Shadow Rider (42 page)

“Nicoletta, put the knife down,” the third voice, probably Alejo, said. Coaxing. Amused that she thought she could defy them. A worried undertone that Benito was already going to be angry because they hadn't brought Nicoletta to him immediately.

“I can't do this anymore.” The desperation in the girl's voice caught at him.

Stefano took the shadow right through the house directly to the room where all four Gomezes were grouped. Taviano rode his shadow completely across the room. Both shadows instantly connected to the shadows playing throughout the room. The men felt the jolt of connection. Small feeler tubes ran from Nicoletta's shadow to merge with theirs. They could feel every emotion. Her terror. Her determination.

Nicoletta pressed herself against the window. Her clothes were torn. Her face was swollen and bruised. Blood trickled down her cheek from a cut over her eye and more dripped from
her cut lip. There were bruises on both arms. Fingerprints around her neck. She'd been beaten repeatedly, but she'd fought back. He could see defensive wounds on her arms and hands. Even her knuckles were bruised. She had fought them hard.

“Nicoletta.” Cruz stepped closer. He was worried, his eyes on the knife. “You can't fuck around with Benito. Put the knife down and just come with us. Alejo packed some of your favorite clothes. In a few days, Benito will let you come get the rest of your things. Put the knife down.”

She made a single sound. Despair. Horror. Desperation. Stefano knew it was too late to stop her. He wasn't close enough to her. She lifted the knife, turned it toward her own body, ready to plunge it into her chest. Stefano's breath hitched. He read the determination on her face. The three men must have seen it as well. Alejo reached toward her imploringly, as if he could stop her that way. Cruz, the leader, leapt for her. Diego remained absolutely still, a look of horrified fascination on his face. If she died, all three of the brothers knew Benito would kill them.

Taviano got to her first. His shadow had taken him behind her and he emerged, catching her wrist from behind, fingers ruthlessly finding pressure points so that she had no choice but to drop the knife. She cried out and struggled, fighting desperately as Taviano subdued her, trying not to hurt her. He was completely exposed, out of the shadow and all three of the brothers saw him clearly.

Stefano burst from the tube behind Diego, catching his head between both hands and wrenching hard, in the most basic kill move he'd been taught since he was a child. He dropped the body on the floor and entered the tube to slide up behind Alejo. He killed him in the same manner. Quick. Without mercy. Completely impersonal, although he had to work to keep himself under control.

Cruz heard the bodies fall. It had only taken seconds to kill both men while Cruz's attention was centered on Nicoletta and Taviano. He whipped out a gun and pointed it at
Nicoletta's head even as he looked frantically around the room. He'd caught flashes of the intruder, but only that, a shadowy figure that moved too fast to see.

“I'll fuckin' kill her,” he snarled, meaning it.

Taviano shoved Nicoletta behind him, using his body as a shield. She let out a soft little cry, a protest maybe, a shocked gasp that anyone would stand up to her uncles and deliberately put their body in front of a gun for her.

“Who the hell are you? How'd you get in here?” Cruz demanded, the gun rock steady. His eyes kept darting to the two bodies on the floor. Neither moved. Neither made a sound. They looked dead, but no one else appeared to be in the room. He'd watched Taviano struggling to keep Nicoletta from killing herself. They'd both been right in front of him so who had killed his brothers?

Stefano came up behind him, emerged from the tube and locked onto his head. The moment his hands fastened on Cruz's skull, the man pulled the trigger, but Taviano had already dove for the floor, taking Nicoletta with him, covering her body with his own.

Cruz tried to fight back, to turn the gun on the opponent he couldn't see, but Stefano had been practicing the move since he was two years old. It was as easy for him as breathing. He snapped the man's neck and dropped the body. “Justice is served,” he murmured.

Silence fell, broken only by Nicoletta's ragged breathing. Taviano rolled off of her and stood up, reaching down for her. She cringed away from him, lifting her hands defensively. He caught her wrists in a gentle grip and pulled her to her feet. Her horrified gaze went to the bodies on the floor.

“Don't look at them,” he ordered softly. “Look only at me.”

