Shadow Reaper (Shadow Riders 2)

He cleared his throat and looked down at her. This was the moment when she would understand. When she would condemn him for being late. "Akiko had put her brother and sister into a closet in an effort to save them."

Ricco watched Mariko closely as he told her what her sister had done. Mariko had vaguely remembered being in that closet. With his explanation, she was remembering far more. He saw that the nightmares haunting her were beginning to make sense. She probably remembered bits and pieces of that night, all jumbled together and very horrifying. He hated being the one to tell her what had really happened to her family. Mostly he was ashamed that he hadn't gotten there in time to save them.

"Akiko was very brave. She turned to fight Nao, but he was carrying a sword. Cheating. She'd defeated him in the trials and he wasn't going to take a chance that she could fight him off. He was savage, cutting her up, and then he taunted her, told her he was going to violate her--rape her--and then kill you and your little brother. She screamed for help but I was the only one there to hear her cries, and I was fighting Eiji and Hachiro."

It had taken him so long. Seconds, minutes, he didn't know, only that he had arrived too late.

"What happened, Ricco? Don't stop there."

Her voice was so low he barely caught it. He couldn't make the hearing of the death of her family any easier. There was no redemption for him. There would be that moment of realization that he could have prevented her family's murders and then he would lose his chance at having the one woman he could love so much it terrified him.

He couldn't stop himself. He caught her chin and lifted her face up to his, bending his throbbing head almost blindly to capture her mouth with his. He needed this moment to steady himself. To find the strength to give her the exact truth without trying to make himself anything but what he was: a screwup whose mistake had cost lives--the lives of her family. Nothing was harder to admit, because it meant she would be out of his life, and he'd know, as long as he lived, that he'd lost the one woman he could love through his own mistakes.

He kissed her. Gently. Reverently. Holding back the need and desire so urgent he hadn't known need like that existed. He licked at her lips, tasting her sweetness. The promise of paradise. He savored her taste, grateful she didn't pull away. He took his time, coaxing her lips, apart, teasing with his tongue and teeth, with his lips, until she made up her mind.

When her lips parted for him, he took over, elation and passion rising like a dark tide. His hands cupped her face, fingers sliding along the side of her neck, claiming as much of her as he could. He deepened the kiss, finding tenderness when he'd never had such a thing and never knew it was there inside of him all along, waiting for her.

The pounding in his head receded. The rage in his gut subsided. Peace slipped over him. A new hunger rose, something sharp and terrible in its intensity, tapping into a well of passion so deep he was nearly destroyed by it. He'd had his share of women and had treated sex so casually. Now, suddenly, there was nothing casual about the way he felt toward Mariko. Nothing casual about his kisses, or the way he held her.

He poured what he felt into her, hoping she understood the truth of his feelings--that he even had them was a miracle. It was all Mariko. He'd been alone so long, fighting to keep everyone around him safe, believing he had no chance at anything more than just existence, and then she was there. Out of nowhere. The one he knew would be the center of his world.

But he had to tell her the truth about her past. He had no choice. Reluctantly he lifted his head, his thumb brushing a caress over her lips. Her gaze clung to his, a little shocked, dazed and definitely aroused. He hated to see that leave her, knowing she would never be able to look at him in the same way.

"I have to tell you the rest, Mariko. I don't want to, but you have to know. Your family would never have deserted you. They would have been proud of you. You're a Tanaka, of the legendary Tanaka shadow riders and every bit as good as the best they ever had."

She shook her head, but he knew the denial was more automatic than anything else. She was confused, but not utterly rejecting his account.

"You were that little girl in the closet. Nao pulled your little brother out first, threw him and began stomping on him, over and over. You came flying out just as I rushed in. You hit him hard with a perfect flying kick, right in the groin. When you came down you slipped in Akiko's blood nearly at Nao's feet. Do you remember?"

