The Road to Redemption (14 page)

“You okay?”
Damien barely waited for Sam to nod before heading out in pursuit
of Dante. What the bastard was up to, he had no idea, but it
couldn’t be anything good.

Once outside,
Damien glanced left, then right. There was no sign of his quarry,
though the faint scent of lilacs at least gave him an idea as to
which way to head. Dante had headed towards the street, damn him.
The man was too clever for his own good. If he’d kept to the back
alleys, Damien could have tracked him as a wolf, but on city
streets, he had to stay human.

The trail was
easy enough to follow; the scent of lilacs might dissipate quickly
but the sound of Dante’s running steps were obvious enough that
even a pup could have tracked him. The man was opting for speed
over stealth, heading towards the main street, likely hoping to get
lost in the crowds; the main streets of a large city were never
empty no matter what the time of day or night. Damien picked up his
pace, ignoring the pain in his leg as his feet pounded on the
concrete.

There,
straight ahead!

He could see
Dante only two blocks away, standing at the corner. The man had
stopped running for some reason. Had the coward decided to fight
like a Lycan? Damien clenched his fists in anticipation only to
skid to a shocked stop as he watched a city bus pull up and Dante
climb onboard.

Fucking hell
and damnation! He watched the man take a seat then turn to salute
him through the window before the bus pulled away. Damien kicked a
nearby garbage can in frustration. Dante had eluded him again.

“I’m okay, Mr.
Marcello. Really.” Sam reassured the elderly man yet again as she
finished putting pieces of the broken chair into a garbage can.

“But—”

“He hit the
doorframe, not me. I only yelled because I was so surprised.” Sam
hoped Mr. Marcello wouldn’t think to look for damage to the
woodwork; with any luck she’d be able to add a few marks before the
idea popped into his head. “Oh dear, look at all the books he
knocked down!” As planned, her comment distracted the man and he
began to try to restore order to the other corner of the room.

Sam gave her
shoulder a surreptitious rub. Being hit by a chair wasn’t at the
top of her list of fun ways to spend the evening. She wondered if
Damien had caught the fellow and, if so, what he was doing with
him. Hopefully, he was dragging the bastard’s ass back here so they
could call the police. It made her blood boil to think that a
two-bit thief would pick on a sweet old man like Mr. Marcello.

“Did he manage
to get much in cash or jewels?” She began to help Mr. Marcello
straighten the room.

“Er…no.” Mr.
Marcello paused. “There wasn’t a large sum in the safe.”

“That’s good.”
Sam narrowed her eyes, not sure if the older man was lying or just
nervous. Likely the latter since there was no point in lying about
a simple robbery. “Did you hear him breaking in?”

“I heard
movement down here and came to investigate.” He tightened his hands
on a book he was holding. “Miss Samantha, did you hear what he was
saying to me?”

“No. I started
pounding on the door as soon as I got here. Why?”

He seemed
about to speak, then shook his head. “Nothing. Just…thank you.”

Damien
returned empty handed. The thief had gotten away, much to her
disappointment, and Mr. Marcello didn’t want to make a report to
the police for some reason. Since there was nothing else she could
do about the matter, she let it drop. While she considered Mr.
Marcello a long-standing friend, almost a member of the pack, he
was still a human and she shouldn’t allow herself to get too
involved.

After making
sure all the doors and windows were locked, she and Damien left
with assurances from Mr. Marcello that he was perfectly fine after
the ordeal and didn’t need anyone to stay with him.

“This is the
first time that anyone has ever tried to rob Mr. Marcello.” Sam
commented as they walked back to the pack house.

“Robbery? Is
that what he called it?” Damien gave her a sharp glance, relieved
she wasn’t asking about Dante. He’d been expecting her to make some
comment about why his ‘friend’ was at Marcello’s, but obviously she
hadn’t recognized the man. She’d only had a glimpse of him in the
dim light of Club Mystique, and tonight, he’d been charging at her
with a chair. Not the best of conditions for making a positive
identification.

“Well, yeah.
What else would you call it when someone breaks in and tries to
steal your money?”

