The Road to Redemption (22 page)

Time ticked
by, only the faint clinking of utensils against the dishes breaking
the silence. Damien was about to broach missing patrol when Sam
pushed back her chair and stood up.

“I’ll go on
patrol by myself tonight.”

Damien opened
his mouth to reply but she beat him to the punch. “You can’t go,
you’re on kitchen duty, remember?”

“Right.
Perhaps Keith…?” Damien cast a look at the man in question.

Sam didn’t
give Keith time to answer. “He was on last night. I’ve done patrols
by myself for years. I don’t need someone to hold my hand.”

“I wasn’t
implying that you did,” Damien countered.

“Are you two
going to have a fight?” Christopher glanced between the two of
them, his eyes wide in anticipation of a show.

“No. We’re
not.” Sam answered sharply.

Damien said
nothing. While this worked in perfectly with his own plans, the
idea of Sam heading out on her own seemed wrong. Why, he wasn’t
sure. Perhaps it was the routine they’d fallen into, but being by
her side during patrols seemed natural, like having a partner
again.

His wolf
nodded its agreement.
We should be there to watch her
back.

Nothing much
ever happened on patrols, he countered. The vague worry that
plagued him was uncalled for. Sam could handle herself in most
situations. Besides, her welfare really wasn’t his concern. He had
to deal with Dante. There was no way he was letting that scum
blackmail him.

The traffic
light turned green and the sea of humanity surged across the
street. Sam moved with the crowd, jostling to hold her own. Someone
pushed her from behind and she bit back a curse. It wasn’t any more
crowded than usual, but her patience was thin. She should have
picked a less populated area to patrol tonight.

She ducked
into a doorway and let the crowd pass. The theatre district was
bustling tonight, art patrons leaving the various shows, seeking
out quaint bistros where they could have a late meal and discuss
the entertainment they’d just viewed. Too bad she wasn’t in the
mood for culture.

Her hope had
been that patrolling on her own would clear her mind. That’s how it
used to work. Sure, she was a devoted Alpha and checking her
territory was part of the job, but in the past it had also been a
way for her to wind down, to mull things over without being
interrupted.

Now, she kept
opening her mouth to make a comment to Damien. Except he wasn’t
there. Illogical as it was, she was irritated that he hadn’t pushed
harder to accompany her. She’d asked to be alone. He was just
following orders. Stupid man.

Something
twinged in the region of her heart. Was it because he’d been
relieved not to go with her?

Don’t be
ridiculous,
her wolf chastised her.
Of course, he wanted to
go. He was even concerned that you’d be by yourself.

Sam made a
face. Yeah, right.

Shoving her
hands in her pockets, she stepped back into the crowd and continued
her patrol, peering into the shadows, lightly testing the air for
any hint of other shifters. She studied the people around her.
Young couples, old couples, middle-aged couples; she was surrounded
by them. Being an Alpha sucked sometimes. You had to be strong,
resilient, self-sufficient. Sometimes, doing your duty made you
seem hard and it could push people away. Sometimes, it
was…lonely.

She took a
deep breath and shook off the self-pity. There was work to be done.
She’d covered most of this district. Before heading home, she’d
swing along part of the Kennedy Expressway area. It passed by the
old warehouse district where she’d encountered Wes earlier. If he
was there, she could vent some of her bad mood on him. After all,
he was partly to blame.

The rusted
metal door screeched as Damien pulled it open, acting as an alarm
and announcing his presence. That was likely one of the reasons
Dante had chosen the abandoned warehouse for a meeting spot; he
didn’t like being taken by surprise.

Damien paused
inside, head cocked to the side as he listened for any hint of the
other Lycan’s whereabouts. Except for the occasional rustling of
rodents, the building was quiet.

“Dante?” His
voice rang out, echoing off the walls.

No one
answered.

Walking deeper
into the building, his footsteps echoed hollowly in the cavernous
space. High stacks of metal barrels ran down the middle of the
building, and the perimeter was lined with piles of wooden pallets
and boxes. A few streaks of moonlight managed to penetrate the
filthy windows that edged the top of the walls near the roof,
creating pools of weak light and deepening the shadows. Damien
peered into the darkness, his senses on high alert.

