Shadow Reaper (A Shadow Riders Novel Book 2)

Ricco stood outside the door of Mariko’s room. That rage in him he never quite managed to keep suppressed had risen to the surface as he’d carried her from his studio to her room. He’d placed her carefully on her bed, told her to drink lots of water and get some sleep. He’d thanked her and had to leave abruptly because she looked so beautiful and delicious lying on her bed he’d wanted to kiss her senseless. Kiss her until she gave herself entirely to him.

Every step back to her room, she protested she was too heavy for him to carry. At first, he’d been insulted. He might not be the tallest of his brothers, but he was in the best shape. No one trained harder or worked out more. He ran. He lifted. He did both heavy and speed-bag work. He took down his brothers and any other rider asking to train with them. Just because he’d been in an accident didn’t mean he was unable to carry a woman weighing less than a hundred and twenty pounds around. It was a blow to his pride–at first.

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, embarrassed 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.

Several seconds went by before she slowly raised her head and looked at him over her shoulder. “You, Ricco. I have something to show you.” She pulled a paper folded into a small square from inside the pocket of the pin-striped suit she wore, indicating to everyone in their world that she was a rider.

His eyes on her face, he took the paper from her, unfolded it while still looking at her and then dropped his gaze to read the contents. The message was typed in a bold font: Kill Ricco Ferraro, a rider in the States, or your brother Ryuu dies. You have three weeks to complete this task.

“You haven’t killed me.” He made that a statement as well. There was the faintest humor in his voice, because, after all, it was pretty evident she hadn’t. He was standing there. He’d known all along she was a rider and probably there to kill him, but not for the reasons he first thought. Still, he was just a little hurt and more than worried that she’d slip through his fingers.

“I am a shadow rider. I can’t kill unless it is in the defense of my life, the lives of those unable to defend themselves or when I bring justice to those escaping the law. Killing you would go against everything I hold sacred. The very code my life is built on. You’re too good a man. I can’t trade one life for another.”

He almost sagged with relief, and the part where she thought him a good man felt great, but then he realized he was sagging because he almost went down. Alarm spread across her delicate features. She stepped forward and circled his waist with her arm, fitting under his shoulder. He didn’t pretend he was all right, because frankly, he was going to fall on his face if he didn’t let her help him.

“You should have stayed in the hospital, Ricco,” she murmured, placing one foot carefully in front of the other, leading him toward the master bedroom. “I can call Emilio and ask him to bring the car around.”

“Not going to happen,” he said. “It’s just a fucking headache. The scan said I was fine. I still get the headaches and once in a while blurred vision. One of those bastards kicked me in the head.” So much for impressing her. She’d had to come to his rescue. “Did I thank you for saving me tonight? For saving Nicoletta?”

“I don’t need thanks.” She sat him on the edge of his bed and bent to untie his shoelaces. “Who is Nicoletta? Where does she fit in?” She tugged his shoes off. “Get out of the jacket and shirt.”

“Don’t think you’re going to get out of the contract you signed with me just because you’re a shadow rider,” he said decisively, pouring his bossy tone into his voice. He shrugged out of the jacket, flung his tie onto a chair and began to unbutton the shirt. “After we find your brother, I’ll expect your full attention.” He tossed the shirt aside and lay back, trying not to wince as his shoulder and back encountered the mattress.

“We? You’re willing to help me find Ryuu?”

“You’re mine, Mariko. The moment you said yes and signed that contract, you became mine. No one threatens you or your family.” He closed his eyes. “We’ll find him. My family specializes in that sort of thing.”

“Roll over. I have to see your back. You’re already black and blue around your ribs. Are you certain they aren’t fractured?”

With a groan, he complied, turning onto his belly, making himself completely vulnerable to her. If she wanted to kill him, now was the perfect opportunity. Right at that moment, he wouldn’t have cared.

“I took a couple of hits,” he admitted. “But nothing’s broken. My head’s the worst.” He didn’t know why he admitted that to her. He never would have told Stefano or his other brothers. Maybe Emme, but she would probably have ratted him out to the others.