Tears were running down her face and he used his thumb to brush them away, bending to kiss her temples and then her eyes as if that could make it all better. As if that would somehow ease the terrible tragedy of losing her family to murder.

"You were so brave. Kenta was there and he attacked me. He had a sword. I should have kept Hachiro's sword, but I couldn't take all the blood, and I never wanted to hold a sword again." He had since then. He'd trained year after year, but it had turned his stomach. He touched the long scar on his face. "He did this to me while I was trying to get in a position to keep Nao away from you and still get the sword from Kenta."

Mariko nodded several times, her fingers trembling as she pressed them against her lips. "My nightmares," she whispered softly. "I saw these things in a nightmare."

"Because you lived through them," he assured. "Not nightmares, reality, so imprinted on your brain you can never rid yourself of the sights, sounds and smells." It was like that for him the moment he closed his eyes. He could smell the blood. Hear Akiko's screams. The cries of the little boy, and the sound of his bones breaking as Nao stomped on him over and over.

Ricco couldn't get to Nao and the little boy or girl because he was fighting for his life, trying to get past Kenta, who wielded his sword with the beginnings of expertise. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Nao smirk, deliver another kick to the girl and then go back to the boy.

"Nao bragged that Kenta would kill me, but not before I witnessed what Nao planned to do to your brother and you."

She nodded, her entire body shuddering. "He said they would blame you, a devil from another country. I remember that. I remember him saying that." She looked at him with stricken eyes. "It's true then. I couldn't stop him from hurting Ryuu. He kept stomping on him over and over until he broke so many bones that Ryuu grew up twisted." She put a slender hand to her throat, as if she needed to defend herself and that was all she had.

"You tried, Mariko. At three years old, with only one year of training, you tried. I could hear the bones breaking, and then you went after Nao a second time. Kenta turned his head to laugh. He was covered in blood, and as he stepped, his body turned toward you and Nao. His hand slipped on the hilt of the sword. I took advantage and went inside, hitting the sword aside. He'd gotten me in the face already and there was so much blood I had a difficult time seeing."

The pain had been agony, but he set it aside, hearing the cries of the toddler on the floor, so broken, a maddened teenager attacking the boy so viciously. "It was you, Mariko, who saved the day. If you hadn't found the strength and courage to go after Nao a second time, I wouldn't have managed to kill Kenta."

"I jumped on his back," Mariko whispered. "Kicking and hitting him, pulling his hair. I think I even bit him."

Ricco nodded. "I slammed the edge of my hand into Kenta's throat with every bit of strength and adrenaline I had." All the fear. All the rage. All the knowledge that he was a shadow rider and this was what he was born to do. He might have been late, but Nao would not have his last two victims.

"I had a pen I'd picked up off the floor and I jammed it into Kenta's eye. A horrible rattling noise emerged from his throat, as if the sound was being squeezed out." He shook his head. "It was a horrible sound. I picked up his sword and hit Kenta in the head and then turned toward Nao. He had you in his lap."

Mariko touched her throat. "He had a knife."

Ricco had to keep going, to get it all out so she would know the details in her dream were real. "In one move, still spinning, I cut through flesh and bone with Kenta's sword. I wasn't trying to

cripple him for life. Only to keep him from killing you and your brother."

Nao screamed, the sound high-pitched, mixing with Ryuu's cries until Ricco couldn't tell them apart. He still remembered those desperate sounds every single night. Sometimes they were so loud he sat in his bed, hands over his ears, trying to drown them out. Behind him, Kenta had crumpled in slow motion, his eyes rolling back in his head so only white showed. In front of him, Nao collapsed, falling into Akiko's blood, his arms thrashing as his legs lay useless. Those images were locked in his brain as well, the artist in him seeing the blood as red ribbons, as crimson rivers, as dark wine pooling below the bodies.

"I ran to Ryuu," she whispered. "His body was so crushed and twisted I just held and rocked him. I remember blood getting onto my clothes and hair."

