Betrayed: Book Two - The Road to Redemption Read online

  “There’s no mercy in a real challenge fight. When I take on Sinclair, I’ll need to—”

  “When? You mean if you take him on.”

  Sam shook head. “No. It’s when. I’m issuing a challenge.” She took up her fighting stance again, but Damien didn’t respond.

  “Are you insane?”

  “No. I’m fighting for my pack.” She straightened, glowering and not appreciating the incredulous look on his face.

  “You can’t challenge Kane Sinclair. He’s twice your size.”

  “Size doesn’t matter. I’m faster. I can get under his guard—”

  “You can get yourself killed.” Damien put his hands on his hips. “No way are you fighting him.”

  “Yes, I am. I’ve sent the notice in to Lycan Link.”

  He shook his head. “Your grandfather—”

  “He knows and agrees it’s the only way.”

  “It’s fucking archaic and—”

  “And the Book of the Law still allows it.” She narrowed her eyes. “Now are you going to help me or not.”

  He reached out and grabbed her by the arm, pulling her so close their bodies touched. “Sugar, you are not fighting Kane.”

  Sam struggled against his grip. “My name isn’t Sugar and I am fighting him. This is my territory, my pack, my wolves. It’s my duty to do what’s best for them.”

  “And you think getting yourself killed is what’s best for them?” His black brows were lowered over his piercing silvery blue eyes; the look he gave her was seething with anger.

  “I won’t get killed. I’m—”

  “Sam!” He interrupted with a growl and then kissed her hard, his mouth crushing hers, enveloping her in heat, causing her head to spin. And then, before she could react, he pushed her away. “I’m talking to your grandfather about this.”

  “I’ve already said he knows and agrees.”

  “We’ll see about that.” Damien stalked from the cellar.

  Sam cursed and took out her ire on the punching bag.

  Chapter 29

  Damien’s feet pounded on the stairs as he made his way to Samuel Harper’s door.

  “What the hell is he thinking, letting Sam issue a challenge.” He growled the words as he rapped on the door only to realize the man wasn’t back from the doctor’s yet.

  “Hey, Damien. What are you doing?” Chris came bounding up the stairs, a look of excitement about him.

  “Nothing.” Damien compressed his lips, trying to rein in his temper.

  “Did you hear the news?” Without giving him a chance to respond, Chris continued. “Sam’s issued a challenge against Sinclair. Isn’t that way cool?”

  “Cool?” He raised his brows.

  “Yeah. Challenges hardly ever happen anymore.”

  “For good reason. They’re dangerous.”

  Chris shrugged. “Sam’s tough. She’s the toughest Alpha ever. She’ll kick Sinclair’s ass so hard—”

  “But what if she doesn’t? What if she’s hurt? Left permanently disabled?” He doubted Kane would take it that far, but in the heat of a fight things happened.

  “Well…” Uncertainty washed over the boy’s face.

  “Fighting isn’t fun or exciting. It should only be used as a last resort.”

  “But you’ve been in fights, haven’t you? I’m mean, you’re a rogue.”

  “Yeah. I’ve been in fights.” He paused, recalling how the rush of victory was always followed by a sick feeling, images of the dead still burned into his brain. “A lot of them I regret.”

  “But not all?”

  Sharp of the kid to pick up on that. He sighed heavily. “Sometimes you have to fight. When the enemy is evil and won’t listen to reason. When the lives of the innocent are at stake.”

  “Sinclair is evil. He’s a power hungry bastard who wants to take over our pack.” Chris regained a little of his confidence as he quoted the phrase Sam so often used.

  “There are degrees of evil, kid.”

  “But Sam—”

  “Sam might die.” His tone was harsh and Chris’ face whitened.

  “I…”

  “Think about it, Chris. Is Sam’s life really worth it?” He walked away, not waiting for the boy’s response.

