Betrayed: Book Two - The Road to Redemption

by Nicky Charles

  Sam nodded to the bartender as she crossed the room. He immediately poured her a drink and was sliding it down the bar by the time she reached the far side of the room. Sitting in the seat Dante had vacated, she flicked a glance at the empty space on the counter in front of him and then at the TV screen.

  “No drink, so you’re not here to tie one on. Must be that you had a burning need to watch the game, right?” She blinked at him innocently and gave him a sweet smile before belting back her whiskey. It was so incongruous that he laughed.

  “Uh huh. That’s it.” He twined two fingers together and held them up for her to see. “Me and baseball are like this. Don’t try to keep us apart.”

  She snorted. “Yeah, right. And I like to make tea cosies in my spare time.”

  “Really?” He tried to keep a straight face but failed miserably.

  The corners of Sam’s mouth twitched despite the fact she was glaring at him. “So what’s the real story? You’ve been sneaking off on your own every day now.”

  “No, I haven’t.” He countered. “If I was really trying to sneak off, you wouldn’t have caught me.”

  “Okay. Sneaking was the wrong word, but the question is still the same. What gives, Damien?”

  He thought quickly, wondering how much to say. “I was meeting someone. He had information to give me.”

  “Lilac Man?” She sniffed the air and made a face. “The same guy you were talking to at Club Mystique the other night?”

  “Yep.” She made no mention of the supposed robbery at Marcello’s, and Damien gave a silent sigh of relief. She still hadn’t realized Dante and the thief were one and the same.

  When he offered no more, she huffed and prompted further. “Does this information have to do with your current job? With me and my pack?”

  Damien hesitated. “Yes, but I need to verify a few facts. ‘Lilac Man’ isn’t always reliable.”

  “And that’s all you have to say?”

  “Actually, no.” He winked at her. “Wanna play some pool?”

  Sam hit him in the arm. Hard.

  “What was that for?” He rubbed his bicep.

  “You’re trying to distract me from asking more about Lilac Man.”

  “Yep, that’s my plan, but I really don’t know much about shooting pool and thought you could give me some pointers while we talk.”

  “How do you even know I play?”

  “The bartender knows you.”

  “Maybe I just come here to drink.”

  “Do you?”

  “No.”

  “There you go.” He stood up and tugged her towards an open table.

  Sam gave a sigh and followed. “Okay. But if I win, you have to share the information Lilac Man was giving you.”

  “Fair enough.” He’d played enough games with Reno that he felt confident he could win. And if he didn’t, he’d come up with some tidbit of information to attribute to Dante.

  “You agreed too quickly.” She narrowed her eyes. “How do I know you’re not some pool shark?”

  “You don’t.” He gave her a crooked grin. The look she returned would have sent most normal men running. Luckily he was a Lycan and a rogue at that. She grabbed two cues while he racked up the balls.

  “Eight ball—that’s the black one—goes in the middle of the rack.” Sam called the instruction over her shoulder while she chalked her cue.

  “I know.”

  “Just checking. After all, you said you weren’t a pool shark.”

  “I’m not an idiot, either.”

  She smiled and didn’t reply.

  Damien shook his head. God, she was fun to banter with. When was the last time he’d actually had fun? When Beth was alive? Most likely. She’d loved to tease him as well. A warm feeling of familiarity filled him as he realized the similarity between the two women.

  “Heads or tails?” Sam had taken out a quarter and was about to toss it.

  “Don’t bother. I’ll let you go first so you can show me how it’s done.”

  He leaned back against the wall, his hands lightly resting on the cue stick, and watched Sam take aim. A quick movement of her arm was followed by a cracking sound as the cue ball struck the others and they broke formation.

  “One solid, one stripe in. I call stripes.” She spoke without looking at him, circling the table and assessing the possible shots.

  Damien watched silently as ball after ball rolled into the pockets. With only two striped balls left, she missed.

  “Your turn.” Her face was set, her attention focused on the table. Definitely the competitive sort.