He nodded. Tears were running down her face, just as they had when she was that little white-haired girl. "Ryuu and Nao were still alive." In shock he called the number to bring the council members to the horrific scene. Then his nightmare had really begun. He supposed hers had as well, and she'd been so much younger. He had his family; she had no one.

"Osamu Saito raised us. Ryuu and me. She hated me with every breath she drew and it got worse every year."

Ricco had felt sick with grief and anger over what the council members had done to him. Forcing him to stay in Tokyo, enduring their threats of telling others he'd murdered an entire family if he didn't cooperate. Afraid they would carry out their threats of killing his family if he told anyone what had happened. He'd felt so alone even in the midst of family who loved him.

Now the rage roiling inside him like dark ominous clouds threatened to spill over, fed by what Mariko had gone through. The men had known how Osamu had treated her, but they'd done nothing in order to protect their reputations. He moved again, closer to her, wanting to hold her, offer her comfort. She moved away from him and he froze, everything inside him going still.

"I need to be alone," she said. "This is a lot to take in."

Her body language screamed not to be touched. To be left alone. What could he say to that? She was asking for space. He knew all about that. He also knew she was separating herself from him. She was rejecting him as surely as he'd expected her to. He nodded and watched her leave his bedroom. She walked away from him without once looking back. Not once. He didn't try to stop her. What was there to say? He'd told her the truth. She knew she was a Tanaka and that her family had been brutally murdered and her brother stomped on until his body was deformed. She knew he had been late. He'd gotten lost.

No way was he ever lost now. He kept a map in his head at all times and he rode the shadows tirelessly every new place he visited until he was familiar with every block. Every rural area. That didn't make up for being late; it would never make up for being late due to him not studying hard enough, but it would ensure it wouldn't happen again. Unless . . . He sighed and lay back down on the bed, his head throbbing again in protest of movement. Unless he was late because he was caught up in something else--someone else--like Mariko.

He had to help her. No matter how she felt about him, he had to help find her brother. They needed a place to start. The investigators were already on it, and as soon as Vittorio was out of the woods, he'd ask his brothers and Emme to help. He called Stefano to check on his brother's condition. Stefano would be sitting right there, guarding Vittorio and making certain he didn't slip away.

"Stay home tonight, Ricco, and rest," Stefano said when he offered to take a shift watching over his brother.

"I was late," he confessed. "I was busy with Mariko and I didn't relieve Vittorio."

"You were three minutes late, Ricco. You used the shadows to get to him and that made up the time. We've all been three minutes late."

"I'm never late. He was counting on me."

"He told me he noted the time because Nicoletta had twice come to the window and retreated. He was certain she was vacillating between staying and leaving."

If Vittorio was talking, he was doing a lot better than the last time Ricco had seen him as they loaded him into an ambulance.

"It doesn't make sense that they were outside Nicoletta's home. If they're our enemies, why target her?" Ricco had asked himself that question dozens of times.

"That's the million-dollar question, isn't it?" Stefano asked. "They weren't members of the Demons, nor did they have New York accents. I've reached out to our cousins there, and although the gang is actively looking for Nicoletta and the answer to who killed her step-uncles, there was no flurry of activity as if Valdez knew where she was."

No one but Benito Valdez, head of the Demons out of New York, would be looking for Nicoletta. So why were the assailants outside of her home?

"I think at this point we all have to be very careful and vigilant," Stefano added. "Until we know who our enemy is, we can't take chances."

He hesitated for just a moment and Ricco knew what was coming.

"Are you certain Mariko isn't involved?"

"I hear truth the same as you," he assured. "The connection between us is very strong and when our shadows connect, it's unbelievable. There's no way she could hide anything like that from me." He was silent for a brief time. "She's a good fighter, Stefano. Fast. Efficient. She didn't hesitate. She didn't have to give herself away. She had no way of knowing I was on to her, but she followed me there and then jumped right in. I don't know what would have happened without her."