Mariko’s hands were on his shoulders, light, barely there, a whisper of movement across his back, almost as though she brushed away the pain. There was no white heat, nothing to indicate she had any healing powers, but something eased in him–whether it was pain or just happiness that she didn’t take advantage and kill him, he didn’t know.

“You haven’t said anything about my coming here to kill you.”

“I suspected you were a rider and you were here for that purpose. I informed my family just in case you or other riders were after them as well. But I gave you several opportunities and you didn’t take them.” He turned his head to look at her over his shoulder. “You let me tie you up. You’re a shadow rider. Control is everything. I can’t imagine how difficult that was for you.” He didn’t try to keep the admiration from his voice. To him, that moment had been such a humbling gift. He would treasure her surrender for his entire life.

“I wouldn’t allow any other to do such a thing, but for some reason I don’t understand, I trust you. I don’t expect to live through this, so I wanted, before my death, to experience my culture. Your art. And it was beautiful.” The admission was made in a low tone.

He rolled over, suppressing a groan as his head felt like it had exploded. “Why do you think you aren’t going to live through this?”

Her hands went to his bare chest, fingers following the long path of the blade that had left three distinct scars. “He has to kill me. Whoever has my brother would have no choice. I’m a rider. He knows I’m one, or why choose me? My home is in Japan. You’re here. Still, he chose me. He would always be looking over his shoulder if he didn’t kill me.”

“And you have no idea who kidnapped your brother?”

She shook her head. “My brother is a genius.” There was pride in her voice. “A software company in the United States offered him a job and to pay his way here and even help him find a place to live. He left very excited. I drove him to the airport myself. I received this message the next day.”

“Was it mailed to you?” He couldn’t sit up. His head was pounding beyond belief. Every movement sent more bile churning in his gut.

He wanted this woman more than he ever thought possible. Not just with his body, and there was that–an urgent, constant demand, no matter the circumstances–but with everything in him. He loved the way she moved. He could watch her all day. He found himself listening for her soft, musical voice. He’d just met her, yet he thought more about her, day and night, than he’d ever thought about the many women he’d been with throughout his lifetime.

Ricco realized he was in danger of falling hard for a woman capable of killing him. He especially loved that about her. She was soft inside, soft outside, but he knew she had a backbone of pure steel. She moved like the wind, or water flowing over rocks, a gentle breeze moving so quietly and softly most people might not even notice her, not until it was far too late.

“You’re beautiful.” He made it a statement because it was true.

She frowned, and he found that adorable. “Thank you. I want you to remember that you’re suffering from a very severe head injury.”

He couldn’t help himself, he laughed. It hurt like hell, but amusement welled up out of nowhere, shocking him because it was genuine. He laughed with his family, but he never felt it.

“Why are you laughing at me?”

“Because you’re adorable. I’m very glad I’ve tied you to me for the next six months. That gives me time to convince you to stay with me.”

She sighed. “Ricco, you really have to go to the hospital. I can tell that you have a concussion.”

“How is that?” It was true. He couldn’t deny it. He knew he had a concussion. The doctor had said so. His head wouldn’t stop pounding and if he didn’t move his head, he could focus, otherwise his vision was impaired.

“Your way of thinking is really messed up right now and not at all like your normal way of thinking. You don’t want a woman in your life for more than a night or two. It’s a way of life for you, changing women the way other men change their shirts.”

He winced because everything she said was the truth. Until now. Until she’d come into his life and turned it upside down. Until he knew the woman coming to kill him had to belong to him. He was born for her. To love her. To cherish her. To spend his life shielding her from men like the one who had taken her brother.

“Stefano told me my idiot way of living would come back to bite me.” He hissed the last few words through clenched teeth. His head hurt like a son of a bitch. “You asked about Nicoletta.” Changing the subject was the only safe path

.

