The Road to Redemption (8 page)

Elise stared
into his amber eyes, seeing the contrition there, feeling it
through their blood bond. “And I need to be more patient.” She
pressed a kiss to his mouth. He opened to her and the kiss
deepened. A groan escaped him and he gathered her closer, sliding
his hands down her back to cup her rear.

“Excuse
me…”

A knock at the
door had them both sighing and reluctantly pulling apart.

“Yes?” A faint
growl could be heard in Kane’s voice as he addressed the intruder.
Elise twisted in his arms and saw Daniel. The young man looked a
bit sheepish at having interrupted.

“Sorry to
bother you, but Ryne wants everyone downstairs right now so he and
Mel can cut the cake.”

“We’ll just be
a minute.” Elise tried to give the boy a reassuring look since he
was eyeing Kane nervously. Little wonder given the fact that a low
rumble was coming from the man. Daniel gave a nod and disappeared.
She turned back to Kane and admonished him. “Quit growling. There
was no need to scare him; he was only delivering a message.”

“I know, but
his timing was lousy.” Kane gave her a last quick kiss before
stepping back. “Ryne probably sent him here on purpose just to
interfere.”

“I doubt…”
Elise paused. Knowing Ryne, that might very well have been the
case!

Sam kept Damien occupied by pointing out features
of the neighbourhood and introducing him to some of the human
population. She told them he was a ‘friend’ from the West Coast and
no one questioned her, though a few gave a knowing grin no doubt
silently including the words ‘with benefits’. It didn’t really
matter to her. They could think what they wanted. She knew some
speculated about her apparent lack of male companionship and that
was fine. Let them speculate all they wanted about her sex life; it
kept them from thinking about more important matters like the
unusual makeup of the ‘family’ she lived with.

And speaking
of family, Damien was going to start asking questions soon. Every
wolf knew that the pack would want to greet a new member, learn its
scent and determine its place in the hierarchy. She’d put him off
this morning, but it was time to bring him up to speed before
meeting the others.

As they
entered the rusted gateway that led to the pack house, Damien
reached out and adjusted the house number. It held in place for a
moment before falling back into its usual crooked position. He cast
a look at her, one brow raised.

Sam winced
inwardly. Some might see that as a symbol of a poorly managed
pack.

“Your porch
needs repairing, too.” He gestured towards the broken treads on the
steps.

“It’s on my
list.” She replied tightly, not mentioning that her ‘to-do’ list
was a mile long and she was doing her best, but there simply wasn’t
enough time. It was her job and she took responsibility for any
failings. An Alpha didn’t make excuses.

“I’ll fix it.”
There was no condescending tone to his words, just a gruff
statement and steady look.

It made her
uneasy, as if he could read her mind and knew that she’d often
wondered if she’d be able to hold things together. While there was
no way he could know that, she still answered guardedly. “Thanks.
It’ll help give you a presence around here, in case Sinclair’s spy
happens to be watching.”

A look passed
over his face, so fleeting she couldn’t identify it, but then he
nodded. “You have any tools?”

“Yeah. I have
tools.”

“Good. I’ll
get on it today.”

“Interior
design and home repair?” She relaxed enough to tease him as they
rounded the corner of the house.

“I’ve had some
experience working as a handyman. I repaired cabins at a fishing
lodge once.”

“Repairing a
fishing lodge?” She scrunched her face in disbelief. It seemed a
strange occupation for a rogue. Somehow she pictured him doing
something more dangerous than pounding nails. His dark features,
brooding eyes and sullen expression made one think more of a thug
who’d pull a knife on you at a moment’s notice. “You’ve got to be
kidding me.”

He shrugged
but made no effort to elaborate on his statement so she let it
drop. It wasn’t as if his background really mattered. Still, she
couldn’t help cast one last speculative glance his way. Her rogue
had hidden depths. Interesting.

As they
reached the back of the house, Damien turned towards the door no
doubt assuming they were going inside.