Damien
grunted, his brow furrowed. Obviously, Marcello hadn’t told Sam the
whole story and, due to the scent mask, Sam hadn’t realized it was
a Lycan roughing the man up. Dante was planning on blackmailing
Marcello over something the shopkeeper obviously didn’t want Harper
to know. But which Harper? And what exactly was the secret? And how
did Dante know about it? Of course, Dante had a knack for
discovering every secret out there, though how he did it was a
mystery.

Marcello’s
problem really wasn’t any of his business, Damien decided. He was
here to find evidence against the Chicago pack to prove their
leadership was unfit. And unless Marcello was keeping a secret that
could prove that, there was no need to get involved. Of course,
he’d never know if the secret was significant or not unless he
uncovered it and that meant tracking down Dante. His inner wolf
thumped its tail. Hunting Dante was an immensely appealing
prospect.

Sam drummed her fingers on her desk as she
contemplated her newest pack member. Damien had been here for three
days. During that time he’d been a model Beta, going on patrols
with her at night, assisting her when she installed better locks on
Mr. Marcello’s windows. He helped around the pack house by doing
much needed repairs. He’d even taken Chris under his wing which
removed one of her main headaches; the boy had grown up surrounded
by adults and kept trying to act like one. The Academy would be a
good place for him in a few years if she could find the money to
sponsor him; with the way his grades were, she doubted the boy
would qualify for a scholarship.

Something
about Damien made her think he’d been at the Academy. He might be
able to provide her with some information…or not. The man wasn’t
very forthcoming. That was likely the rogue in him. Social skills
usually weren’t their strong point.

He was good at
verbal sparring, though. She grinned as she thought back over some
of their conversations. It was fun to push his buttons and see him
lose his brooding expression. And he gave as good as he got.
Battling wits with him was…interesting.

The only real
complaint she had against the man was that he had a habit of going
off on his own with no warning, only to return a few hours later
looking as if he’d like to rip someone’s face off. He never
mentioned what he’d been up to, merely disappearing into the cellar
and then reappearing some time later covered in sweat and in a more
pleasant mood.

If he’d been
an established pack member, she’d likely let it slide for a while,
but Damien was a newbie and her Alpha instincts were on alert. As
soon as he returned from his current jaunt, she planned on
confronting him.

Almost on cue,
he appeared. Through her office window, she could see him coming
down the sidewalk. His stride was long and fluid yet the set of his
shoulders conveyed his mood even before she could make out his
face. She watched him run lightly up the steps; the front door was
used more now that he’d repaired them. He disappeared from her
view, but she could hear his booted feet thudding on the porch
and…the front door slammed shut. She leaned back in her chair,
rather smug that she’d pegged him so quickly.

In her mind’s
eye, she watched him walk towards the kitchen, grab a bottle of
water from the fridge and head out the back door towards the
cellar, all without saying a word. As usual, he’d returned pissed
off and she was about to discover why.

She logged out
of the email she’d been answering and pushed her chair back with
carefully controlled movements. Anticipation of the confrontation
had her adrenalin already starting to pump. It wasn’t that she was
hoping for a fight, but the memory of their first brawl played
through her mind. Confronting someone who matched her skill level
didn’t happen often and she was looking forward to the
competition.

Taking her
time, she headed outside and around to the cellar, allowing him to
settle into his routine before she descended into the exercise
room. At the most, ten minutes had elapsed. Not long, but
sufficient that a fine sheen of sweat was beginning to form on his
skin. He’d stripped off his shirt, the discarded garment lying on
the floor beside his bottle of water.

The weights on
the machine made a staccato rhythm as he lifted and lowered them,
his rapid breathing punctuating the chorus. For a moment, she
paused at the bottom of the steps, admiring the flexing of his
muscles, the look of intense concentration on his face. Being an
Alpha didn’t make her immune to the sight of a ripped male.

“You need
something?” He growled the words, his brows lowered. Of course,
he’d been aware of her presence.

“Yeah. I do.”
She stepped into the room and stopped in front of him, her hands
planted on her hips.

