghost of a smile. “No.”

  “The information he had for you—would it help me stave off Sinclair’s bid?”

  “Not really.”

  As usual, Damien wasn’t being a font of information, but this wasn’t the time or place to argue the matter and she wasn’t sure it was a battle she’d win anyway. Sam sighed in irritation and brushed past him, making her way out of the club. Dealing with a rogue was damned annoying. She’d tackle the problem of Lilac Man eventually, right now a more pressing matter needed to be addressed.

  Once they were in a relatively quieter location—if you could call a busy street corner quieter—she turned to present him with an idea she’d been mulling over.

  “I want you to train me.”

  Damien had been staring across the street, seeming to search the shadows. He gave her a surprised look, almost as if he’d forgotten she was there. “What was that? Train you? Why?”

  “So I can fight with Kane Sinclair.”

  “Fight?”

  “You heard me. Hopefully, it won’t come to that, but I need to be prepared. I’m good, but, as you pointed out the other day, there are areas that I could improve.” She looked him up and down. “Plus, you seem to be about Sinclair’s size from what I can recall. It would be good practice for me to have a larger opponent.”

  He didn’t respond right away and she gave an impatient growl. “You can agree on your own or, as your Alpha, I can order you to do it.”

  “Order me?” Damien raised his brows. “I’m a rogue. Orders and I don’t get along.”

  “Then I suggest you agree voluntarily.” She placed her hands on her hips and lifted her chin, her gaze steady.

  “Damn, Sugar. You are a spitfire, aren’t you?” He cocked his head, a hint of admiration showing in his expression.

  She growled at the despised nickname he’d given her. “Well?”

  He hesitated, then shrugged. “Sure. I’ll give you a few pointers.”

  “Pointers?”

  “You’re good. You said so yourself. It won’t take much to bring you up to speed.”

  His praise created a warm feeling inside her. She didn’t lack self-esteem, but it was still nice to hear that someone respected your skills. Of course, she couldn’t let it show.

  “Good. We’ll start tomorrow.” She nodded across the street. “What were you looking at?”

  He stared across the street and rubbed the back of his neck. “Probably nothing. I think I’m getting paranoid.”

  “With Sinclair breathing down our necks, we all are.” Shoving her hands in her pockets, she took off down that street at a brisk pace. They needed to complete their patrol.

  Chapter 20

  Damien lay on his bed at the pack house, staring at the ceiling. It was two in the morning, they’d returned from patrol around midnight, but he wasn’t sleepy and hadn’t bothered to get undressed. Instead, he mulled over his conversation with Sam.

  She’d asked him to help train her. Surely, she wasn’t thinking of issuing a challenge; an old fashioned fight to the death.

  It would be suicide on her part, his wolf fretted. She’s good, but Kane is twice her weight. Size alone gives him a distinct advantage.

  The animal was right. It had to be nerves, desperation even, that had her thinking along those lines. His stomach twisted at the thought of Sam and Kane locked in a battle to the death and he quickly pushed the image aside. In the end, she’d come to see reason. OPATA would issue its decision based on clear cut facts and legal precedents; a challenge wasn’t even remotely in the cards.

  We could play along, help her train, his wolf suggested, but at the same time, make sure she knows the folly of her idea.

  He nodded in agreement. Kane taking over the pack was the only logical outcome. She just had to face facts, no matter how unpalatable they might be.

  What will she say when she learns the truth about us? The beast had grown fond of Sam and had been nudging him about the issue all day.

  “Nothing,” he replied. “She won’t say anything because she’ll never know. Once Kane takes over, we’ll slip away. Our job here—both the one she ‘hired’ us for and the one Kane sent us on—will be done.”

  His conscience
pricked as he considered how he’d deceived both Sam and the pack members. It was nothing new; he’d done it many times during his days working for Deirdre, and even a few times as an Enforcer when he’d gone undercover. But this seemed different somehow. It shouldn’t; it was just another job. Or so he kept telling himself.

  He rolled over and plumped his pillow, his gaze falling on the bedside table and his wallet that sat there. Reaching out, he flipped to Beth’s picture and studied it. How would she feel about what he was doing? She’d never approved of Deirdre; her spirit had always gently chided him during those dark days.

