Betrayed: Book Two - The Road to Redemption

by Nicky Charles

  “Good.” She pulled back her arm and slugged him, a feeling of satisfaction filling her even as her fist protested in pain.

  Damien staggered backward and hit the wall, shocked surprise on his face. Then he started to laugh.

  “What’s so funny?” She scowled at him, hands on her hips.

  He shook his head. “You wouldn’t understand, Sugar.”

  She huffed in disgust at the annoying name he kept using. “When you’re done laughing like a hyena, get cleaned up. There’s a pack meeting in an hour.”

  Damien slid into his seat on Sam’s right and scanned those gathered around the table. Jonah, Laurie, Andrea, Keith, Hiram, Florence… Only the pup, the grandfather and three others were missing. A pathetically small showing for what had once, purportedly, been an impressive pack. Their demeanour in no way indicated they were hanging on by the tips of their claws, however. Each appeared confident, relaxed, well-balanced. Sam did a good job leading them, instilling in them a sense of security.

  They nodded or gave him a friendly greeting, before resuming their casual conversations. There was no sign given that they were aware he’d bedded their Alpha. Not that he expected Sam to be the kind to kiss and tell; it was his own self guilt over his betrayal that was making him edgy. He took a deep breath and buried the feeling; if he dwelled on it, the others would sense his unease. It was best to put the incident behind them.

  Sam cleared her throat and drew the attention of those gathered. “I’ve called this impromptu meeting to bring you up to speed with what’s happening regarding the possible takeover of our pack by Sinclair.”

  She stood with her fingertips resting lightly on the back of her chair, her voice steady as was her gaze while she looked over those assembled. Such a statement should have disquieted those gathered, but her demeanour calmed the others, just as it should. The pack always followed the Alpha’s example. Damien was sure he was the only one present who could see how her thumbnail was digging into the wood on the back of the chair. Inside, she was likely a churning mass of seething anger and worry; if it had been him in the same position, that’s how he’d feel.

  “As you know, Sinclair is trying to build a case against us. He claims we have too few members to carry out our duties.” She began to walk around the table. “It’s completely untrue, of course. I’ve sent Lycan Link a copy of our duty roster showing how we manage. I even added Damien’s name to the list so our ranks are showing growth, albeit by one.”

  Her statement was followed by soft chuckles from the pack and a few shot appreciative looks toward their new Beta. Damien merely nodded, his blank expression hiding the squirming of his conscience.

  “Sinclair’s latest bit of ‘ammunition’ against us is to claim that Grandfather is no longer the Alpha and we’ve been operating under false pretences.”

  “Of course, he’s our Alpha!” Florence interrupted, her cheeks flushed. “It’s utter nonsense to say otherwise.”

  “I agree.” Sam placed her hand on the woman’s shoulder and gave it a comforting squeeze before continuing to circle the table. “As most of you know, all packs that are members of the Lycan Link affiliation must maintain honest and up to date records of pack administration.” She turned to face Damien. “Would you care to explain to the pack why this is required?”

  Surprised by her request and not sure of her motivation, he nodded. “According to the Book of the Law, accurate records must be maintained not only for the benefit of Lycan Link, but also to make sure there is a clear line of accountability should problems arise.” He raised his brows and gave Sam an inquiring look to see if she wanted him to say more.

  “Thank you.” Turning her back on him, she continued.

  Inwardly, Damien frowned. Had she hoped to catch him off guard and embarrass him in front of the pack? Or had she been trying to include him, to make him seem part of the pack leadership? She wasn’t spiteful, so it was likely the latter. A united Alpha and Beta was what the pack members needed when someone began questioning the validity of the leadership, and Sam was all about caring for her pack.

  He shifted in his seat and focused on what she was saying once again.

  “As you know, I am the acting-Alpha. The Book of the Law clearly states that if an Alpha is temporarily unable to fulfill his duties, the Beta will step into the role for that period of time until the Alpha is able to resume his normal place.”