“Not yet. We
need to talk in private first.” She went to the far side of the
house and grabbed the handle of an old wooden hatch.

“In the
cellar?”

“Yep. Scared
of the dark?” She tossed the question over her shoulder as she slid
the door aside. It moved easily since she’d added a sliding track a
few years ago.

“No.”

Flicking the
light switch, she nimbly descended the cement steps.

“If I had
been, were you going to leave the lights off?” He followed her
down.

“Perhaps.” She
shrugged. “Confronting your fears is the only way to overcome
them.”

Damien didn’t
reply. She wasn’t sure if that meant he agreed or not, not that it
really mattered. She was in charge and he’d do as he was told.

The
temperature below ground was a pleasant contrast to the heat and
humidity of the streets and Sam took a moment to enjoy the cooler
air. The cellar had been excavated and extended over the years and
now served as an exercise room though that hadn’t always been the
case. It was historical fact that, during the days of Prohibition,
some members of the pack had originally made their money from the
illegal liquor trade. Working as ‘rumrunners’ or ‘bootleggers’ as
such miscreants had been called, the cellar had been used to hide
the illegal beverage. As a child she’d often re-enacted the
adventures, hiding from the authorities as she snuck her illegal
cargo of penny-candy home from the corner store.

It was during
one of those games that she’d discovered the trap door to a secret
passageway that led to various rooms in the house. She’d never
shared her find with anyone; it was often useful to be able to
enter and exit the building without the others knowing. She
chuckled to herself as she recalled some of her escapades.

Damien studied
the bare light bulbs that hung overhead and the exposed floor
joists from the house above. Nothing fancy, but it was clean with
no cobwebs or mustiness. The walls had been whitewashed and several
mirrored panels hung along the far wall, while the middle of the
room was occupied by an array of workout equipment. Most of the
floor was cement, though one area sported a set of mats for
wrestling or sparring.

“Nice.” He
wandered over to a punching bag and gave it an experimental
push.

“What I’m
about to tell you goes no further. Is that understood?”

Damien turned
to where Sam was leaning against a weight machine.

“Depends what
you tell me.” He propped himself against the wall and folded his
arms. The expression that passed over her face made him smile
inwardly. She wasn’t used to anyone talking back to her and hadn’t
been expecting his response.

“What the
—”

“I’m just
being truthful. Would you really believe me if I agreed outright?”
Damien gave her a level look.

Sam snapped
her mouth shut and appeared to consider the point. “Perhaps not.”
She paused. “Are you always such a pain in the ass?”

“Pretty much.
I’m a rogue, not an Omega that toes the line every second of my
life. If that were the case, I doubt you would have hired me, would
you?”

A reluctant
grin spread over her face. “I think I like you. You’re honest.”

“I do my
best.” For some reason he was pleased to have made her smile
again.

A chuckle
escaped her before her expression sobered. “Truthfully, this
conversation can’t be shared. It might give Sinclair an advantage;
being the weasel that he is, who knows how he could twist things
around to his advantage?”

“Sinclair’s a
weasel? I thought he was a wolf?” The mental image that came to
mind of Kane shifting into such a small animal had him struggling
to keep from grinning. He’d definitely have to tell his friend
about that next time they talked. Suddenly, it struck him that when
he was around Sam the need to smile kept popping up. It had been
years since he’d felt that sense of levity, three years to be
exact. Ever since Beth… The memory of his dead mate wiped the joy
from his heart. He had no right to be happy while she was dead. A
cold empty feeling washed over him again and he focused an icy
stare on Sam.

“You know what
I mean.” Sam scowled. “If I find out you’ve leaked the information,
your employment will be terminated, you won’t get paid and I’ll
beat the crap out of you.”

“Seems
reasonable.” He carefully evaded answering the question. Lies were
all part of the job, however, he avoided them as much as possible.
You never knew when one could turn into a ticking time bomb.