  Once in his room, Damien paced restlessly. God, what a mess. He’d never anticipated Sam would actually issue a challenge. Sure, she’d talked about it, but he’d never really believed she’d follow through. When he’d started this job, he’d seen it as a fact-finding mission, assuming Kane would go about his takeover through legal wrangling.

  Sam might die.

  The words he’d spoken to Chris played over and over in his head. He couldn’t stand to lose another person he…cared…about.

  Cared? His mind stuttered on the word. Other, more suitable ones hovered, but he didn’t want to—dare to—use them.

  Care.

  It was a lukewarm term.

  Bland. Nondescript. Very unlike Sam. An image of her moments ago came to mind. Her dark hair wet with sweat, her eyes blazing. The determined set of her chin as she faced him, muscles tight and fists clenched. The way her thin grey tank had clung to her body. Her mouth, hot and sweet. Yep, that was his spitfire.

  Damn her grandfather for ever agreeing to a challenge. He could have stopped it; he was still listed as the official Alpha. The Book of the Law allowed challenges, but if there was an existing Alpha he could have issued a protest, bogged down the process until Sam could think of another solution.

  Clenching his fists, he wished he had a way to vent his anger. The hole in the plaster still existed from last time he’d punched the wall. No point in having two to fix. Calm down and clear your head. Wasn’t that what Beth would have told him?

  His thinking skidded to a halt.

  Beth.

  Why was he so fired up over Sam when… He dragged his hands through his hair and looked around the room, unable to make sense of what was going on inside his head.

  He spied the papers he’d pilfered from Harper earlier on and latched on to them like a lifeline. Focus on finding out Dante’s connection to this pack; there was no emotional ambiguity in that. He knew exactly how he felt about the slimeball. From the first moment of meeting, he’d instinctively hated the man. Finding a way to bring Dante down should keep him occupied while he waited for old man Harper to return.

  Grabbing the papers, he dropped down on the bed and began to read.

  ‘For years I’ve supported The Cause, selected my pack members carefully, given financial aid, but now I’m beginning to doubt my beliefs. The child looks at me with her violet eyes and I know the truth, but she’s my son’s daughter. I’m torn between family and party loyalty…’

  The ‘Cause’? Damien frowned. Harper had used those words before… He skipped to an entry written a week later.

  ‘My decision has been made. The girl will begin her training to one day lead the pack. It will take time to mould her, but it can be done. The Harper blood will show through in the end. Gary isn’t happy about my decision and I’m beginning to suspect his loyalty. More than once he’s ended a phone conversation when I’ve entered the room. Is he reporting me? I’m sure I can scent deceit in the air. The question is which way does the rest of the pack lean?’

  The pack must have stuck by Harper…or was that part of the reason for the low numbers? Had some left when they realized Samantha would one day take over? Was that part of the reason for the small membership?

  ‘My Beta’s betrayal runs deep. He coveted my position, killed my son, scorns my chosen heir. And now he threatens the wrath of The Cause against me. I’ve confined him in the cellar and tomorrow, we will hold a judgement…’

  Judgement. A pack’s version of a legal hearing. From what Marcello and Harper had told him, Damien knew the outcome but read on, curious as to how everything had unfolded. He flipped through several pages, but there was a definite gap in the dates and still no mention of Dante. It seemed he’d need more recent files if he
wanted to know how the story ended.

  A look outside revealed the car was still gone. Odds were there’d be enough time to sneak into Harper’s quarters again. With most pack members working it was easy enough to move about undetected. Once inside Harper’s quarters, he’d have to be selective about the files he took. He couldn’t remove all of them, their absence was sure to be noticed.

  It took less than two minutes to leave his room and make his way to the old man’s. The room was silent, not even the ticking of a clock disturbing the stillness. Flicking through the dates on each file, he found those that were most likely to contain the information he was interested in. Just to be sure, he opened one and began to skim for Dante’s name.

