Shadow Reaper (A Shadow Riders Novel Book 2)

Mariko slept fitfully, expecting Ricco to make his move any moment. Every creak, every shift of the outside branches had her jumping up, her dagger in her hand. She would lie back down, sliding the reassuring weapon under her pillow, the hilt in her palm, eyes wide open, waiting for him to take advantage of a woman silly enough to put herself in such a position for money.

It was a great deal of money. She contemplated that as the first rays of the sun streamed into her room. It was a beautiful room, very spacious and appointed with every luxury. The fireplace was old stone, the floors gleaming hardwood. A bank of windows faced the east, allowing the sun to stream in if the drapes were open. Sheer lace panels covered the windows and the darker, thick drapes were open or closed via a remote by her bed.

She could get lost in that bed. It was big enough for several of her. The mattress was comfortable, but she couldn’t relax. She’d bought herself time and a place to hide, but now she had to figure out what to do. It came back to the money. She’d read the contract carefully, looking for hidden clauses that might put an unsuspecting woman in jeopardy, but she didn’t find any. He hadn’t asked her to remove her clothes–and she’d been expecting that request. Most of the photographs in the book she’d brought along were of her mother as a nude model in the various poses.

So why so much money? He hadn’t mentioned sex and there was no mention of it in the contract. There were locks on her door. She’d gone exploring–he’d told her to familiarize herself with the layout of his home, just to stay out of his master bedroom. She hadn’t planned on obeying that directive, especially when he’d left her alone while he went out.

She was a shadow rider–and a good one. She had little pride, but she knew she excelled at her work and few were faster than she was moving through shadows. She could deliver justice quickly and painlessly and did so often. She couldn’t penetrate the shadows to slip under Ricco Ferraro’s bedroom door. She used light in order to throw shadows, but each time she stepped into them, feeling her body wrench apart, she hit some kind of barrier and couldn’t continue into his room.

She’d picked the lock and broke in the old-fashioned way. She needed to know what it was he was hiding. Nothing, it appeared. She expected to find a dungeon with all kinds of bondage toys. He liked Japanese art and had amazing pictures of various forms of rope art on all the walls. The bondage was beautifully portrayed and tastefully photographed. She didn’t find a single cane, whip or flogger.

There was a room where the lighting was perfect with an entire wall of ropes, all of various colors, made from hemp, silk or cotton. She found herself touching them almost reverently, running her finger along the rope as if it were his arm. A part of him. It had felt like an extension of him when he’d looped the silk around her wrist. She found her heart accelerating and turned abruptly and left his side of the house to go to her room.

All down the wide halls were numerous pictures of Japanese art. Gorgeous prints. She looked closer and gasped. Not prints. The real thing. One extremely large room held a collection of ancient Japanese weapons. Each era had its own space on the wall, and the weapons, as old as they were, were cared for and displayed behind glass. There were hundreds of them. Old books, all in Japanese, were displayed as well, carefully preserved, and she knew they were first editions.

The house itself was two stories, beautiful and quite large. Outside he had amazing gardens, all protected from the outside world by high, thick walls. There was a waterfall that fell into a cool, shaded pool where trees wept lacy leaves and ferns grew along a narrow stream. Koi swam lazily, protected by water lilies in the large pond. Everything in and out of Ricco Ferraro’s home spoke of peace and serenity when he was anything but. He was a puzzle and one she had to figure out fast.

He was extremely wealthy and very good-looking. He exuded sex appeal. He was the most sensual person she’d ever met in her life. He didn’t need to offer that kind of money to find a partner who would indulge in kink with him. Most women would be more than willing. So why advertise for a rope model and pay such an exorbitant amount if he wasn’t planning to use the woman for sex?

She dressed carefully, needing to feel as if she had some armor. Ricco had stripped her bare with just the sound of his voice, and she needed to feel on equal footing. She’d wanted a simple solution, for Ricco Ferraro to be a monster–a man preying on women, perhaps–but that didn’t make sense. She sighed and picked up her brush, stroking through the shoulder-length blond waves. If she were honest, his being guilty wouldn’t have been a solution, either. She hoped it would, but she knew better.

