Shadow Reaper (Shadow Riders 2)

He realized when he got a good look at her face, when he'd forced her to quit hiding against his chest, that her protests weren't about his lack of strength. They weren't about him at all. They were all about her. She believed she was far too heavy, and who had done that to her? Who had made her believe she was anything but beautiful? He knew women much heavier who, to him, were gorgeous. It wasn't about a woman's weight, it was about who she was, if that brightness shone through her eyes and skin and hair. Ricco found beauty in art. Women were a form of art. All shapes and sizes. All body types.

The thing that enraged him was that Mariko, by any standards, would be considered a beautiful woman. She had beautiful symmetry. She had gorgeous bone structure. Her hair was thick and wild, silky soft. Hair a man wanted to see on his pillow. Hair he'd like to grip in his fist when he was kissing her or she had her fantasy mouth wrapped around his cock.

She had a completely false image of herself. He had seen the stunned look in her eyes when she'd looked at herself in the mirror--as if for the first time she saw beauty. It probably was her first time. At least he'd been the one to give her that, but she should have had it from the time she was an infant.

He put his palm on the door, level with where her head would have been. He just stood there. Silent. He had never believed a woman could accept what was inside of him. He'd worked hard to get rid of his demons, but it had been impossible. In the end, he'd accepted who he was because he had no choice. He had demons. He lived with them. He would be asking Mariko to live with them as well.

There were two ways he could ease the rage when it overwhelmed him, when the devil rode him hard. He could beat the shit out of a heavy bag until his hands bled right through the wraps, or he could use his ropes. He needed a woman willing to accept those things in him. The good thing, he reminded himself, was that he knew what he was asking, and that made it easy for him to accept a woman the way she was.

He might be accepting, but he'd never connected with a woman on any real level. Not until Mariko. He wished things were different. He wished he were different. He wished he hadn't done so many of the stupid things he'd done publicly. He couldn't take those things back or sweep them under the carpet.

"Okay, baby," he whispered softly. "Give me time before you decide to kill me or run. I can feel that in you, the need to run away from me, but you're really trying to run away from yourself." All of them were. He was. Mariko. Nicoletta. He knew all about running away from one's demons. He had them, and he often didn't want to face them. He used everything he could to escape them. Nicoletta had them. Mariko had them. Maybe most people did, just not quite as ugly as the ones he carried.

He sighed and glanced at his watch. Vittorio was keeping watch outside of the Fausti home. It was past time for Ricco's shift. All of them were working in shifts tonight to keep Nicoletta from running away--also, on the off chance she'd been the target, to keep her safe. He knew they thought he'd drive to her house--he wasn't supposed to go into the shadows until he was completely healed--but he was late. A bad feeling had been growing in his gut and it was growing worse.

Working fast, he stripped and pulled on his pin-striped suit. The material was made just for the riders and blended into every shadow easily. The moment he was dressed, he turned and headed for the door, moving fast, suddenly worried about both Nicoletta and Vittorio. His gut had never steered him wrong. As he pulled open his door, that feeling got so much worse. There was no waiting. He was faster in the shadows than any other rider. They'd tried clocking him on one of the longer runs, but no one, not even Stefano, could believe the time.

He chose his shadow and stepped into it. The wrenching on his body was familiar, but it had never felt like this. Not even in the early days when he was just a child and practicing. Now it was second nature, but his body felt like he was being torn apart. He never would have made it if he hadn't believed his brother was in trouble. The pain was excruciating, worse than when he'd woken up from the accident. He'd had pain meds then; now his body was molecules, being pulled through the tube at reckless speed.

He could barely function, making the jump from shadow to shadow to take him to Amo and Lucia's home. It was in the middle of Ferraro territory, just down from the businesses in a quiet little cul-de-sac. All the homes were kept up, the yards filled with flowers and trees. He stayed in the mouth of the tube, gritting his teeth and enduring the way his body flew apart, the wrenching so terrible there wasn't a single molecule that he didn't feel as pure agony.