  Household bills, quarrels between pack members, the purchase of a new freezer… Harper had documented almost everything. Boring except… Damien paused and studied a ledger page showing income and expenses. Large quantities of money had begun to be paid out. They would seem to be going to a medical research facility. The fertility issue Sam had mentioned? He began to read more carefully.

  ‘The experts claim our declining numbers are the fault of a limited gene pool. Is this how I am to be paid back? Years of supporting The Cause—ensuring the finest blood runs through our veins—and now it has come to this. There has to be a better solution. I’ll not be encouraging my members to go out and mate with just anyone.’

  A cold chill settled over Damien as he read, the niggling of a suspicion beginning to grow into an evil entity.

  ‘Salazar came to visit me today, the bastard. Luckily he used the passages so no one knows he was here…’

  Bingo. There was the connection he’d been looking for. Salazar was one of the aliases Dante used. So Dante was known to Harper. But, Damien frowned, if that was the case, then why had Dante planned on being hired on as the pack Beta. Harper would have recognized him right away. Unless that had been Dante’s plan. To stay in the pack house, thumbing his nose at the old man knowing Samuel Harper wanted to keep their relationship a secret. Yeah, that would be Dante’s style.

  ‘Severing ties with The Cause isn’t a simple act. There can be…repercussions. Or so Salazar is telling me. Punishment for daring to turn my back on the organization. He says he’ll use his position within the organization to wipe our records from The Cause’s files, but it will cost me. I’m not a fool; I know blackmail when I see it. One payment won’t be enough, yet what else is there to do? I’ve never healed properly from my injuries; if I was still fit, I’d kill him just as I did Gary. Salazar knows my weakness, knows where to twist the knife.’

  So the old man was being blackmailed. That’s why the pack was so poor. All the money that had supposedly been channelled into fertility research had likely gone into the pockets of Dante Esparza. And the pack’s fertility problems stemmed from selective breeding.

  Damien rose to his feet, suddenly feeling dirty. ‘The Cause.’ Hell, it was another name for Purists and he was living in the middle of them.

  A sound from the hallway had him cursing. He’d been so busy reading, he’d forgotten his intention had been to slip in and out quickly. There was nothing outside the window to climb on and a two storey drop would likely guarantee a broken ankle. The passageways?

  Turning, Damien tried to determine the most likely location for a false wall with a hidden entrance. Not the outside walls. As quickly as possible he encircled the room, testing the walls. The fireplace? He examined the structure and…there. A tiny crack where the brick met the wainscoting. Most would take it to be the result of the house settling with old age but… Damien crouched and pressed his fingers along the panel. It snicked open just as the door to the room opened. He slipped inside and slid the panel back into place, then stood very still controlling his breathing.

  There was a chance they’d detect his scent in the room but he was laying odds on the fact they’d ignore it. He’d been in the house long enough that his scent had become part of the background, like the ticking of a clock no one noticed, but drove newcomers crazy.

  “Quit fussing, Flo. Doc said I’m fit as a fiddle.”

  “No. He said given your age you weren’t doing too bad, but your nerves are strung too tight.”

  Harper blustered ignoring the comment and Florence could be heard moving about the room, helping him get settled. Damien began to cautiously inch his way along the tiny passage deciding their conversation would cover his movements. He had no idea where he’d end up, but anywhere other than Harper’s room had to be preferable. Not that he really cared what a bunch of Purists thought about him, but he’d like to live long enough to share the news with Kane. This was exactly the leverage needed to oust the Harper family from Chicago for good.

  The passageway ended in a linen closet near the end of the hall. Slipping out, he didn’t bother to brush the dust and cobwebs from his clothes. His only concern was to get out of the house as fast as he could. Breathing the same air as effing Purists made him sick.

  He gathered his things from his room, throwing them into his bag as fast as he could. There wasn’t much; he’d learned to travel light over the years. Hitching his old knapsack over his shoulder, he grabbed his leather jacket and made his way downstairs.

  “Damien? Where are you off to?” Sam stood in the doorway of her office.