Our quarry
is here.
His wolf quivered in excitement.

Damien tested
the air. The animal was correct; the scent of lilacs was there,
barely discernable over the chemical smells emanating from the
barrels. A faint sound behind him had him spinning around. The
glimmer of a light could be seen in an office on the far side of
the building. It was just like Dante to make himself at home.

Shaking his
head, Damien strode across the room, intent on getting the meeting
over as quickly as possible. If Dante had thought this setting
would intimidate, he could fuck that idea. It was actually a
perfect location. He could grab Dante’s scrawny neck and shake him
like the rat he was.

The barest of
whistling noises was the only warning he had before he caught a
glimpse of a two by four being swung at his head.

“Hey!”

He fell to his
knees, his head throbbing, his vision blurred. Someone kicked him
in the back and his face smashed into the concrete floor. The taste
of his own blood filled his mouth and the world began to grow
dark.

“Not so tough,
after all.” A voice, one he couldn’t place, came from somewhere
above. A foot was pressed firmly between his shoulder blades.

Damien managed
to lift his head, blinking, trying to clear his vision. Stupid
rookie mistake on his part. “Who are you and what do you want?”

“I’m the
welcome wagon. Your friend, Dante, hired me to greet you.”

A string of
expletives escaped him. Typical. Dante always did like to get
others to do his dirty work for him. When Damien would have risen
to his feet, the man behind him pressed down harder on his
back.

“Not so fast.
Dante isn’t ready for you yet.”

His arm was
grabbed roughly and cold metal was clamped around one wrist. A
growl rumbled in his chest. There was no effing way he was going to
let this human cuff him! He gathered his strength, preparing to
surge upwards and deal with the annoying twit, when a loud metallic
screech filled the room followed by a reverberating bang as steel
hit steel. Someone had entered the warehouse making no attempt to
conceal their presence.

“At it again,
Wes?” The sound of Sam’s voice had both men freezing in place.

“Shit!” The
man, Wes, cursed.

For a split
second, Damien wondered what the hell Sam was doing here, then used
the distraction she’d provided to twist over and grab the douche
bag’s leg. Wes gave a yelp of surprise and then a grunt of pain as
he landed on the cement floor. Damien scrambled to his feet, the
world spinning wildly as his head protested the movement. He swayed
and braced himself with his hand on a barrel.

“Damien?” Sam
called his name as she crossed the floor. There was no doubt that
she hadn’t expected to find him there.

He flicked a
glance her way, blinking rapidly to clear his vision, then swung
his attention towards the back of the building, wondering whether
or not Dante was still in the building or if the sound of Sam’s
voice had scared him off. His stomach lurched, apparently in
cahoots with his head about the inadvisability of moving too
quickly. He took a deep breath, willing the contents of his stomach
to stay in place.

“Damien?” Sam
said his name again. “What’s going on here?”

At the same
time, somewhere near his feet, he could hear Wes cursing,
scrambling to get to his feet. Hell, there was no time to explain,
he was sure he’d caught sight of a wolf skulking in the shadows.
“Watch the dickwad. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Dante was not
getting away from him this time.

Damien
approached the piles of pallets and boxes with caution. They formed
a maze of short corridors and Dante could be hiding in any one of
them. He sniffed the air but there was no scent of wolf, not even
lilacs. Damn, the hit to his head had really messed him up. His
vision was clearing but now his nose wasn’t working.

Behind him, he
could hear Sam chewing out his attacker, Wes. A glance over his
shoulder showed them facing off, but it wasn’t anything Sam
couldn’t handle. Wes was a skinny little runt and, from the look on
her face, Sam had a bone to pick with the man.

Now where was
Dante hiding?

A grunt, a
scuffling sound then a crash sounded behind him. He turned to see
what Sam was doing and a wave of icy fear washed over him. Sam and
Wes had careened into the barrels, which were now teetering
precariously over the grappling couple.