Sam began to
pace the room. “My pack is small, most members are getting on in
age. The few of us that are still able-bodied find ourselves
over-worked, our resources stretched to the limit. I have no one
suitable to fill the Beta position. That’s why we need
you…temporarily. With Sinclair nosing about, Lycan Link is sure to
get involved and a strong outward appearance is crucial.” She
paused by the punching bag. “We’ve gone through a few rough spots,
but if the outside world would leave us alone, we can get back on
our feet. All we need is time.” She punctuated the statement by
slamming her fist into the bag. It swung wildly, creaking on the
chain that suspended it.

“Rough spots?”
Damien straightened from his spot on the wall and caught the bag,
holding it in place. He listened carefully hoping to pick up some
information that would help Kane.

“My
grandfather wasn’t always wise when it came to finances. He made
some bad investments and now we’re…temporarily financially
embarrassed.”

The quaint
turn of phrase seemed odd coming out of Sam’s mouth and he raised a
brow. “Bad investments…or was he a gambler?”

Sam delivered
an unexpected roundhouse kick to the bag and Damien grunted
slightly as he absorbed the energy from the blow. He had a feeling
she wasn’t pleased with his assumption and took it as a slur
against her family. If she did, that was too bad. His job was to
gather intelligence that would aid in a takeover bid and this bit
of news just might do the trick.

An established
pack being hard up for cash was unheard of. Lycan Link helped most
with investment strategies and pack members usually pooled
resources, the result being that a substantial nest egg accumulated
over time. Given that the Chicago pack had been in existence for
over one hundred and fifty years, it was hard to fathom how such a
loss could happen. But, apparently it had. If the Alpha had a
gambling problem, Kane could use the information to gain the upper
hand.

“No. He didn’t
gamble. At least not in the traditional sense of the word.” Sam
compressed her mouth into a flat line then looked away, a heavy
sigh escaping her. “Many members of my pack suffer from a genetic
flaw. Infertility rates far exceed what might be expected in the
average population.” She flicked a glance at Damien. “There’s less
than a five percent chance that a mated couple will conceive and
that the pregnancy will result in a live birth.”

Damien
blinked. To a species where family—pack—was everything, the
inability to reproduce would be devastating. A memory flashed
before him. Beth telling him she was pregnant, the glow of
excitement in her eyes, the pride that had filled him. The fierce
protectiveness he’d felt for her and their unborn pup. And the pain
that still overwhelmed him when he thought of the child he’d never
hold…

He controlled
his reaction, no clenched jaw, no tightening fist. Sam would pick
up on it and this wasn’t the time to wallow in self-pity. The past
was just that and he had a job to do. “And how does this relate to
your finances?”

“My
grandfather spent a good deal of money on research, trying to
discover the cause and a cure. Several of the supposed ‘experts’
were nothing more than charlatans in my view. Now, the money is
mostly gone and we’re no better off than we were before. On top of
that we’ve had some issues with other packs. A misunderstanding
over the Finding clause got quite messy.” Sam sat down at the
weight machine and began to pull the weights.

Damien
grunted, recognizing that she wasn’t about to elaborate on that
final point. He moved to a set of free weights. Choosing one, he
began to do some arm curls. “So what’s your plan now?”

“We carry on
as best as we can. There are a few minor investments left. In time,
we’ll build up a reserve again. Then we’ll look at our options for
expansion.”

“Why not join
forces with Sinclair? From what I’ve heard, he has money—”

“No!” She let
go of the handles and the weights fell down with a resounding
clang. “I’m not giving up. I’m the Alpha here. The Chicago pack
might be small, we might have our problems, but I’m not letting
anyone take it from me.” She rose to her feet and stalked towards
him.

He’d
definitely touched a nerve. Setting down the weight he’d been
using, he warily watched her approach.

Her cheeks
were flushed and her eyes seemed to spark with fire. “This has been
my
pack’s territory for over one hundred and fifty years and
it will
continue
to belong to us for the
next
hundred
and fifty years.”

Sam stopped
directly in front of him. Damien flicked a glance at her clenched
fists and then looked back at her. He could tell she was fighting
to stay in control of her temper.