A knock on her door made her jump. She wasn’t a woman to be startled, nor did anyone sneak up on her, but she hadn’t heard a single footfall.

“We’re leaving in ten minutes.”

She took a breath. His voice was very compelling. “I’ll be ready.” That was part of the contract. They were to spend most of their time together in order to get to know each other. That suited her fine, although . . . She twisted her hair up into a loose bun that wrapped around the back of her head and gave her more height as well. She secured the mass with long hairpins that could be used to defend herself if necessary.

She dressed Western, in slim, dark jeans and a cream-colored thin sweater. She wore elegant boots. They were made of soft leather and gave her several advantages. She slid a knife down into the specially made sheath. They also had a bit of a heel, which gave her a little more height.

He was waiting just outside her room, leaning against the wall, looking amazing in his suit. His gaze jumped immediately to her face and she felt the impact as if it were physical. He didn’t need to touch her in order for her to feel his fingers on her. He straightened, his eyes moving over her.

“You didn’t sleep well. What do you need to make you more comfortable?”

His voice poured over her like heat. Instantly she was aware of him, the wide set of his shoulders, his height, the muscles moving beneath the soft gray shirt. Everything. Just like that her body came to life.

“I was quite comfortable, thank you.” She took a breath and forced her body to relax. “It’s a new place, and I’m a little nervous committing to this project when I don’t really know what to expect.”

Being honest was always the best policy. She found that she wanted to give him honesty. Something. Anything. She’d come to him in full-blown panic, a state so unusual for her that she hardly recognized herself. Now she had a place to stop and think about things. To force panic from her mind and begin to hunt for solutions.

He held out his hand to her. Her heart quickened. God, he was gorgeous and intimidating when nothing and no one intimidated her. He didn’t snap his fingers or insist, he simply held out his hand and waited, leaving the decision to her. She wasn’t used to human contact. She hadn’t exactly had a lot of it. It wasn’t as if she’d had a mother who put her arms around her and held her. She couldn’t remember a time when someone had held her.

She put her hand in his, and he smiled. It was as if, for her, the sun had come out. His smile took her breath and made her inexplicably happy because, she sensed, he rarely smiled and it was like a gift. His fingers closed around hers and he pulled her close to him, almost beneath his shoulder. She had the strange illusion of feeling safe.

“We’ll take the car to a small cafe I know for breakfast, and you can ask me any questions. It’s important to build trust between us and the only way to do that is to get to know each other.”

She nodded. “I’ve read quite a bit on the subject of Shibari, but no two poses seem alike, and I wasn’t certain what to expect.”

“It isn’t about posing, Mariko,” he said.

He reached to open the door for her. As she stepped through, his hand went to the small of her back. It felt intimate, his palm burning a brand right through the thin weave of her sweater. He smelled masculine. That same, strange outdoorsy, after-a-rain scent that she loved.

“When I come to you to ask you to be my model, whatever mood I’m in, the way you look, how your hair sweeps across your neck, those kinds of things determine how I’m going to tie you, which color of rope, the material of the rope. What you need.”

She glanced up at him from under her lashes. His expression was very serious. “I don’t understand. What I need? Why would it be about what I need?”

A dark town car waited for them. A man, looking very similar to Emilio from the day before, opened the door for them. Ricco smiled at him. “Enzo, this is Mariko. Mariko, my cousin Enzo. Emilio and Enzo are my keepers for the moment. I was in a car accident and my family is afraid I might faint and crack my head on the sidewalk, isn’t that right, Enzo?”

She liked the easy camaraderie in his voice when he spoke to his cousin. She wasn’t used to that easy. There was no laughter in her home growing up. Only duty. She also had read about the “car accident.” He’d gone into a concrete wall at well over two hundred miles an hour. The video had been on the Internet and she’d replayed it over and over, watching the car fly apart and flames leap into the air as metal flew in all directions. She had no idea how he’d managed to live through such a thing. Even the surgeon, when he’d been interviewed, had called Ricco’s survival a miracle.