  “So, what is Sinclair’s problem?” Jonah growled.

  “He claims my position isn’t temporary since I’ve been acting-Alpha for over four years, and since no one has seen or heard from Samuel Harper, Senior, in ages, his position, even his existence, is in question.”

  “That’s outrageous,” Andrea stated, rising to her feet. “Sinclair is basically stating your grandfather is dead and we just ‘forgot’ to tell anyone!”

  Her mate, Keith, laid a calming hand on her arm and she slowly sank back into her seat.

  “While I agree it is utterly ridiculous, the fact remains that we have to counter his claim. That’s where you come in.” She swept a look over everyone there. “I’ve had Christopher busy pulling all the records from the attic and bringing them down to the living room. Each of you will be given one box to go through and I want you to find every piece of paper that my grandfather has signed or initialled over the past four years.”

  The pack members murmured in approval, obviously pleased to be able to do something to help out their cause. Damien clenched his jaw, feeling more and more like a traitor.

  “I can help Chris carry the boxes down.” He rose to his feet and moved to leave.

  “No, I have another job for you.” The sound of Sam’s voice stopped him and he turned to face her. She nodded towards her office and he followed her there.

  “Yes?”

  “Are you recovered from your hangover?” Her expression held a look of mild interest, no hint of accusation. Still, he answered cautiously, not sure where the conversation was headed.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Good.” She paused and he wondered if she’d bring up their…encounter…in the cellar. Indeed, she opened her mouth as if to speak, only to close it and begin again. “I want you to check on Mr. Marcello. I’ve tried to stop by each day since the break in but won’t have time today. Could you take care of it, please?”

  “Sure.” He wondered why this required them speaking in private. “I’ll do it right away. Anything else?”

  “No. Yes.” She took a deep breath and looked directly into his eyes. “Our fucking in the cellar was obviously a mistake, but it can’t get in the way of our jobs, especially now. Understood?”

  Her use of the coarse word shocked him. Not because it seemed strange to hear her use it—Sam’s vocabulary was anything but dainty—but because a part of him didn’t want what they’d done to be reduced to something so base. His wolf was in total agreement.

  “It won’t be a problem.” His answer reflected none of his inner turmoil.

  “Good. I’ll go help with the boxes. Report in when you get back.” She opened the door and waited with her hand on the knob.

  As he passed by, her scent hit him in the gut, stirring the animal inside, urging him to reach out and touch her. He could barely force himself to keep walking. Hell, this was going to be harder to deal with than any of the casual encounters he’d had in his misspent youth.

  Damien walked out of the office and out of the pack house, giving no visible sign of his struggle. Down the sidewalk, around the corner and now… Out of the sight of prying eyes, he braced himself against a fence and took deep cleansing breaths. Sam’s unique scent of leather and spice continued to linger, taunting him with memories of holding her close, of being buried in her…

  Why did he keep thinking about Sam in that way? Yes, he’d slept with her, but it was a mistake. One he couldn’t repeat. He gave his head a shake. Hopefully, the walk to Marcello’s would help clear his mind.

  Chapter 24

  From his vantage point
across the street, Damien studied Marcello’s business. A faded green awning extended over the front, protecting the interior from the damaging effects of the sun. The scalloped fringe waved gently in the breeze, the shadows it created dancing over the aged brick in random waves. When the fringe moved just right, rays of light hit the gold lettering on the door that proclaimed the name of the business, Marcello’s Antiques and Collectibles. The letters were chipped and scratched, showing their years as did the wood of the door.

  Damien noted that the pedestrian traffic in front of the shop was moderate; no one was stopping to admire the old vases, furniture and bits of jewellery that were carefully displayed in the front window. It wasn’t an affluent area and he wondered how Marcello managed to make a living. It seemed unlikely that the man would be able to pay Dante’s demands for any length of time.