  “I’m leaving.” His answer was curt. He couldn’t even bear to look at her and kept his face averted.

  “Leaving? Why?”

  He compressed his lips, wanting to shout at her that he knew the truth, knew her pack belonged to the Purists, that they were no better than the bastards that had killed hundreds of half-breed Lycans over the years. Killed his Beth.

  His throat tightened. Beth. He’d kissed Sam, held her body while his Beth lay cold in a grave. Guilt tore at his gut. How could he have betrayed his mate? Betrayed her with a Purist, the very cause of her death!

  “I’m a rogue. I come and go as I wish.”

  She stepped forward and laid a hand on his arm. “But—”

  He shook her hand off, unable to bare her touch. Turning, he didn’t bother to hide the hatred in his eyes as he spat out his reply. “Keep your filthy Purist hands off me.”

  “Filthy Purist?” She gaped at him for a moment before anger took over. Eyes narrowed, hands on hips, she snapped back at him. “Fine. Go then. See if I care.”

  He didn’t reply. Rage blurred his vision making it difficult to see, to even think. His whole body shook from the extreme control he was exercising. The need for revenge was once again beginning to burn within him, blackening his soul, clouding his judgement. He had to get out, get away... Without another word, he headed towards the back of the house where he’d parked.

  “Damien, I thought we should tackle the grout on these tiles.” Hiram was in the kitchen, his tool box open on the table.

  The look of pleasure on the old man’s face almost had him pausing, but the knowledge that Hiram was one of them overrode everything else. “Sorry, you’re on your own for that one.” He didn’t wait for a reply.

  Allowing the door to slam shut behind him, he stepped outside. The wind was whipping the trees, leaves blowing across the yard. Splots of rain were beginning to fall as well and he hunched his shoulders against the weather. After the heat of the last few weeks, the cool dampness of the air was shock.

  His Harley was parked near the fence sharing a tarp with Sam’s. There was an intimacy to that fact that soured his stomach and he tore the tarp off, leaving it flapping in the wind. He roughly stored his gear in the saddlebags, swung his leg over the seat and started the engine.

  For a moment, he stared at the old pack house. In the gloom of the storm the decrepit exterior was hard to see. Instead, light and the impression of warmth spilled from the windows. His throat tightened as images of the past few weeks flashed before him. But it had all been a lie—a Purist lie—and that was unforgiveable.

  Gunning the engine, he roared out of the yard and drove away.

  Inside the house,
Sam kicked the door of her office shut. Fucking asshole. She should have known better than to depend on a rogue! How dare he just up and leave? And where did he get off calling her names?

  Throwing herself into her chair, she scowled at the computer screen. Damien Masterson, Beta, Chicago pack. Only minutes before she’d finished designing a new letterhead that included him as second in command.

  Dickwad.

  Stretching out her hand, she jabbed the delete key.

  Chapter 30

  Kane negotiated a turn on auto-pilot as he talked on his hands-free phone to Damien. Good thing he’d driven the road for years because what he’d just heard was taking all his attention. “The Chicago pack is full of Purists?”

  “Yep. Old man Harper’s notes confirmed it. He never said ‘Purist’ in so many words—called it ‘The Cause’—but there could be no other meaning.”

  “Damn. Never expected to uncover that.”

  “Me, either.” The bitterness was evident in Damien’s voice.

  “Sorry to have put you in that position. Considering what you went through with Beth—”

  “No need to apologize.” Damien cut him off, which wasn’t unusual. The man seldom wanted to talk about this dead mate. “I’m just glad we found out and are in the position to do something about it.”

  “Being a Purist isn’t illegal.” He hated pointing that out, but freedom of expression and belief were outlined in the Charter of Rights and Freedoms.

  “I know, but if we take over the pack—”

  “We?” Kane was surprised at Damien’s word choice.

  “I’m with you in this, at least until we root the Purists out, then I’ll hand the territory over to you.”

  “I’m not following you.” Kane frowned.