Ordinarily a rider took a moment at the end of the tube to let his body reorient, but the pain was so overwhelming he kept moving, bursting out of the shadow. He knew instantly, even as he was emerging, that he'd fucked up. He felt the attacker before he caught a glimpse of him. Turning as he emerged, he tried to block the swing of the bat. It hit him on the back of his right shoulder, but he kept turning despite the pain radiating through his body.

His roundhouse kick took his assailant high, in the face, driving him to the ground. Ricco was on him instantly, reaching to drag him up before he realized there were several men surrounding his brother. Nicoletta burst from the house as he rejected the idea of keeping his attacker alive. He snapped the neck of the downed man. He couldn't afford to have someone coming at his back.

He heard Vittorio grunt and saw the flash of a knife. Nicoletta jumped into the air and caught the knife wielder by the arm and yanked him back and away from his brother. She landed on her butt, and immediately one of the men surrounding Vittorio turned, a gun in his hand.

"Move," Ricco ordered the teen as he rushed the gunman, keeping his body between the gun and Nicoletta. At the last moment, before the man fired, he hit the ground, sliding along the shadows there with impressive speed. He didn't even register the wrenching on his body. His adrenaline had kicked in and he was fully focused on disposing of the gunman.

He took the man down with a scissor technique, rolling and toppling him hard without warning. At the same time, he remained wholly committed to securing the weapon first. The man hadn't aimed at Vittorio or him. He had gone after Nicoletta. He yanked the gun from the man's hand, continuing the roll, putting him on top. Turning, Ricco fired at the knife wielder as the man stalked Nicoletta. The attacker seemed to fall in slow motion. Ricco couldn't believe he missed, he'd fired at the heart and he was a marksman, but he squeezed the trigger again, not wanting to take any chances with Nicoletta's life.

A flash of movement told him he had to keep moving, but it was already too late, the kick taking him on the side of the head, right where he'd been injured a few months earlier. His stomach rolled and bile filled his mouth, his vision blurring, but he managed to fire directly into the man's gut as his assailant tried to plunge a knife into the back of his skull.

The man staggered back just as Nicoletta screamed a warning. Lucia and Amo both ran outside toward the group of men surrounding Vittorio, who was on the ground. After the initial grunt of pain, his brother hadn't made a single sound. Three of the attackers turned toward Lucia and Amo. The three held knives and, strangely, rope.

Ricco rolled away from the man he was on, twisting his head to break the neck as he did so. He had to get to his feet. The kick in the head made him sick and dizzy. He realized he couldn't make it up fast enough so he slid through the shadows on his ass toward Vittorio. Ricco could see four others working his brother over, kicking, punching and stabbing down at him with knives.

As he came out of the tube at Vittorio's feet, he swept his leg out to take down the four standing over Vittorio. He smelled blood, and to his horror, his brother had an intricately tied rope around his throat and multiple stab wounds on his body. The rage, always present since that day he'd walked into a slaughter, erupted. That dark presence always threatening to swallow him whole--did.

Physically he was a wreck, but his will was made of iron. He covered Vittorio's body as he took the knife from one man in a blue coat, who stabbed down at his brother's leg, and shoved the blade through

the man's throat. Ricco took a hard kick to the gut, but moved into it, rather than away, catching the man's boot, rolling and breaking the man's leg. The crack was loud and the man shrieked. The demon that was Ricco stabbed him twice in the heart, both times twisting the blade as he dragged it out.

Nicoletta screamed again and threw herself in front of Lucia and Amo, arms stretched out wide to protect her foster parents from the bullets she was certain would come. Lucia's eyes widened and she gripped Amo hard as Mariko emerged from the shadows, flowing like water, a beautiful, deadly storm, sweeping past the three men aiming weapons at Nicoletta and her family. As she moved past them, she stuck one through the heart with a long hairpin. The second one she sliced across his throat, under his arms and over his thigh. The last one she caught around the neck and wrenched hard. The three men were down in seconds.

Lucia and Amo covered their mouths. Nicoletta spun around and jumped on the back of a man climbing to his feet. He had rolled out of Ricco's reach and was searching the ground for the gun he'd dropped.

"Call Stefano!" Nicoletta yelled to Lucia. "Call him now, and an ambulance. Hurry, Lucia."