  Pushing off from the wall, Damien considered his first move.

  “Red ball, far corner pocket is your best bet.”

  He flicked a glance at Sam. “Thanks.” Following her suggestion, he took his shot and sunk the ball.

  “Green ball, middle left.”

  He turned and looked at her. “Who’s playing? You or me?”

  She widened her eyes. “You said you wanted some pointers.”

  “Right.” He turned to examine the table. She was right. The green ball was the best shot. As he bent over, quite unexpectedly he felt Sam beside him. He looked over his shoulder at her. “Yes?”

  “If you aim for the blue ball and catch the left edge of it, it will ricochet to the right and hit the yellow ball, knocking it into the pocket. The cue ball will bounce off the cushion, hit the orange which will then take the green one with it into the middle left.”

  Damien straightened and looked at her, one brow raised.

  “Or you could just sink the green.” She shrugged and leaned on her pool cue.

  “I asked for help.” He turned to study the table. “Explain the shot to me again.”

  “It’s geometry.” She explained, once more pointing out the angles and trajectory of each ball.

  Damien nodded in understanding. “I get it, now. Thanks.”

  “Move a little bit to the right, like this.”

  Sam pressed against him, moving him slightly, adjusting his hold on the cue. Her scent wrapped around him just as her arms did. Leather and spice. It stirred his blood and his wolf raised its head, a low rumble of approval rising in its throat. When she’d kissed him the other day, his reaction had been intense, but this was even more so, as if the long dormant feelings inside him were now awake and demanding to be fed after years of fasting.

  His arm brushed against her as he moved to take his shot. His skin registered every inch of her that he touched, fogging his thinking.

  He gave his head a slight shake and narrowed his eyes. Pool. That’s what he needed to concentrate on.

  “That’s right. Don’t rush it. Long, slow strokes as you build up momentum. Then one hard, firm thrust.” Sam cooed her instructions at him. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her caressing her cue, trailing her fingers up and down its length. The image that her action brought to mind had his breathing accelerating. Dragging his gaze back to the table, he took a deep, steadying breath, exhaled slowly and then made his move. Unfortunately, the shot was off. The cue ball barely brushed the blue one which half-heartedly rolled across the felt surface and came to a stop near the eight ball.

  “Oh. That’s too bad. Better luck next time.” Sam cast him what was likely supposed to be a sympathetic look, only the twitching of her lips gave her away.

  “Purposely rattling your opponent isn’t fair, you know.”

  “I know.” She hip checked him out of the way.

  “Two can play at that game.” Damien leaned his cue against the wall.

  “You can’t rattle me.” Sam didn’t even glance his way. She was circling the table looking for the best shot.

  Damien waited until she stopped and then moved to stand behind her. “I hope I’m not bothering you.”

  “Nope. Not at all.” She leaned forward.

  “Great view when you do that.”

  She wiggled her ass at him but didn’t look up, all her attention on the purple ball s
he was hoping to sink.

  He chuckled, waited until she was going to take her shot and then cracked his knuckles. Her ball rolled true, but the complicated shot she’d been attempting didn’t quite work. While one ball found its mark, the other stopped right on the rim of the pocket. For a moment it seemed to waiver as if considering falling into the opening but then changed its mind and settled into place.

  “Damn.”

  Sam stepped back and Damien took his turn. His next shots went in as planned until he was tied with her. They each had one ball remaining and it was still his turn. Plus, the shot he had left was easy.

  “Not a pool shark?” Sam gave him a look of disbelief.

  “Would you believe your lesson was amazing and I’m a fast learner?”

  “No.”

  “I didn’t think so.” He waggled his brows and gave her his best leer. “What will you give me when I win?”

  She flicked her eyes up and down the length of him before looking him right in the eye and slowly wetting her lips. “Are you sure you want to know?”

  The teasing atmosphere between them noticeably changed. With their gazes locked, tendrils of awareness seemed to stretch between them. He watched as she bit her lower lip, felt his own heart rate quicken. Sam wanted him, but did he want her?

