The Road to Redemption (36 page)

“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.

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.”