The attacker slammed himself backward into one of the trees on the Fausti property in an effort to dislodge the teen. She sank her teeth into his neck and bit him, all the while pulling his hair with both hands. Her legs stayed wrapped around his waist, ankles locked at his belt buckle.

Amo ran forward and hit the man with his fist twice, breaking his nose and knocking out teeth as the attacker began to pound his fist into Nicoletta's leg. Lucia whirled around and ran for the house, rushing to get her cell phone.

The man spat blood at Amo and head-butted him. Amo fell like stone to the ground and lay still. Nicoletta screamed her fury again, and then Mariko was there, gliding by them gracefully, her dagger slicing through arteries before she turned to go to Ricco's aid. The way she moved was like the wind, one moment gentle and calm, the next a whirling storm of a tornado.

Ricco managed to get to his feet, sparing one more glance at Vittorio. His brother was covered in blood, his face ashen, his eyes wide with shock, but he held on, trying to warn Ricco of the danger behind him. He stayed absolutely still, the rope tightening around his neck with every tiny pull. Ricco knew already that there was another assailant behind him, but the man in front of him had a gun, and that was the most pressing. No one was going to shoot Vittorio or Nicoletta, not if he could help it. Now he had the added complication of Lucia and Amo.

He was on the gunman, using the wrenching shadow to slide past and behind the man. He chopped at the wrist with the edge of his hand and then grasped the head with both hands and broke the neck. Any moment he had expected a bullet to hit him, but when he turned, Mariko had taken the last man down to the ground with a superb kick that nearly took his head off. He dropped like a stone and she was on him, dispatching him in the way riders dispensed justice.

Ricco dropped to his knees beside his brother. He recognized every knot used, and they were intricate. Hojojutsu, the ancient form of tying prisoners. It was an art form, beautiful but deadly. He caught up one of their knives and cut through the ropes just as Stefano burst from a shadow tube followed by Emmanuelle, Taviano and Giovanni.

Mariko crouched down beside Vittorio to examine the numerous wounds. "Most of these cuts on his legs are very shallow, designed to hurt as much as possible without killing him. A couple of the cuts are very deep. They did more damage to him with the rope and the kicks and beatings. He needs to get to the hospital immediately."

Vittorio stirred as if he might protest, but Stefano dropped down beside him, running his hands over his brother even as his formidable gaze was on Mariko. "You're a shadow rider."

She nodded. "But my explanation belongs to Ricco. He's also injured and needs medical attention."

In the distance they could hear sirens.

Ricco glared at her. "I'm fine. Concentrate on saving my brother. Emme, get over here. You're better at this than any of the rest of us. I can't move. I'm plugging up the deepest hole. Get him to breathe properly."

"Let me see," Mariko said gently.

Terrified of letting go of his brother, Ricco shook his head. "Get him breathing right." Vittorio's lungs didn't appear to be working properly.

"They broke his ribs," Mariko said patiently. "His lung has collapsed."

Ricco closed his eyes and shook his head. He'd been late again. For the second time, and someone else had paid the price.

"Ricco, I need a report," Stefano said. "The police will be here any moment. Let the others take care of Vittorio. He isn't going to die. He's too tough for that. And he's given me his word. Haven't you, Vittorio." Stefano pinned his younger brother with a father's demanding gaze. "You. Will. Not. Die."

Vittorio's eyes clung to Stefano's. He nodded slightly, but didn't attempt to speak, every ragged breath a struggle. Stefano took Ricco's arm and tugged him back away from their fallen brother. "I need to know what happened."

Ricco allowed Mariko to slide her hands into the deepest stab wound to apply pressure until the medics got there. He tried to rise, but his legs were pure rubber. There wasn't a place on his body that didn't hurt, but most importantly, his head was pounding and his vision had gone back to blurred.

Giovanni slipped his arm around him and helped him up. The brothers closed ranks around Vittorio and the women.

Taviano aided Amo in his struggle to stand. Nicoletta hurried to help. Taviano cut her off with a smooth step, nodding to Lucia. "Take him inside and have him lie down. I'll send one of the paramedics in to him." He caught Nicoletta's arm. "We need you out here."