  He was curious as to the conversation he’d overheard between the old man and Dante and wanted to know more. While he doubted it was significant to the takeover of the Chicago pack, Dante was scum and any opportunity to bring the man down couldn’t be overlooked.

  Since no one had entered the business in the past half hour, he decided Marcello must be alone which made this the perfect time for his visit. Damien pushed away from wall he’d been leaning against and crossed the street to enter the shop.

  The wind chimes softly announced his entrance and while he waited for Marcello to appear, he began to wander the room.

  There were some nice pieces, enough to attract the attention of casual customers but nothing worthy of commanding an exorbitant price. No doubt those items, when they came in, were quickly whisked off to professional collectors.

  He ran his hand over a side table then turned at the sound of footsteps behind him. It was the shopkeeper.

  “May I help you?”

  “Mr. Marcello, I’m a—”

  “A friend of Miss Samantha’s!” The look of polite inquiry on the man’s face was replaced with a welcoming smile. “Yes, yes! I recall you from the other night.” He reached out and shook Damien’s hand. “Are you here to shop or…?”

  “Sam…Samantha…sent me to see how you’re doing today.”

  “Such a conscientious girl. She’s been keeping an eye on me ever since that nasty incident the other night. I told her, I’m fine. It was an unfortunate experience that I have put behind me.”

  The man’s words were at odds with his body language. The clues were subtle; a slight tremor in his voice, the way his eyes scanned the room, the nervous way his fingers played with the buttons on his vest.

  Damien decided he wouldn’t call him on it quite yet. “You have an interesting array of items in your store.”

  Marcello beamed as he looked over the room. “Yes. I have some fine pieces here. I go to the flea markets—you never know what you might find there—and people bring items in for me, as well.”

  “And your customer base? Not many of the local residents would be looking for antiques, would they?” Damien studied what, to him, was an exceptionally ugly lamp.

  “A few from the neighbourhood come to buy…” His voice trailed off and he gave a speculative look. “But you are not really interested in who my customers are, are you?”

  Turning from the lamp, Damien tilted his head, his expression bland. “And what makes you say that?”

  “Because you are a friend of Miss Samantha’s and too much like her. She has been asking questions, too. Trying to decide who would try to rob an old man of his hard earned cash.”

  Damien gave a small, crooked smile. “You’re partially right. But I’m not interested in who robbed you.”

  “No?”

  “I want to know about who is blackmailing you.”

  Marcello’s face paled beneath his olive toned skin. “Blackmail? I’ve no idea—”

  “Yes, you do.” Damien gave him a steady look. “I was in the building long before Samantha and overheard most of the conversation.”

  Tightening his mouth, Marcello shook his head. “It is none of your business.”

  “Perhaps not,” Damien agreed and then allowed the deadly coldness in his eyes to show. “But the bastard who’s squeezing you—Dante—is an old acquaintance who I’d love to find.”

  “This person is a friend of yours?” Marcello drew himself up as tall as he could, his face clouding with indignation.

  “Not a friend. Never.”

  Marcello brought his brows together. “Then what?”

  “I can’t give you details. Suffice to say, I might be able to help you deal with him if I know what hold he has over you.” He watched as the old man pursed his lips obviously debating how much trust there was between them.

  “I cannot afford what he is expecting me to pay, but Miss Samantha shouldn’t be burdened with this either.”

  “With what?”

  Marcello looked Damien up and down then walked to the front of the store and turned over the ‘open’ sign that hung in the window. Returning to where Damien stood, he jerked his head towards the back of the store. “Come with me.”

  Damien followed him, ducking past the curtain that separated the store from the back room which served as Marcello’s office. He looked around, noting the small table and chairs, a shelf with a tea kettle and several mugs, a paper strewn desk and several stacks of books. It appeared much as it had the other night.

  “Sit.” Marcello gestured towards the table and chairs. “Tea? Or something stronger?”

  Damien declined, but Marcello drew out a bottle and poured himself a glass of liquor—cognac by the smell of it.