“That’s right, Ricco. We’re supposed to chase after you with a pillow and get it under your head before you hit the ground.” The man laughed and closed the door.

It was only then that she saw Emilio emerge from the drive, up close to the gates, to hurry and slip into the front passenger seat. Emilio turned and smiled at her. It wasn’t quite as sincere as she would have expected, and that sent up a tiny red flag.

“Mariko,” he greeted.

“Emilio,” she answered, using a shy, demure voice. She allowed her long lashes to sweep along her high cheekbones, a gesture that usually put men at ease automatically. It didn’t seem to work on Emilio. She saw his gaze flick toward the rearview mirror, clearly watching them.

Maybe she was wrong and his concern wasn’t about her at all. “What should I call you?” she asked Ricco. In Japan she would have addressed him only formally. She didn’t want to have to call him master or sir, but she would if it was necessary.

“I prefer not to stand on formality, but if it helps you to feel more at ease with me by keeping everything strictly businesslike, Mr. Ferraro is fine. Otherwise, Ricco.”

She thought about that. Would a man determined to establish dominance over her want her to be informal with him? Probably not. “Ricco, then.” Her accent made his name sound much more intimate than she’d intended. “I know you were in a terrible accident. Are you okay now?” Her eyes met Emilio’s in the mirror. “Should I be looking for signs of physical distress?”

She hated the anxiety running through her system, making her breath catch in her lungs. For him. She recognized that she was worried about his health, and that was just plain laughable considering what she was there to do. She looked up at him, contemplating.

She’d come there trying to keep perspective, trying to be fair, when the cost to her would be so high. So dear. Already she knew her answer. She was looking for dirt. Very few people didn’t have something they wanted to hide. Ricco Ferraro was hiding most of what and who he was from those around him, but that didn’t make him a criminal. She needed him to be a criminal.

“It’s been weeks, and I’ve gone through physical therapy. I still have to go a couple of days a week, but I’m much better. The headaches come and go. I haven’t had blurred vision in a few days, and I haven’t been dizzy in a couple of weeks.” There was honesty in his matter-of-fact voice, but something warned her he didn’t like talking about his recovery in front of his cousins.

She waited until the car had pulled smoothly up to a curb and Emilio had opened the door for them. She slid out and waited on the sidewalk, looking around her. This was the famed Ferraro territory. It started right on the edge of little Italy and went on for several blocks. She had studied it before she’d ever come, and she’d spent time riding the shadows from one end to another, familiarizing herself with the layout.

Ricco’s hand on the small of her back startled her. He didn’t make a sound when he moved and that was definitely a problem for her. How she didn’t sense that he was close, she didn’t know, not when every cell in her body seemed specifically tuned to him. He gestured toward the small glass door with gold hand-painted letters that simply read Biagi’s. Many of the shops had only one name on the door, as if that were enough.

The aroma was a mix of coffee, sausage and fresh bread, making her stomach react. She hadn’t eaten since she’d arrived in the United States. The entry was narrow, and it looked like there would be a long wait. Ricco didn’t try to push his way to the front of the line, but the moment they stepped inside, all conversation ceased. Enzo and Emilio had squeezed in behind them, blocking the door, and she felt claustrophobic. She detested small places and now they were packed in like sardines in a can.

One by one heads turned until it seemed that every single person was staring at her. Ricco seemed to sense her dismay and he shifted, putting his body between hers and the rest of the room.

“Mr. Ferraro,” the hostess said brightly. “Your table is ready. Emilio, we have yours ready as well.”

“Thanks, Imeldia.” Ricco sent the woman a smile and moved through the crowd, murmuring to several people.

Mariko noted Emilio and Enzo kept pace tightly behind him, as if they feared someone might try to hurt him–or that he might fall. She let her gaze sweep the restaurant as they followed the hostess back behind her small greeting table to another room that opened into a large floor space. The floor was tiled with wide red squares and the tables were very simple. Nearly every table was taken. Just as had happened in the entryway, every person looked up and conversation ceased.

“Does this always happen?” she asked as Ricco pulled out her chair. She was happy to see that the table was more secluded than the rest, one step up in a little alcove.

