Ricco and Mariko followed, two wraiths, stepping in the exact footprints of those they stalked. As they did so, three more members of the Demons came around the front of the alley, sent by Emidio to aid the enforcers in retrieving the five men still in the alley. Cleto must have had a reputation as a troublemaker, but Emidio wouldn’t want to lose five men. He’d count on them to prove to Benito Valdez that the St. Louis chapter was worth more than any other.
Ricco and Mariko were in full sync when they performed their task, serving justice on the two enforcers, and then lowering them to the ground almost right on top of Cleto and the one who had been sent to find him.
“Seven down, farfallina mia. The odds are getting better,” Ricco whispered as they stepped into the closest shadow and rode it to the nearest tube that would take them toward the three members striding toward the fallen Demons.
The tube was fast, one of the small ones that felt like greased lightning. It shook one’s insides apart and ripped at the cells of the body until you didn’t feel as if you were human. It was disorienting, and a rider got to the end of the tube and was in danger of being spit out before feeling as if he or she was back together. Ricco had stepped protectively in front of Mariko so he would arrive at the end first, blocking it for her.
Ricco could see that these men would be more difficult for Mariko to take just due to their size, although she always got the job done. He glanced at her. She tipped her head back and met his eyes. As always, she looked serene, and inside him, where before there had been rage burning, she brought a sense of peace. Of calm. His center. He was always amazed at the depth of his emotions for her. Even now, in the middle of a difficult mission, when there were so many of the enemy, she generated a sense of well-being.
Mariko was his partner in every sense of the word. They normally each took a rotation alone. There were so few riders that when requests came in from anywhere in the world, a rider was sent. It was rare to work in pairs. Ricco was grateful for the chance to be able to shape more memories of his woman being a warrior.
He inhaled and took her scent into his lungs, taking her with him as he stepped out of the shadows directly behind the man who had fallen one step behind the other two. Mariko kept pace behind him, her feet shadowing his. He didn’t hear her, but he felt her energy, barely there, that vibration of feminine softness and steel. He matched the steps of the gang member exactly, his hands coming up in the classic kill. “Justice is served,” he murmured as he wrenched the neck and took him down to the ground.
Without missing a step, Mariko was in the shadow of the footsteps of one of the two men coming up on Don and Alejo. The two Demons stopped abruptly. She stopped with them, turning as they turned. Her much smaller figure clad in the pinstriped suit blended easily with the shadows. Night had fallen and the streaks of neon red and gold threw out strange, macabre shadows that blazed and crept across the asphalt. The stripes of the suit allowed her to simply disappear when the gray hit her.
Ricco admired the way his woman went so still. Movement drew the eye and she never so much as flickered an eyelash. The two men crouched low to examine the two bodies. One rose slowly. The other took his time but stood as well, both turning to face toward the café where the other bodies lay. They weren’t as visible, but neither man made a move to go search them out.
One pulled out his cell phone. “Emidio. Two are dead. Necks broken. No, I don’t know if Cleto did it. Alejo and Don. I don’t see the others.”
He looked at his partner and indicated to move forward. “He wants us to find Cleto.”
He shoved the phone into his pocket and the two men reluctantly started forward, this time at a snail’s pace. They both took out guns and pointed them straight ahead. Neither even considered that the danger might be coming from behind them. Ricco glanced at Mariko to ensure she was ready. She nodded without even looking at him. She always knew what he wanted from her; she was so tuned to him she felt his gaze on her. That was a by-product of Shibari. Or as he preferred to call it, Kinbaku—meaning “light binding.” No matter what it was called, it was erotic and beautiful when he practiced the art with his wife.