  “Miss Samantha’s grandfather and I shared many a glass of this.” Marcello declared, taking a sip of the liquid. “We have been friends for years. You know what that means, yes?” He quirked a brow.

  “Enlighten me.” Damien leaned back in his seat, rocking on the back legs.

  “Friends share secrets. Know about each other’s lives. The secrets they do not want the rest of the world to know.” Marcello gave him a meaningful look and took another sip of Cognac.

  Damien’s mind raced. Was Marcello telling him he knew about the pack? Had Samuel Harper broke the Keeping? He couldn’t judge without knowing the circumstances, but the way Marcello was talking, it would seem the fellow knew the seriousness of the situation.

  Marcello sighed and stared into his glass. “Samuel and I shared many secrets. Secrets kept from the world. Secrets from his family. From Miss Samantha.” His mouth turned down. “I always told him it wasn’t a good idea, that someday the truth would come out and Miss Samantha would be hurt, but he was a stubborn one.”

  “What truth?”

  “You won’t tell her?”

  Damien gave a one shouldered shrug. “I’m not here for that long. And this secret—whatever it is—isn’t mine to share.”

  “No. It isn’t, and I’ll tell you only because I want you to know how important it is to keep this Dante person from speaking to her.”

  “Dante’s downfall is my main concern. I’ve no desire to hurt Sam.”

  “Good.” Marcello finished his drink and set the glass down. Taking a book from the stack on his desk, he set it on the table near Damien. “This is one of my personal journals. I’ve been keeping them ever since I came to this country over fifty years ago.”

  “And?”

  “This one contains my entries from the year—the day in fact—that Samantha’s father died.”

  Damien eyed the book, wondering what it said.

  “I was at the train station the day it happened. By chance, on the same platform.” Marcello opened the book and flipped the pages. “Samantha and her father were a few yards ahead of me. They hadn’t been back in Chicago long—a few months perhaps—but I’d come to recognize her by the little purple coat she wore; it matched her eyes.” He smiled at the memory. “I’d just called out their names when the train roared into the station. Samantha turned and saw me, letting go of her father’s hand. He turned to grab her, I suppose not knowing why she was
leaving his side, when someone came rushing up behind him and pushed him onto the tracks.”

  Marcello shook his head. “It all happened so fast. There was no time to try to save him. He fell a mere second before the train arrived. The timing couldn’t have been worse. He was killed instantly.”

  “And the person who pushed him?”

  “Was never found…officially.” Marcello had reached a spot in the book where there were torn edges; evidence that pages had been removed.

  “But you know who it was?” Damien slowly leaned his chair forward until the front legs were touching the floor again.

  Marcello nodded. “Samuel’s friend, Gary. His second in command.”

  The Beta? Damien stiffened in his chair. “Why?”

  “I’ve no idea. At the time, I was shocked. Sure I’d been mistaken. I didn’t know the man well; he kept to himself, however, it was him. I caught a glimpse of him standing some distance away when the ambulance arrived.” He traced the seam of the book with his finger. “I wrote it down here, but told no one. What happened within the…family…was not the concern of the rest of the world. Samuel had told me that often. And so when the police asked questions…I said nothing.”

  “And the journal entry?” Damien nodded towards the book.

  “I tore the pages out and put them in the safe, thinking they would be my protection against Gary. I could hold it over his head; my silence in exchange for my life.”

  Damien frowned. Something didn’t add up. “Why didn’t you approach the old man? Tell him what you saw?”

  “I don’t pretend to understand the way of your people; I know they can be ruthless. For a while I wondered if Samuel had ordered the ‘hit’. He’d expressed his doubts as to his son taking over leadership of the family.” Marcello shrugged and closed the journal. “I wasn’t sure if he was capable of such an act. There is a dark side to the man that I do not understand.” His voice trailed off. “We didn’t speak for some time after the accident. I lived in fear, not knowing who to trust.”