The hostess handed her a menu, hesitated, and when Ricco continued to look only at Mariko, walked away. Mariko realized that although Ricco had nodded to many of the customers, clearly knowing them, his attention had been centered on her. He made her feel as if she were the only woman he saw–maybe the only person.

“Does what always happen?” He seated himself across from her. “Everything is good here. Imeldia’s parents are phenomenal chefs.”

She picked up the menu because she needed to do something with her hands. She wasn’t the nervous type, but she couldn’t relax. She was just too aware of him and everything about him. She found herself looking for the shadows in the room. Immediately she realized this table was held for the Ferraros and it was where others couldn’t overhear what was said. The shadows blurred their images so they had a semblance of privacy.

“Everyone staring at you.”

He looked around. “I guess I don’t pay attention anymore. We’re in Ferraro territory, and most of those in here, I consider ours. If it bothers you, we can go somewhere else. I wanted you to get to know me, and these people are part of who I am.”

She looked around as well. Most of those in the restaurant had gone back to eating, but Ricco Ferraro was clearly considered a celebrity. She wouldn’t have been surprised if he had to sign autographs before he left. Enzo and Emilio were at a table close by and she realized they could–and probably would–stop anyone from bothering him as he ate.

“It doesn’t bother me. I’m just not used to it. And they aren’t just staring at you, they’re staring at me, too.”

“That’s because I don’t bring women home.”

The admission was said in such a low tone she almost didn’t catch it, but she heard the ring of truth. Her gaze jumped to his. “Never?”

“Never. This is part of my home. Our territory. My family owns quite a bit of the real estate here. I’ve known a lot of the business owners since I was a child.”

She couldn’t imagine him as a child. He was too intense. Even now, in a casual setting, he drew every eye. He exuded complete confidence, dominating the entire room without doing anything but sitting there. She knew she couldn’t take her eyes off him.

“You didn’t ask me to take my clothes off,” Mariko blurted, her voice very low. He hadn’t, and she didn’t understand why.

He didn’t pretend not to understand. “You don’t know me. You would have been uncomfortable.”

He used that word often. Uncomfortable. As if her comfort meant more to him than anything else. “You’re not at all what I expected,” she admitted.

“What did you expect?”

“I don’t know exactly. Not you. Someone much more . . .” She almost said dominant, but he was. He had a hard authority about him, and when he wanted something from anyone, she was certain he got it. Dominant was a very good way to describe him, yet at the same time, he seemed incredibly gentle and thoughtful.

He waited. When she didn’t speak he glanced up at the waitress, who’d brought him coffee and orange juice. Mariko knew immediately that he frequented Biagi’s often for breakfast. The waitress stared at him, her mouth open.

“Coffee? Tea? Orange Juice?” he asked Mariko. Ricco, not the waitress. The waitress was far too busy trying to get his attention by flipping her hair. Again, he seemed to only notice Mariko.

“Tea and orange juice would be lovely, thank you,” she said. If he could ignore the ridiculous eyes the waitress kept making at him, so could she. It was much more difficult to ignore the fact that so many of the other customers paid more attention to Ricco than to those sitting with them. She had no idea why the waitress annoyed her with her blatant flirting, as if she wasn’t even there, but for the first time in her life, she knew she didn’t want another woman to catch his interest.

“Would you have taken off your clothes had I asked?” Ricco inquired once they were alone again.

His voice was soft and dark with a sensual magic that sent heat rushing through her bloodstream. She felt that voice as if it had penetrated every inch of her body until he was stamped inside her like a brand. He wouldn’t have asked, she was certain of that. Had he wanted her to remove her clothes, he would have made it an order. The command would have come couched in a phrase that allowed her to make the decision, but she would know that if she didn’t do what he required, he would have been very disappointed in her. She didn’t know how he could do that with just his voice, but she found herself wanting to please him when she didn’t much care about pleasing anyone.

“I don’t honestly know,” she admitted, because he would wait forever for her answer. She was beginning to recognize that he was always patient. She noted he didn’t take anything in his coffee, just drank it black. “Will you ask me to be tied without clothes?”