Her eyes jumped to his face. She stood, her body trembling, breathing labored, her gaze caught and held by his. The light from an overhead bulb, dim now from age, threw out shadows. He could see hers, a dark shape on the wall and floor, tubes running from it to connect with every shadow in the room, including theirs.

His heart slammed hard in his chest. He could feel her every emotion. Fear was uppermost, but there was relief, not commendation. Mostly, she was confused. Disoriented. In shock. Very, very painful.

“She's a rider,” Taviano whispered aloud.

She was a rider, a woman capable of riding shadows, of bearing children who could ride shadows.

“It changes everything,” Stefano said. The plan had been to leave without her ever seeing him. She would call the social worker and the family's responsibility in the matter would be over.

“We can't leave her behind.” Taviano's voice was firm. Absolute.

Stefano frowned at him. “Damn it, what the hell are we going to do with her?”

“She has to come with us. We have to make certain they can never find her.”

Nicoletta began to inch toward the door, back flat against the wall. She made herself as small as possible, as if by pressing against the wall they wouldn't be able to see her. Had they not been riders, they might not have. The move on her part was instinctive. She'd become part of the shadows.

Taviano stepped in front of her, blocking her path. “We'll get you out of here,
angioletto
,” he said softly. Talking as if she was a wild animal, trapped in a corner and about to bolt—and maybe she was. “Benito and his crew are close by. Just give us a minute and we'll have you safe.”

She shook her head but she halted, clearly terrified.

There was no leaving her. Staring at her, Stefano pulled out the burner phone and punched a number. “She's one of us. Hurt. We're bringing her home. L and A will take her in. Make the arrangements tonight.” He made it an order, no room for arguments. “Doc. Counselor. They'll need money for her needs. Arrange that as well. I'll take responsibility for her.”

Nicoletta shook her head, her tongue touching her swollen lip to ease the ache. “Not for me. I've got to go before the
others come.” She took a step back, away from Taviano as Stefano put his phone away.

“We're not going to hurt you,” Taviano said softly. “We were sent to get you away from them.” He indicated the bodies.

She drew in air and shook her head. “They belong to a gang. They'll never stop looking for either of you . . . or me.”

“They won't find any of us,” Stefano assured her.

No one could be brought into the tube unless they were a rider. Nicoletta didn't need to know how to ride, not if one of them was carrying her, but she couldn't be aware. She wasn't a Ferraro. No one had claimed her. He was doing something completely unprecedented, but it didn't matter. She had to be saved. Somewhere in the back of his head, he had known, unless they got her all the way out, her uncles' gang members would track her down and kill her. To save her life, this was the only way.

He signaled to Taviano and moved to check the window. He'd known they were in trouble all along. Benito was making his move. He flung the whiskey bottle against the side of the house and stood up, staring at the Gomez house, the others standing immediately to join him.

“They're coming, Tav,” he announced.

“I know you don't know me,” Taviano said softly, stepping close to Nicoletta. “But I also know you're capable of feeling the truth when you hear it. If you stay here, even contacting your social worker to relocate you, you're going to die. If she helps you to try to disappear, she and her family are going to die. That's a fact. You know it and I know it. You have one chance and in taking that chance, you'll be giving your social worker a chance at life as well. She contacted us to help you. This is me helping you.”

Tears ran down Nicoletta's face, but Stefano was fairly certain she wasn't aware of the fact that she was weeping. She just kept shaking her head. Still, she didn't take her eyes off of Taviano.

“We can't take you with us without your consent, but if
you want to live, say the word and we'll get you out of here. They'll never find you—or us. You'll have a new life with a wonderful couple who will treat you like a princess. My family will watch over you and protect you for the rest of your life. But you have to choose now. Right this minute. I can hear your uncles' friends coming up the front steps to the porch.”

