The Road to Redemption (20 page)

“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 she 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?

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 explanation 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?”