  Yes.

  Physically, at least.

  He was attracted to her. She was fun and smart. His body clamoured to experience release again, but… He’d made a vow to Beth. It shouldn’t matter that she was dead. They’d been as one, and still were.

  He took a deep breath. Sam’s scent filled his nostril and teased his mind. He tightened his grip on his pool cue as body, mind and heart battled.

  “I—” He didn’t finish the statement. A cracking sound beside him drew his attention. He’d snapped his pool cue in half. One half tipped and fell on the table, the slight movement enough to knock Sam’s purple ball into the pocket.

  The faint clunk of the ball hovered between them for a second before Sam pumped the air in victory. “I win!”

  Damien shook his head, thankful for the distraction. “No, you didn’t. It was accidentally knocked in. Besides, it’s my turn.”

  “Too bad. I say it counts.”

  “And I say it doesn’t.”

  They stared at each other for a moment and then Sam threw her hands up.

  “Fine. We can’t finish the game anyway since you broke your cue. But I know I won.” She reached out and grabbed the broken stick from his hand and looked at it in disgust. “How are we going to explain this?” She jerked her chin toward the bartender who was glaring in their direction.

  “Complain that the cues are inferior quality and demand your money back.” Damien suggested in jest.

  Sam appeared to think about it, then gave a shrug. “It’s worth a try.”

  Damien watched as she crossed the room. While he didn’t know for certain, he had the feeling that he’d rattled her by not taking her blatantly sexual offer. He’d been caught in his inner battle and hadn’t noticed if his hesitancy was affecting her or not, but his gut was saying yes. She’d switched gears too quickly, dropping her suggestive demeanour and focusing on the false win. Could it be that Sam Harper wasn’t always as cool and confident as she presented herself to be?

  Chapter 15

  Damien stirred the pot of chili he was making while studying the recipe on the counter beside him. Sam had left him in charge of kitchen duty while she went to check on Mr. Marcello and he figured this was a safe and easy recipe to follow. All the ingredients had been added and now it just had to simmer. Strangely enough, he was anxious that the meal would turn out well and meet with the pack’s approval. It made no sense, of course. Since when did he care what other Lycans thought?

  A Lycan should want to please its pack, his wolf suggested.

  But they aren’t our pack, he reminded the beast.

  Really? His wolf twitched its ears at him and he frowned in response.

  This is a temporary arrangement he reminded the animal. Don’t go getting too comfortable.

  As he turned the burner to a lower setting, the back door slammed shut and Hiram came hurrying into the kitchen.

  “Damien! I’m glad you’re here.”

  “What can I do for you?” He and Hiram had fallen into an easy friendship despite the difference in their ages. Most days, the older man sought him out mid-morning with a cup of coffee in hand, and then proceeded to talk his ear off as he ‘helped’ with the various repairs Damien was undertaking. Some might have found it annoying, but Damien enjoyed the man’s stories and hearing his perspective on the world. The wisdom of the elders wasn’t something to be ignored.

  “My nose might be acting up on me, but I’m sure I scented another werewolf in the area.”

  “Where?” Damien stiffened, his wolf’s territorial instincts immediately kicking in, even if this was only temporarily his home.

  “In the alley behind us. I’m wondering if it’s that spy of Sinclair’s.”

  Or Dante, he thought to himself. “Show me where you noticed the scent.”

  “I tracked it from the bus stop and down the alley, just hints of scent, nothing definite. Then it faded away. All I can smell now is flowers.” Hiram explained as he led the way. “Like I said, it could be my nose acting up again. Getting old has its drawbacks.”

  “With age comes wisdom, Hiram. Never think you don’t have something to give the world, no matter how many years you’ve accumulated.”

  “Thanks, Damien. Too bad the rest of the world doesn’t see it that way.” Hiram tugged at his ear. “Seems if you’re not at your peak, you’re looked down on.”

