Shadow Reaper (Shadow #2)(55)

"They helped. Nao was the leader and he planned the entire thing. Eiji and Hachiro killed the servants and Kenta Ito murdered Daiki Tanaka, your father."



"How could mere boys defeat Daiki Tanaka?" she asked, but he could see she was beginning to believe everything he said.



"Daiki could no longer ride the shadows, and he'd stopped training. He had married an American, a rope model, your mother. When she left him, their shadows were torn apart and he could no longer ride. She couldn't remember she had a family. That's the price we pay as riders. We can't lightly go into a marriage. He wasn't expecting such an attack on his household. He heard Akiko, his beloved daughter, scream and he rushed to save her, just as they knew he would. Kenta lay in wait for him and cut him to pieces with a sword. Nao had already killed Chiharu Tanaka and then he attacked Akiko." 



Ricco had heard Akiko's screams, the pain and agony in her voice, while he fought off Eiji and Hachiro. He'd managed to kill Eiji first, sliding in around behind him and breaking his neck. Hachiro had been so shocked that the tip of his sword had tilted toward the ground for that one split second. Ricco had struck hard, slamming the flat of his hand on top of Hachiro's sword hand, going in with three hard chops to the throat.



Hachiro staggered back and lost his footing and then slipped in all the blood on the floor. He went down hard, hitting his head against the ornate woodwork. That, Ricco was certain, was what saved his life. As he went after the other boy, Akiko's screams, more urgent than ever now, hurt his ears, his foot slipped in the blood and left a long trail as he nearly impaled himself on Hachiro's sword. The blade sliced across him, a deep, nasty wound that went across his entire chest.



Hachiro gasped and sliced a second time, this time dragging the tip across Ricco's chest a second and third time before Ricco could catch his wrist, wrench the sword to one side and slam it back with as much of his body weight as possible. Hachiro's eyes went wide and his mouth opened in a silent scream of protest. Of terror. Ricco couldn't look away, and to this day, he woke up staring into those eyes.



The sword had nearly sliced Hachiro in two, the sharp blade cutting through flesh and bone far easier than Ricco had expected. Ricco was swimming in blood. He was certain he'd never get it off his skin. Sometimes, at night, when he woke in a sweat, he'd get in the shower and scrub until he was bleeding. He still felt the thick substance coating his skin.



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.