Shadow Reaper (Shadow #2)(59)

"Drapes." He spoke the word and the thick, dark drapes that covered the window began to descend from where they were rolled up near the ceiling above the glass. He had blood on his clothes and needed a shower, but he couldn't find the energy to get up.



He just lay there on his bed, drifting off, trying not to think about Mariko and the fact that he lost her before he ever had her. At least he'd managed to save her life and he knew she was in the world. Not with him, but alive and a damn good rider. She just wasn't ever going to be his, but that was beside the point. She lived. She deserved to be happy, and he could give her that. He could find her brother for her and make certain they were both safe.



He drifted but he didn't fall asleep. The events of his past were far too close. He had tried to close those doors, but when he lay in his bed, they persistently creaked open. He had thought about the council members so many times over the last years. They probably had been good men at one time, but grief and shame wore them down. 



They wanted him to fail. Each time he took the tests, all the instructors were present. Ricco had been so determined to be fast and strong that he worked out from morning to night, doing every chore required, but doubling his practice time. He defeated every opponent in the trials, and his times in the shadow tubes were significantly faster than anyone else's, but it didn't matter.



The council members berated him, beat him, used canes and continually jerked him from his bed, throwing him on the floor, kicking and punching and telling him he should have been aware of their presence. None of the other trainees reported they'd been awakened from sleep, but it didn't matter. He trained himself to sleep light, to be prepared for any attack, night or day.



They took his phone from him, had eyes on him at all times. When his family called, they were right there to listen in on every word. The threats against his family were continuous. If he talked, they would kill them all  – wipe out the Ferraro family, and no one would ever know who did it.



He needed them. His family. Stefano. He had a poet's soul and the grief-stricken fathers were ripping it to shreds. They had interrogated him for days. Asking the same questions over and over. Wanting the answers to be different. They had talked to little Mariko, and she gave the same answers over and over in spite of their directions to answer differently.



A well of rage inside of him began to form and grow deeper and deeper until it all but consumed him. When he knew he couldn't stay quiet and he was about to erupt into a furious frenzy of anger, playing right into their hands, he went to the training room and spent hours beating on the heavy bag until his hands were bloody. The blows shocking his arms, his body, the pain smashing through his knuckles to his hands steadied him. Grounded him.



That was when Master Kin Akahoshi decided to intervene. He was the martial arts instructor as well as the hojojutsu instructor. He had seen the treatment of Ricco, as had all the instructors, but none wanted to go against the powerful council  – especially after the "car accident" that had killed their children. Everyone knew they were grieving, but no one knew why they had singled out Ricco for the treatment they gave him.



Master Akahoshi came into the training hall to find Ricco pounding the bag, his knuckles, wrapped as they were supposed to be, bloody right through the wraps. He stood there for a long moment, just observing him, and then he stepped in close and ordered him off the bag. Ricco had whipped around, prepared to fight for his right to use the equipment in off hours, but Akahoshi had held up his hand and simply said, "Come with me."



For some reason he never really understood, he followed the instructor to his home where his private training hall was located. Ricco had known he was the best in the class at hojojutsu. He was fascinated with the art and the knots. The tying. The way they looked on his opponent. He began to learn more and more intricate knots and how to lay them perfectly against skin. Immediately he had excelled in his anatomy class, because he needed to learn how to lay the ropes without hurting  – or to cause the greatest discomfort possible.



They never talked about the three council members or why they were so hard on him, but his going to Akahoshi's home and being accepted there sent a message to the three men that someone, at least, would hold them accountable. The beatings weren't stopped, but they were fewer. In the meantime, Ricco continued learning the art of Shibari.



Each time he picked up a bundle of ropes, he felt completely grounded. When he tied, he was so utterly absorbed in his art, the anger and fear drained away, leaving him relaxed and at peace. It was the only time he felt that way.