  “Yeah, well the thinking of a lot of the world is screwed up.” Damien put his hands on his hips and began to survey the area wondering where their quarry had gone. From the faint trace of a scent that remained, he was sure it was Dante. “He’s using a scent mask.”

  “A scent mask? I didn’t think such a thing was possible.”

  “Lycan Link technology,” he replied distractedly. “They’ve been working on perfecting it for the past few years.”

  “So the spy is from Lycan Link?”

  “Not necessarily. The prototype of the formula was leaked during the early days of its development. There are several black market versions available that I’m aware of, however none are as effective as the one Lycan Link perfected.” Damien spoke as he prowled the area, hoping to find a lead. “Even so, it’s against Lycan law to use it without a permit.”

  “Sinclair likely bought some illegally and gave it to his spy.” Hiram nodded emphatically.

  Kane was the least likely Lycan to break a law, but Sam’s pack would never believe that, so he settled on making a non-committal sound. Crouching, he studied the ground. “No evidence of tracks. I wonder which way the bastard went.”

  “He could be trying to get inside to snoop around. Maybe even using the old passageways to gain entrance to the house.”

  “Passageways?” Damien looked up at the man in surprise.

  “Back in the days of prohibition, members of the pack worked for smugglers. Liquor came from Windsor, Ontario across the border into Detroit. The Purple Gang—”

  “The Purple Gang?” Rising to his feet, Damien wondered if this was one of Hiram’s tall tales.

  “Weird name, I know, but that’s what the Detroit gang called themselves. Anyway, the Lycans brought the liquor into Chicago and hid it under the house until it was delivered to the blind pigs.”

  “Blind pigs?” He had to be joking. “Hiram—”

  “I’m not kidding. Blind pigs, speakeasies; that’s what the humans called the places that served illegal liquor.”

  “Okay, I believe you. Thanks for the history lesson, but what does this has to do with…er…the spy?”

  “There’s a passageway from the cellar—the workout room Sam fixed up—that leads into the house. It’s narrow, barely two feet wide and runs between the walls.” Hiram paused in his explanat
ion and frowned. “I’ve never checked it out myself, mind you. Alpha’s privilege. And I doubt it’s been used in ages. Or maybe I’m letting my imagination get carried away again.”

  If the passageway existed, Damien had no doubt that Dante could have found out about it somehow. Had the man been sneaking around the house right under their noses?

  “I’d better look, just to be sure. Any idea where the door to this passageway might be?”

  “Not really. I don’t recall Sam mentioning it when she renovated the cellar. It could even be sealed up I suppose.”

  Damien couldn’t imagine Sam not being aware of a secret entrance, but she might have kept the information to herself like the proverbial ace up her sleeve.

  “You know, you did well to pick up that trace of a scent, Hiram. It could be that you actually scared him off.”

  “You think so?” Hiram stood a bit straighter.

  “Yep.” He glanced around the area once more. “Listen, your shift is over. Go take a break and I’ll check the cellar then report what I find to Sam when she gets back.”

  “Well… If you’re sure.”

  Damien clapped him on the back. “I am.”

  Hiram nodded and went on his way, much to Damien’s relief. While it was doubtful Dante was still around, he didn’t want to chance his confrontation with the man being observed.

  He entered the cellar, all senses on alert. The room appeared normal, no hint of lilacs, no prickling of that mysterious sixth sense he’d come to rely on over the years. Relaxing, he began to patrol the perimeter looking for evidence of the secret passageway Hiram had spoken of.

  Eyeing the walls, he looked for obvious cracks in the stone work and minute gaps in the wooden framing. Nothing was immediately evident, but he’d have expected nothing less of Sam. If the pack house had a hidden entrance, she’d have kept it under wraps, an Alpha’s privileged information. The mirrored walls, however, presented a distinct possibility and he soon found what he was looking for. One was hinged and, when it swung outward, it became evident there was a false wall along that end of the cellar.