“I would like that, but if we never get there, we don’t. It’s that simple. It isn’t in the contract that you have to take your clothes off.”

“Did you ask any of the other models applying to take their clothes off?”

He shook his head. “It wasn’t necessary. The female body is beautiful to me. There is beauty in any body type and it inspires me. Sometimes I can be moody and edgy and my art reflects that. The rope designs always look beautiful to me against bare skin, but again, it isn’t necessary. I might ask you, but Mariko, it is always your choice. Your decision. When I told you Shibari is a power exchange, that is exactly what it is. You have to get something out of it as well. Yesterday, when I tied your wrists, you liked it. You didn’t expect to, but you did.”

He had noticed. She didn’t think he would miss much and his entire focus had been on her. Of course he had noticed her heightened breathing, the rise and fall of her breasts, her wild heart singing. “It didn’t feel the way I thought it would,” she confessed.

The waitress was back with her tea and a goblet filled with fresh-squeezed orange juice. She was so busy looking at Ricco that she nearly dropped the teacup into Mariko’s lap. Ricco caught it before it hit her. Her hands were directly under his when the teacup fell into his palm.

He glanced up at the waitress even as he held the empty teacup. “Perhaps you would send Imeldia to me immediately.”

The girl bobbed her head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Ferraro, I’m really sorry.”

“You owe Ms. Majo the apology, not me,” he said softly, but his voice was a lash and the waitress winced, her color rising.

She looked at Mariko. “I’m so sorry.”

Mariko inclined her head. “No harm was done. I’m fine.” She smiled up at Ricco, who settled back in his chair and gently put the teacup on the table. “Thank you.” He had fast reflexes. He was across the table yet he’d risen and caught t

he teacup before she had–and she was fast. She’d always been fast. That was something she would have to remember.

The waitress hurried away, her head down, tears in her eyes.

“She’s young,” Ricco said. “Still in high school. This is her first job and she’s a little starstruck. Some people really enjoy the races and drivers can be considered celebrities.”

He was being modest. The Ferraro family owned a prestigious international bank, the Ferraro hotels, and several casinos. As a family, they were considered in the billionaire category. She’d done her homework. Not one single thing she’d discovered about Ricco had confirmed that he was a criminal. He played hard–too hard. He partied hard. He liked women–a lot of women. He was fearless. Dominant. In control when the world he played in seemed utter chaos. Even without all her problems, she could never keep up with a man like Ricco, or hope to satisfy him.

She liked that he recognized that the waitress was very young and he wasn’t angry with her for acting so silly. She waited in silence while Imeldia hurried to their table.

“You need to talk to our waitress, see if she can handle waiting on our table, Melda,” he said, his voice indicating he was friends with the hostess. “I think she’s having a difficult time of it.”

“She said she nearly dropped the teacup in your friend’s lap,” Imeldia acknowledged. “Rita is friends with my youngest sister, Alessa, and insists she needs the work. Her parents were killed a few years ago, and she and her younger brother, Maso, have lived with us ever since. Rita wants to pay her own way and take care of Maso, although my parents insist the two of them aren’t costing them any more than my sister and me. I think they both want to be part of the family business more than anything else and not be a burden to my parents–which they are not.”

Mariko’s heart clenched. For a moment she couldn’t breathe or think. Chaos reigned in her mind. The waitress was a young girl trying to earn her keep as well as her brother’s. She glanced toward Rita with new respect. She’d been that young girl and she knew how difficult it was to be the one always having to accept charity. In Rita’s case, it sounded as if the people she was with genuinely cared about her. She resolved to find out.

“No harm done. Reassure her and see if she feels she can continue. Maybe tell her a little less hair flipping and more paying attention to my woman would get her a better tip.” Ricco’s voice was gentle.