She nodded, her features a mask of worry as she anxiously watched Lucia help Amo into the house. When she turned back, Taviano's gentleness was gone. He gripped her arm and tugged her into the circle of his family, his fingers taking possession of her chin to turn her face, examining the bruising. "You're limping." It was an accusation.

Suddenly she had the attention of all the Ferraros. Anyone would find that uncomfortable, but a teenage girl especially. They knew her past. They knew she'd been raped repeatedly by her step-uncles and that the head of the bloodiest gang in New York had claimed her for his own. They were the only ones who knew, and Nicoletta had a difficult time in their presence.

"One of them pounded the hell out of her leg," Ricco said. "If it wasn't for Mariko, she'd be dead, along with Amo and Lucia. She ran in front of a gun, arms spread wide to keep the Faustis from being shot. She also jumped on the back of one of them to keep Vittorio and me alive." There was admiration in his voice.

Taviano touched her face in several places. "What the hell were you thinking?"

She jerked her head away. "I was thinking I didn't want any of them to die."

"Taviano, we'll discuss all this with her later," Stefano said. "I want a report, Ricco. You look like hell. Do you need to sit down?"

He did. He'd been surreptitiously looking around for a bench to sprawl out on, but now, with his brother's question, he felt he couldn't. "I was running late." He might as well confess right now. "I didn't want Vittorio to have to wait for me so I took the shadows." He didn't look at Stefano as he said so, but he heard his older brother swear under his breath. "I won't lie, it hurt like a bitch, so I was a little disoriented coming out of the tube. I didn't feel anyone there until I was stepping out. I took a bat across my shoulder and it was on."

"They were waiting for you? At the entrance to the tube? In front of a shadow?"

Stefano turned his cool, penetrating stare onto Nicoletta. "Did you see them attack Vittorio?"

She nodded. "I was climbing out my window and he stepped out of the shadows. I hadn't seen him. Suddenly all these men surrounded him, kicking, punching, beating him with a bat. I started to come all the way out, but he yelled at me to get inside. I obeyed until Ricco got there. It was only a few moments, but I thought they'd kill Vittorio and it would be my fault." Tears welled up but she turned her head away from them, embarra

ssed to be caught crying.

Giovanni stepped closer to her. Protective. "You did good, kid. Great."

The ambulance arrived, and the next couple of hours were a blur. Vittorio was raced to the hospital. Ricco lied and said Mariko and he had been together all along with Vittorio, watching the house because they all feared Nicoletta hadn't quite settled. Vinci was once again there and refused to allow Nicoletta to be questioned more than absolutely necessary. She went to the hospital with Amo and Lucia. Stefano sent two bodyguards with them. The doctors--and Stefano--insisted Ricco have a CT scan because of the blow to his head. He reluctantly agreed, mainly because Stefano wouldn't budge. Fortunately, aside from a whopping headache and blurred vision, he didn't have any significant damage that they could see other than the concussion he already knew he had. Ricco insisted Mariko could watch him at home.

Emilio and Enzo drove Ricco and Mariko back to the house with orders to stay no matter what Ricco said. No one, not even the little rebel Emmanuelle, defied Stefano when he was in such a mood. Ricco didn't feel defiant in the least. If Stefano wanted to send an army to defend him, he wouldn't argue. He wasn't up to defending himself let alone anyone else. His head hurt like a son of a bitch and every muscle in his body was screaming at him.

"Did Stefano say he had guards on Vittorio?" Mariko asked anxiously.

"Stefano will guard Vittorio. Taviano will be with him, and Emmanuelle and Giovanni will guard Nicoletta, Lucia and Amo," Ricco assured as he closed the front door to his home and leaned against it. "They weren't riders attacking us, but they knew to stand just outside the shadows." He made it a statement.

No one outside their family knew about the riders other than other riders and their families. There were very few of them in the world. Mariko stood in front of him, turned away from him, her head bowed, that sweet, vulnerable nape of her neck inviting his touch. He'd have done it, too, the craving was that strong, but he hurt too much to extend his arm.

"Were they targeting Nicoletta or me, Mariko?" He waited patiently for her answer, even though the room was spinning and it felt as if spikes were being driven through his head one slow beat at a time.