  “What do you think, Beth? Is Sam being unreasonable? Am I doing the right thing, informing on her to help Kane?”

  No voice echoed in his mind. Beth’s image didn’t change. Her eyes stared out at him from the photograph, focused on some distant point, her smile soft but vague. There was no approval, no reproachful look. For once it seemed to be only a picture, an image printed on paper using various shades of ink.

  It was…unsettling.

  Damien frowned and slowly closed the wallet.

  Beth? He sent out the mental message, but beyond the faintest wave of warmth brushing over him there was no other response.

  He pushed himself upright, a restlessness invading him not unlike what he’d felt during his days as a complete rogue. The room suddenly seemed too confining and he moved to the window, pushing it open and then leaning out. Arms braced on the frame, he breathed in the air that spelled freedom, but did he want it?

  The need to do something, anything, was building inside him like a pressure cooker waiting to explode. He could go hunting for Dante. Since the incident in the warehouse, he’d not heard from the man. Maybe the bastard had been injured by the barrels…or maybe he was tormenting some other victim. Like the after effects of a greasy pizza, the man would be back again. It was only a matter of time and there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it.

  Moist night air touched his skin, the slight breeze ruffling his hair. The moon had started to wane but was still bright enough to illuminate the small yard below. His gaze fell on his motorcycle and without thinking, he swung himself out the window and shimmied down the drain pipe.

  A ride with nothing but speed and open highway was what he needed right now. The wind in his face, tugging at his clothing, wiping all thought from his mind.

  Lightly, he dropped to the ground, then padded silently across the dew drenched grass. The house was in darkness, the windows like blind eyes not noticing his passing. There was no point in waking everyone, so he planned to push his motorcycle to the street. Mere yards from where he’d parked, he froze at the sound of a voice coming from the shadows.

  “Going somewhere?”

  He turned to see Sam a few feet away. She was astride her own bike.

  “Yeah. I need to take a ride, blow the cobwebs out of my brain.” His answer was terse; he didn’t feel like talking.

  “Really?”

  He could sense her watching him and soon realized why. He’d been showing Chris how to clean the carburetor and his ride was still in pieces. “Damn.”

  She cocked her head, amusement in her eyes, a dare evident in her voice. “Wanna share?”

  He eyed her and her bike, the need to get away warring with his need to be alone. Finally, he gave a shrug. Once they were out of the city, he could always shift and go for a run. With a nod he walked over and climbed on behind her.

  His thighs cradled her hips, her back brushing his front. It was an intimate position, but he did his best to ignore it, his hands lightly resting on her hips to steady himself. She was short enough, that he could almost rest his chin on the top of her head, but of course he didn’t. Instead, he studied her back; her straight spine, the muscles playing under the thin tank top she wore. He could see the nape of her neck and frowned, realizing she had a tattoo there. Two words in a swirling script. Before he could make them out, she moved and the edges of her hair hid them from view.

  Sam started the engine, apparently not caring that most of the neighbourhood was sleeping, and steered the bike out on to the street.

  “Where you headed?”

  “A little place about ten miles from here.”

  “Another bar?”

  “An all-night ice cream parlor.”

  “Ice cream?” He wasn’t sure he’d heard right over the roar of the engine. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “Nope. I need ice cream. The good stuff, not frozen yogurt or ice-milk. I need the kind made with real cream and smothered in hot fudge.”

  Despite his mood, Damien found himself chuckling softly. Sam Harper, the bad-ass, leather-clad, motorcycle-riding Alpha, needed a sugar fix.

  “You want some?”

  “Can’t I steal some of yours?”

  “You do and I’ll break your arm.”

  Through the rearview mirror, he was able to catch a glimpse of her expression. She was smiling, her eyes crinkling in the corners, as the wind whipped her hair away from her face. It wasn’t a look he often saw on her; she was usually serious, caught up in taking care of the pack. He smiled, pleased that she was able to find a way to relax, even if it was only for an hour or two.

  When they arrived at their destination, Damien looked around with interest, noting the number of people sitting on benches near the shop. Who’d have thought eating ice cream in the middle of the night was so popular.