Her face visibly paled. She jammed her fist into her mouth, her gaze darting from the bodies to his face and then to Stefano's. She nodded. Barely. The movement almost imperceptible. Taviano moved fast, not waiting for her to have second thoughts. She had to be terrified. Stefano had just killed three people in front of her. They were total strangers. Still, they had to look like a better bet than her uncles' friends. He had the syringe all of the riders carried in the event they had to cope with an innocent civilian to get them out of their way. He had the needle in her neck in seconds, his arm around her waist to keep her from falling as the drug hit her system.

Her fingers clutched at his suit jacket, terror on her face, but the drug was fast acting, a good thing, as loud voices and pounding on the front door announced they'd run out of time. “Okay,
angioletto
, let's get you the hell out of here.”

Stefano took her from his younger brother, lifting her slight body, cradling her tightly against his chest, wincing a little as he looked into her bruised, swollen face.

“I'll take her, Stefano.”

Stefano shook his head. It wasn't that easy riding with another person, one unknowing. He wasn't taking a chance with Taviano or the girl. The one and only other time he'd ridden a shadow with another rider in his arms, it had been his brother Ettore, already lost to them, so far gone there was no bringing him back. His chest tightened. He couldn't go there.

He held a young girl. A child really. She was important to all Ferraros and she'd been hideously violated. That alone went against everything he believed in. He was taking her
home to the best parents he knew. The most loving. The ones that needed a daughter when they'd lost so much. They would give her the understanding and compassion she needed to overcome what monsters had done to her.

“Let's get the fuck out of here, Tav,” he snapped.

Stefano held Nicoletta tighter. He wasn't losing her. Not to the shadows, not to the gang members breaking through the front door and not to the shame and despair she felt. He stepped into the portal and let it take them both. He flew past the men rushing through the house toward the bedroom, and out the open front door. He'd chosen a larger tube, one that connected with the shadows in the streets and he rode it as far as it would take him, blocks away from the Gomez house and the angry mob gathering there. He felt Taviano moving in the shadowy tubes parallel to him.

They jumped easily from one portal to the next, heading back toward the airport and the safety of the private jet waiting. Franco had the door open, lights spilling on the stairs so that they had shadows to ride all the way to the interior of the plane. The moment they emerged from the shadows, Franco closed the door and turned toward them.

“Emmanuelle called and told me to be prepared. She's alerted Giovanni. He'll return as soon as possible. He has to play his role out, though, just to be safe.” Franco pulled the medical kit out and handed it to Taviano. “I have the bedroom ready.”

On the private jet, there was a small room they kept for the family members who needed to sleep. The seats were comfortable and laid all the way back to provide more space if necessary, but the room had a double bed inside of it. It was kept made and ready for their late-night escapades.

Stefano carried Nicoletta into the room and laid her on the bed. “She'll wake soon. We have to clean her up before that happens. She's not going to want a bunch of strange men touching her after her ordeal.”

“I'll do it.” Taviano made it a statement. “Franco, I'll need warm water. Washcloths and towels. Did Emme leave
any clothes on the plane? If not, I have a couple of flannels in my go bag. Bring me one of them.”

“Tav,” Stefano said. “You don't want to invest too much in her. We're turning her over to Lucia and Amo. Our family will watch over her, and we'll provide for her, but we can't stay involved with her. You know that. It's too dangerous. Especially you. She knows our faces. She saw me come out of the shadow and kill her uncles. She could burn us. Bury us. If she goes to the cops . . .”

“She won't,” Taviano said. “You're afraid for me, not you.” He took the bowl of water Franco handed him, dipped a cloth in it and sank down on the bed beside Nicoletta. “You connected with her. She's too afraid of Benito Valdez to ever do something as foolish as going to the police. She can take the name Fausti and be Amo's niece come to live with them. We can give her a new identity. She's not going to turn on us.”

Stefano watched Taviano dip the cloth into the water and gently dab at the blood on Nicoletta's face. His youngest brother wasn't nearly as easygoing as he liked to appear to the world. In spite of trying to bring his brothers and sister a little joy in their childhood, all of them bore the scars of absentee parents as well as whatever vicious handling had taken place during training overseas. Their father was gone most of their lives, doing whatever he chose to do, while their mother became a brutal trainer, snapping orders, demanding perfection and snarling coldly at them when they weren't perfect.