Imeldia’s eyes went wide with shock and she glanced at Mariko, her mouth forming a perfect O. Ricco didn’t seem to notice what he’d called Mariko, or how possessive he sounded. He certainly was giving Imeldia the wrong impression, and word would spread like wildfire that Ricco Ferraro had claimed a woman if he wasn’t more careful. She knew from reading the tabloids that it wasn’t his style, he was the one-night-stand type, other than maybe the exception of the Lacey twins, actresses making a name for themselves, getting lots of publicity whenever they were with Ricco.

“She’s a little starstruck, Ricco.”

“Even with that she managed to remember everything without writing it down. I watched her wait on some of the other tables. She’ll be an asset here.”

“I think so as well.” Imeldia turned away with a small smile, weaving her way through the tables, stopping every few minutes to talk to someone.

“That was nice of you,” Mariko acknowledged. “Many people in your position would have been really ugly to the waitress, maybe even gotten her fired.”

Something crossed his face, disappointment perhaps, she couldn’t quite catch it, and then his features were entirely expressionless. “Is that what you think of me? That I would use my status as a Ferraro to get a young girl fired?”

His face might not give anything away, but his voice held just enough of that disappointment she’d seen slip across his features seconds earlier. The lash made her wince. His gaze held hers, forcing her to face him with her accusation. She had thought that just from reading the tabloids. Investigating a Ferraro was difficult. No one knew anything at all personal about the family. Everything was speculation or clearly made up for headlines. Maybe the rumor about the Lacey twins wasn’t real, either.

“I’m sorry if I’ve offended you. I merely thought it was sweet of you that you didn’t do what others in your position might.” She chose each word carefully. She found she hadn’t liked upsetting him and she didn’t want him to think she thought badly of him. That wouldn’t fit with the image of a woman taking such an intimate job with him–at least she told herself that was the reason she was so cautious.

He sat back in his chair, his gaze on her face. Compelling. Intense. She’d never been under such open scrutiny. “How is it you aren’t with a man? You’re beautiful. You’re intelligent. You’ve got an amazing voice. I could listen to you talk forever.”

He flashed a small smile at her and it lit up his dark eyes for just a moment. The lines etched deep in his face softened and that ghost of a smile made her stomach do somersaults and a flutter started deep.

“Not that you talk much.”

“You’re very intimidating.” She had resolved to stick as closely to the truth as possible. “I didn’t expect that.”

His eyebrow shot up. “I’m intimidating?”

“You know you are.” She was certain of that.

He burst out laughing, and even that was low and sensual. The man couldn’t do anything without sounding or looking sexy. He had a way of focusing so completely on her that he made her feel as if they were alone and she was the only woman in his world. That low tone he used created an intimacy between them. She hadn’t expected to like him at all. More, she hadn’t, not even for one moment, considered that she might be attracted to him–and she was. The moment their shadows connected, the attraction had been intense, and it continued to grow with every moment spent in his company.

Rita was back, this time looking determined. Color had stolen up her neck into her cheeks, but she gamely smiled at Mariko. “Have you had time to look over the menu?”

“I’ll have the vegetarian omelet,” Mariko said. “It looks delicious. No toast or hash browns.”

“And you, Mr. Ferraro?” Rita asked, her chin up.

“The scramble for me, and please include the hash browns and toast.” He smiled at the girl and she nearly dropped the pad she hadn’t been writing on. “How is your brother doing?”

“He’s fine. He makes very good grades. He’s been bussing here a couple of days a week.” Rita nearly stumbled over the words, but she got them out.

Ricco nodded his head. “That’s good. Boys can get a little wild as I’m sure you know. You or your brother need anything, you let me know.” He handed her a card. “In case of trouble. Keep that with you.”

She moistened her lips and nodded several times, pocketing the little card that held just a single number on it. “Thanks. I really appreciate it.” She hurried away, a huge smile on her face.

“You just made a conquest for life,” Mariko pointed out.

“She’s not alone in the world. The Biagis are really good people, and they love Rita and her brother.”

“You knew about her before the hostess ever said a word, didn’t you?” she asked curiously.