“Sam!” Even as
he shouted out the warning, the topmost containers began to give
way to gravity. Without thinking, he raced towards her, envisioning
her being crushed under the heavy weight.

Everything
seemed to happen at half speed. Each step he took was impossibly
slow. He stretched out his arms to grab her. The first barrel came
closer and closer to where she stood, her eyes widening in shock as
she looked up and realized the danger she was in…

And then time
returned to normal. Grabbing her by the waist, he jumped to the
side, wrapping his arms around her in an attempt to shelter her.
His momentum had them hitting the ground and sliding along the
concrete floor. The metal containers crashed to the ground, the
cacophony of sound drowning out all else. Damien winced as a barrel
bounced off his shoulder, then another landed inches from his head.
He could feel Sam clutching his leather jacket, her face buried in
his chest. Ducking his head, he pressed his face to hers, the scent
of her calming him despite the hell that seemed to be breaking
loose all around them.

It was likely
only seconds, but seemed longer before the cascade of barrels
finally stopped and the warehouse grew quiet except for the
pounding of his heart. Damien exhaled and loosened his grip on Sam
before lifting his head and looking around. Barrels were strewn
over the warehouse floor, a domino effect seeming to have taken
place. He sat up and pushed away a barrel that rested against them.
Sam got to her feet and he did likewise.

“Thanks.” She
brushed the dirt off her pants and jacket, her face pale, her voice
not quite steady.

“No problem.”
He rolled his shoulder wincing as it protested the movement. A
barrel landing on him, skidding along the ground, or being hit by a
two-by-four; who knew what was the cause of the injury. At least
nothing seemed broken.

“Your face is
covered in blood.” Sam reached up and smudged her thumb across his
cheek. Her touch made his skin tingle and his breath catch. He
leaned into the warmth of her palm for a moment before catching
himself and stepping away.

“A face plant
on concrete will do that.” He touched his nose experimentally. It
seemed to be intact as well. “Any sign of that guy, Wes?”

Sam stared at
his blood on her fingers before wiping them off on her jeans.
Without comment, she began wading through the barrels, finally
calling out when she found his assailant. “He’s here. Alive, but
out cold.” She fished through the man’s pockets and pulled out his
cell phone. “911? Yeah, we need an ambulance.” After giving the
address, she dropped the phone at his side.

“We should get
out of here.” Damien gestured towards the door.

“Yeah. Cops
mean questions. Speaking of which,” Sam gave him a sideways look.
“Why were you here letting Wes use you as a punching bag?”

He thought
quickly. “I was trying to track down Sinclair’s spy. I thought this
might be a good place for him to hide.”

“And you were
so busy, you let a two bit thug jump you?”

“I thought I
saw someone near the back of the building.” He shrugged. “Everyone
makes mistakes.”

“Likely you
saw one of Wes’ flunkies rather than Sinclair’s spy.” She snorted
and Damien gave a silent sigh of relief that she mustn’t have
noticed the scent of lilacs.

As they left
the building, Damien took one last look back. His sixth sense was
telling him someone was still there, that being watched feeling was
back again. It had been too much to hope that the bastard had been
crushed by one of the falling barrels.

“You into
kinky games?”

Her
non-sequitur had him turning to her in surprise. “What?”

“The cuffs.”
She gestured towards his arm. “You and Wes role playing or
something?”

He glanced at
the handcuff that was still attached to one of his wrists then gave
her a filthy look. “Not even remotely funny, Harper.”

“Sorry, nearly
being crushed by a gazillion barrels messes with my sense of
humour.”

Giving the
cuff an experimental tug, he scowled. “I need to go back and see if
Wes has the key on him.”

Sam shook her
head and urged him to keep walking. “Too late, I can hear the
sirens already.”

“I hope I can
pick this with my left hand then,” he muttered, studying the
mechanism.

“Don’t worry.”
She gave him a friendly shoulder nudge. “I’ve picked my share of
locks.”

“Why doesn’t
that surprise me?” He grinned at her, liking how she was bouncing
back from her near death experience so quickly. No crying or going
into shock for Sam Harper.