"You would have killed them all, Ricco, because you wouldn't have had a choice," Stefano assured. "This woman. Are you certain of her?"

"I'm certain she's the one for me. I don't know that she'll stay with me."

"Because of your reputation?"

He sighed. Stefano didn't pull his punches. "I wish it were that. I was late that day, Stefano. I hadn't studied hard enough and I got turned around trying to get to the Tanakas' home. I had to tell her. She had to relive the nightmare of her family dying, knowing I didn't get there in time."

Stefano erupted into a long litany of swear words. Ricco remained silent while he assured him in his usual foul way that he wasn't to blame. He'd been fourteen, and the council was going to have to make amends to the Ferraro family and Ricco especially before this was over. He'd already made inquiries about all the men and their families holding council positions. The New York cousins were investigating, as they were spread thin, but Stefano never wanted Ricco to say it was his fault again.

"Murdering little bastards, their families made them into tragic heroes, pretending they died in a car crash. What a load of shit. Their parents were fucking cowards not to tell the truth and to put it on you to stay quiet. Threatening us?"

Stefano was on a roll and clearly angry. Ricco's head pounded more. "I need to rest for a while if you don't need me at the hospital," he interrupted the colorful tirade. Retribution would take place now that Stefano knew what had happened to his younger brother. Ricco didn't envy the present Tokyo council or the international one.

Stefano instantly cut off the rest of his evaluation of the three families involved and told him to get some sleep. Ricco ended the call and closed his eyes. It was already morning and light was pouring through the long bank of windows, revealing the garden in the courtyard. He had loved the gardens in Japan for their beauty and peace. Right now the light only added to the throbbing pain in his head.

"Drapes." He spoke the word and the thick, dark drapes that covered the window began to descend from where they were rolled up near the ceiling above the glass. He had blood on his clothes and needed a shower, but he couldn't find the energy to get up.

He just lay there on his bed, drifting off, trying not to think about Mariko and the fact that he lost her before he ever had her. At least he'd managed to save her life and he knew she was in the world. Not with him, but alive and a damn good rider. She just wasn't ever going to be his, but that was beside the point. She lived. She deserved to be happy, and he could give her that. He could find her brother for her and make certain

they were both safe.

He drifted but he didn't fall asleep. The events of his past were far too close. He had tried to close those doors, but when he lay in his bed, they persistently creaked open. He had thought about the council members so many times over the last years. They probably had been good men at one time, but grief and shame wore them down.

They wanted him to fail. Each time he took the tests, all the instructors were present. Ricco had been so determined to be fast and strong that he worked out from morning to night, doing every chore required, but doubling his practice time. He defeated every opponent in the trials, and his times in the shadow tubes were significantly faster than anyone else's, but it didn't matter.

The council members berated him, beat him, used canes and continually jerked him from his bed, throwing him on the floor, kicking and punching and telling him he should have been aware of their presence. None of the other trainees reported they'd been awakened from sleep, but it didn't matter. He trained himself to sleep light, to be prepared for any attack, night or day.

They took his phone from him, had eyes on him at all times. When his family called, they were right there to listen in on every word. The threats against his family were continuous. If he talked, they would kill them all--wipe out the Ferraro family, and no one would ever know who did it.

He needed them. His family. Stefano. He had a poet's soul and the grief-stricken fathers were ripping it to shreds. They had interrogated him for days. Asking the same questions over and over. Wanting the answers to be different. They had talked to little Mariko, and she gave the same answers over and over in spite of their directions to answer differently.

A well of rage inside of him began to form and grow deeper and deeper until it all but consumed him. When he knew he couldn't stay quiet and he was about to erupt into a furious frenzy of anger, playing right into their hands, he went to the training room and spent hours beating on the heavy bag until his hands were bloody. The blows shocking his arms, his body, the pain smashing through his knuckles to his hands steadied him. Grounded him.