“Spit it out,
then.” He released the weights and leaned forward to wipe his face
on his shirt.

“Where were
you?”

He stilled,
the material still covering part of his face. Slowly, he finished
drying himself before letting the t-shirt fall to the floor.

“And if you
say ‘out’, I’ll kick you in the nuts.”

Damien cocked
an eyebrow, but for once her verbal jab didn’t bring a curl to the
corner of his mouth. Funny, she hadn’t realized how much she looked
forward to seeing that flash of amusement on his face. Instead, he
grabbed his water bottle from its spot on the floor. After a long
drink, he replied. “I had things to do.”

“Such as?”

Swinging his
leg over the bench, he stood up and walked to the punching bag.
“None of your business.”

She followed
him. “I’m your Alpha. Everything you do is my business.”

“No. You’re
not my Alpha. I don’t have an Alpha. I answer to no one.” He
punched the bag and it swung towards her.

Sam punched it
in return, sending it swinging back towards him. “You answer to me.
While you’re here, you’re my responsibility. Book of the Law,
Section 5, paragraph nine.”

He held onto
the bag. “
An Alpha is responsible for all Lycans residing in his
territory, even if those Lycans are not members of the pack. The
Alpha will ensure all Lycans follow the Book of the Law and conduct
themselves in such a manner so as to not endanger, or bring undue
attention to, the Lycans who reside there
.’ But you forgot
subsection two. “...
provided that the Lycan in question does not
have an Alpha in another territory. Transient Lycans may use a
letter of exemption from an Alpha so they are not bound by the
dictates of another pack.
’.”

“You can quote
the Book of the Law?” His response momentarily distracted her.

“I’m a rogue.
Not an idiot. And yes, I’ve picked things up here and there.” He
sent the punching bag back in her direction and she neatly caught
it.

“I’d argue
that you aren’t transient. You’re living here.” He was silent and
she pushed her advantage. “Plus, you don’t have a letter of
exemption. So, tell me, what are you up to?”

He clamped his
mouth tightly shut. She had a feeling he had a valid rebuttal, but
some reason was reluctant to use it. Instead, he glowered at
her.

She returned
the look full force. “I asked you a question and you
will
answer.”

“I don’t have
to put up with this crap.” He moved to leave and she stepped in
front of him not in the least fazed by the cold look on his
face.

“You’re not
leaving until you tell me what you’re up to.” When he tried to step
around her, she grabbed his arm and yanked him back. She could see
him clenching his jaw, knew his temper was rising. Her wolf urged
her to press him further, to engage in a fight to prove she was the
dominant one here.

“You don’t
want to do that.” There was a definite warning in his voice. “If we
fight, I’ll win and you really don’t want to lose to me.”

“As if.”

“I mean it,
Sam. You’re good, but I could have taken you in the alley if we’d
been fighting for keeps.”

“How?” She
jutted her chin.

“You move your
left foot before you throw a punch. You drop your arm too much when
you do a roundhouse kick and you don’t get it up fast enough
afterwards. It leaves your chin exposed.”

She frowned.
Years ago, her instructor had often told her about projecting her
punches through her stance, but she’d thought she’d fixed that
problem. And no one had ever mentioned her arm. “Show me.”

“No. I’m not
in the mood.” He took a step towards the door, but she grabbed his
arm again.

“We’re not
having sex. You don’t have to be in a ‘mood’.” She rolled her eyes.
“Cancel that. Actually, you look in the perfect ‘mood’ for a
fight.”

Damien sighed
heavily. “Fine.” He moved towards the middle of the matted floor
space, but she wasn’t waiting. Her wolf was pushing her, eager to
confront the male before them. Swinging out her leg, she caught
Damien in the back of the thigh.

“Why you—!” He
staggered but caught himself and spun around to face her.

“Never turn
your back on your opponent,” she jeered, nimbly hopping out of
reach.

“If that’s the
way you want to play it.” He launched himself at her and she barely
sidestepped in time. As it was his shoulder brushed hers. It was
enough to knock her off balance and, when she leapt to the side to
avoid his kick, she landed awkwardly.