He nodded. “My family owns quite a few of the buildings in this area and we lease them to the businesses. We like to know who the prospective tenants are before we do business with them. The Biagis have been here nearly as long as my family. Their parents owned the cafe before them. Bernado and Leah Biagi took it over about ten years ago. They were best friends with Rita’s parents. She was eleven when her parents were killed in a botched robbery at their home. She took it very hard.”

Mariko studied his face. He hadn’t sounded any different than he had one moment earlier, yet there was something about the way he gave her the information that made her believe that botched robbery had been taken personally.

“Did they catch the robbers?”

“Murderers,” he corrected. “They were murderers. And yes, they were caught and sentenced, but they escaped before they got to prison. They had brothers and parents every bit as brutal as they were.”

“Were? I take it they were caught.”

He shook his head. “They were found dead in an old abandoned warehouse along with two brothers and their father. The police speculated a rival gang had killed them. Their necks were broken.”

She could guess how. The Ferraros had clearly considered Rita and Maso’s parents under their protection. Shadow riders moved through shadows without detection, dispensing justice when the law couldn’t. She didn’t doubt for one moment that a rider or riders had extracted justice for the children.

She looked up at his impassive face. Expressionless. Tough. No one could ever doubt that Ricco Ferraro would handle his enemies with swift and certain death once he went on the hunt. A little shiver went down her spine.

“Hey.”

Her gaze jumped to his. At once she felt the impact of those black velvet eyes. She couldn’t look away from him.

“I shouldn’t have brought up something so unpleasant. We’re getting to know each other, and now you look a little afraid. That’s the last thing I want.”

Afraid? She looked afraid? That was impossible. She was very good at keeping all emotion from showing, wasn’t she? Was she so shaken up that she wasn’t able to keep him from seeing inside of her?

“Tell me about you,” he encouraged.

She had to stick as close to the truth as possible. Every shadow rider could hear lies and, in most cases, compel the truth. “I guess hearing about Rita threw me for a moment. You already know about my mother. My brother is eighteen months younger than I am. We were taken in by a family, but I could never understand why.”

Osamu had said her husband had noticed the shadows coming from her body even then, when she was three and on the street. That had been the reason given for the family having taken her in. They had known she could be trained as a rider.

“The family despised what my mother was and the fact that I look American. My brother looks Japanese. He was very . . . broken. His bones were smashed when he was very little. Sometimes they were good to him; other times, not so much.”

For a moment she could hear the sound of Osamu Saito’s voice telling the two children what a burden they were. Mariko had scrubbed their home from top to bottom daily, cooked and served the woman, but was beaten for being sloppy. She was reminded daily that her mother was a whore and she would likely become one as well–that the beatings were for her own good. All the while, she had trained as a rider. The more she excelled, the worse Osamu had treated her.

She had thought she had Ricco’s complete focus, but the moment she told him about the way she’d been treated, his eyes were on her and there was nothing and no one else in the room. Not even when Rita put their food in front of them. She felt hot under his gaze. She felt a glaring spotlight. He was so focused it was as if she had a laser on her. There was no telling what went on behind his tough mask, but she didn’t like feeling as if she were always one step behind. She needed to be in control at all times, yet she felt off-balance with Ricco.

She’d learned discipline in a hard school, and this was too important. The life of her brother was far too important to allow something like physical attraction to get in the way. But then, the problem was that the attraction to Ricco was far more than physical and she’d never experienced it before, so she didn’t know exactly how to handle it.

“Tell me about your brother.”

She hadn’t expected that, either. Ricco kept her off-balance, but she didn’t know how he did it. “Ryuu.” she could barely say his name without choking up. She couldn’t look at him, not into those eyes that saw right into her soul. “His name is Ryuu, and it means ‘dragon spirit.’ He’s amazing. Truly amazing. A genius.” Pride was in her voice. Love. She couldn’t help it.

She loved her brother fiercely. Protectively. “When he was a baby, his bones were smashed and not all of them healed properly. He has trouble walking sometimes, but he’s never once complained. He’s so smart.” She heard the pride in her voice, but she couldn’t help herself. She was proud of him.

“Where is he now?”

Her stomach rolled and she pressed her hand beneath the table to it. “I don’t know. I haven’t heard from him in a while.”