“You and Vittorio were willing to die to save her. That was twice that you fought for her. Who is she?”

“She’s a woman capable of producing riders. That’s rare, as you well know.”

She shrugged. “None of the riders I grew up with would have done that for me.”

“That isn’t true. They might not have shown any interest, but I can guarantee, they’ll be very upset that I have you here with me.” He waited for her to protest, but when she remained silent, he continued, this time musing aloud. “If it was another rider who took your brother, they would have come after me themselves. Why involve you? Or take the risk of kidnapping your brother? I saw you out there tonight. You’re as good as a rider gets. Of course, coming from the Tanaka lineage, you would be.”

Her head snapped up, her eyes moving over his face, probing for the truth. For the distinctive sound of a lie. “A Tanaka? Why would you think such a thing? That lineage is revered in my country. Everyone knows the tragedy.”

“Do they? Tell me.”

“Daiki Tanaka married a woman from another country and had one child, a girl, Akiko. She was on her way to being as great a rider as her father when she died in a car accident with her father and grandmother. Four other riders were killed as well. The accident nearly wiped out all the shadow riders in Tokyo. Everyone knows the story.”

Every word she said made that horrible hole inside him bigger. It was filled with the helpless rage of a fourteen-year-old boy.

“You don’t have it quite right, Mariko,” he said softly. He forced himself into a sitting position and indicated she sit close. He was surprised when she obeyed him. His head protested the movement, but he ignored the crashing pain. This was far too important. She could very well leave him when she heard what he had to say, but he was through hiding the truth.

“I was there, Mariko, so I know the truth of what happened. All of it. I was training under Daiki Tanaka, Isamu Yamamoto, Dai Saito and Mikio Ito, the four top riders who also made up the council in Tokyo. At that time, Nao Yamamoto, son of Isamu, headed up a small-time gang. Nao was the leader and a bully. He despised the riders coming in from other countries, but more, he despised any female rider and considered them inferior to him and the other males.” He fell silent, allowing the memory of that terrible night to sweep over him.

Mariko didn’t say a word but remained quiet, not asking a single question or hurrying him. Her gaze didn’t once leave his face.

“Akiko defeated Nao in a tournament. He was weakened because I had beaten the holy hell out of him earlier that day. He and three of his closest friends–Eiji and Hachiro Saito, sons of Dai Saito, and Kenta Ito–had jumped me earlier because I’d gone with two others to the council and warned them of Nao’s behavior. Then my times beat theirs in the trials. I kicked their asses. Nao’s father was furious with him, first that I had beat the crap out of him, but mostly because Akiko, a lowly female, bested him in the tournament in front of everyone. The judges had no choice but to call the win for her.”

Mariko didn’t take her eyes from his face. She almost didn’t blink she was holding herself so still.

Ricco pressed his fingers to his eyes and shook his head. “I was fourteen. That’s not much of an excuse. It isn’t an excuse. I knew Nao would hit back at Akiko. I heard him boasting about using the shadows to hurt his enemies. It was forbidden, of course, but two of the riders had gone with me to the council to tell them of our suspicions earlier and they dismissed what we told them.”

Her thigh slid along his as she drew her legs up and put her chin on top of her knees, her face turned toward him, eyes never leaving his face.

“I had a hojojutsu class that evening . . . ” He trailed off again. Little did he know it would be his ropes that eventually saved him. His artistry. He sighed. This wasn’t about him. Mariko needed to know she had a past. She was part of a legendary family, a family respected and held in the highest regard by all riders around the world.

“I got lost,” he said, telling her his greatest shame. “In the tunnels. When I returned to my room, I realized all four of them were gone and I just knew they were going to attack Akiko. I went after them and I got turned around.”

The throbbing in his head took a backseat to the knot twisting in his gut. “When I arrived at the Tanaka home, the boys had already done their worst. Chiharu, Akiko’s grandmother, was dead, her body on the floor just outside of her room. Nao lay in wait for her and murdered her as she rushed to the aid of her grandchildren.”