  “They’re only open until Halloween,” Sam explained as she dismounted. “After that, they close up shop and head to Florida where they have a similar place.”

  “Seems like they do a good business.”

  “Quality product and good service.” She approached the takeout window and placed her order, then glanced his way. “What’ll you have?”

  “You choose.” He wasn’t an aficionado and figured whatever she ordered he could handle.

  In a matter of minutes she was leading him towards an empty bench, a bowl of ice cream in each hand.

  “Here.” Sam sat down and handed him his bowl. He stared at it. The concoction was blue with colourful chunks of some candy-like substance showing here and there.

  “What is it?” He sniffed the ice cream suspiciously and poked it with his spoon.

  “Bubble gum.”

  “Bubble gum ice cream?”

  “Yep. See those coloured chunks?” She pointed with her spoon. “Real bubble gum. When you’ve finished the ice cream you can chew it.”

  Damien made a face but gamely took a bite and then nodded in approval. “Not bad. What do you do with the pieces of bubble-gum?”

  “Tuck them between your gum and your cheek. Or you can spit them out into your hand until you’re done eating the ice cream, then chew them.”

  Damien considered his options while watching Sam enjoy her own treat. She scooped up a bit of ice cream onto her spoon and then dipped it in a pool of hot fudge, swirling it around before popping it into her mouth. Her eyes closed as her lips curved upwards, a blissful expression settling on her face. As she drew the now empty utensil from her mouth, a low moan of pleasure escaped her. Opening her eyes, she beamed at him.

  “Heavenly.”

  “Really?”

  “Definitely.” She kept her gaze fixed on his as she licked a trace of fudge off her spoon, a mischievous glint in her eyes. His body hardened in response and he shifted in his seat.

  “Uncomfortable?” She blinked innocently and he growled at her.

  “You’re playing with fire, Sugar.”

  “I like the heat,” she countered.

  He was tempted, so tempted, to reach across the table, cup the back of her head and kiss her until she was aching as much he was. Instead, he took another bite of his ice cream, willing the cold food to cool his ardour as well as his mouth. A change of topic seemed in order.

  “Tell me about your tattoos.”

  “My tats?”

  He nodded. “I saw you had one on your nape but didn’t have a chance to get a good look.�
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  She turned and bent her neck so he could see the two words. Duty. Strength. Each was written in an elegant script that somehow contrasted with the meaning of the words and yet also fit. He traced each with his fingertip and Sam shivered at his touch. She turned to face him, her cheeks lightly flushed.

  “Nice.” He didn’t comment on the fact that his touch appeared to have affected her. “Why’d you choose those particular words?”

  For once she didn’t meet his eye, instead idly watched a group at a nearby table. “They represent the qualities of an Alpha. Grandfather said there were three, but I had to discover them for myself. Each time I figured one out, I had it tattooed on.”

  “Which came first?”

  “Duty. That one was obvious.” She flicked a glance at him. “An Alpha has to put the needs of the pack above his, or her, own wants. No matter how tired or pissed off you might be, you do your duty and make sure everyone is safe, has food and shelter. A pack has to work together like a well-oiled machine; that can only happen if the Alpha sets the example.”

  “And strength?”

  Sam ate another spoon of ice cream, swallowing before she answered. “That one took a bit longer to figure out, but I eventually realized it. Strength is important. Not just physical strength, though you need that in order to keep the wolves in line, but strength of mind and character.” She spoke with such conviction that Damien felt strangely proud of her. He cleared his throat.

  “Makes sense. And the third one…?”

  She scowled. “I don’t know. Every time I think I have it figured out, Grandfather says no.”

  “Maybe he’s stringing you along?”

  “No. My grandfather doesn’t joke. There’s a third quality and he says when I finally figure it out, I’ll automatically know it’s the missing piece.” She thoughtfully scraped the last drops of ice cream from the bowl. “Every quality I’ve come up with has been good, but I never get that ‘this is it’ feeling.”

  Without meaning to, he found himself reaching out to gently squeeze her hand. “I hope you find it one day.” He meant the words. Being Alpha was her life. And it made him feel like crap.