Shadow Flight (The Shadow Series)

by Christine Feehan

  Eloisa thought they had been coddled by Stefano. Taviano wasn’t certain what his mother meant by being coddled. Stefano was a taskmaster, but he made his siblings aware that he loved them. If that was coddling, Taviano was all for it.

  “I hope you get to a point that you feel you can share your music with me someday, Taviano,” Nicoletta said. “I’d really love to hear it.”

  His heart clenched hard and his stomach did a weird pitching roll. He wasn’t certain whether it was in joy at the thought or in protest. He wanted to share with her, because there were songs he was proud of. He wanted someone to hear them. He’d written them from his heart—maybe even his soul. He’d heard music outside in the woods, with the wind howling the way his mind did some nights when it wouldn’t quiet. When the rain beat at the windows of his home, the way his tears did in his mind. She would understand. If anyone could, Nicoletta could.

  He had listened to Kain Diakos’s music because Nicoletta loved it so much. She played it all the time. He’d listened closely to the lyrics and he understood why she identified with his songs. There was always hope there after the initial terrible tragedy.

  Taviano hoped that Nicoletta would identify with his lyrics even more. That his songs would give her that same lift, the same faith that there was more than just ugliness in the world. That there were choices and family was the best choice of all, whether blood or of the heart. Those were his beliefs. His hopes. His gifts. And they were for her.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Halfway between St. Louis and Chicago sat Bloomington, Illinois. Mariko and Ricco used the fastest tubes to take them to Bloomington. They stayed in the shadows of the little café where the Demons were reputed to hang out and eat while they refueled their cars when traveling. The owner of the café was friendly with them and the cops stayed away from that part of the city for the most part. Unwary travelers were parted from their wallets. A few bodies turned up but most of them simply disappeared.

  Ricco and Mariko had endless patience. Both had grown up in a hard school. They had honed their skills and were excellent at their craft. Their craft just happened to be assassination. It didn’t matter how long they had to wait; they could easily pass the time together anywhere. They took a shadow up the side of the building to the roof.

  Ricco liked the fact that the café was a large rectangle. On the two shorter sides, two gaudy neon signs spelled CAFÉ in large red capital letters. On the front of the building, a sprawling, obnoxiously large sign on the bottom took up most of the long front, proclaiming in red neon letters on a gold background that it was “great eating.” Stacked above that sign was another, forever claiming the café as belonging to Harold Peterbuilt and Son. The “son” had been x’d out with black paint. Ricco sarcastically thought that was very classy.

  The roof itself was fairly flat. He took Mariko’s hand and helped her across what looked like a tar rooftop. There were two outcroppings that were square, along with several giant fans. They made their way to the squares, where Mariko sat while Ricco scouted the area for cover and the best shadow tubes leading to the alleyway below as well as the parking lot to one side of the building and the landscaped front.

  The front was mainly overgrown weeds and white rock that had long since been tossed around the parking spaces for the handicapped. Graffiti decorated the spaces in colorful language and art. The drawings added to the décor, along with sidewalks that were cracked and broken in places. The cement was more like waves than a straight line. Someone had written “fuck you, Harold” in bold black letters over and over right up to the door of the café. Ricco presumed it was the son who had been crossed off the neon sign.

  His gaze swept the parking lots on all sides, seeking the cars they had been told the Demons were traveling in. Two SUVs, both with tinted windows, both dark navy blue with silver rims, traveling with a Ram truck with a cab. Fourteen members of the Demons coming in from St. Louis to Chicago, all to help Benito Valdez retrieve Nicoletta Gomez for whatever nefarious purposes he had in mind for her. That wasn’t going to happen. Nicoletta was a Ferraro, and no one was going to take her from their family.

  There were several cars in the parking lots, but not the vehicles they were looking for. He wasn’t surprised. They had taken the fastest shadows possible in the hopes of arriving well ahead in order to scout out the premises and prepare a strategy.

  Ricco walked back to his wife. She never failed to move him when he came up on her, no matter where she was or what she was doing. She was always very still. Peaceful. She was small. Half Japanese, half American. Surprisingly, she was a blonde. She had curves and pale skin. Her eyes always captured him, almond shaped, hazel, exotic like a cat’s. She looked fragile, like a delicate flower. The fact that a warrior ran deep beneath her flawless skin and delicate image always amazed him.

  Her gaze jumped immediately to his face. Focused completely on him. His body reacted immediately. He walked right up to her, towering over her as she sat so demurely, her pinstriped suit emphasizing her curves rather than detracting from them. Every breath she took made him aware of her breasts rising and falling beneath her jacket. He made out the tops of those sweet curves, just a hint beneath the lapels.

  Ricco practiced the art of Shibari and was very thankful that Mariko enjoyed and allowed him to use her body as his canvas. The practice between them required a great deal of trust. He was very careful when he laid the ropes on her body and tied the knots, not wanting to hurt her in any way. What had started for him as purely art had taken a very erotic turn when Mariko had become his partner and then his wife.

  “This is a perfect place to practice, Mariko.” He gestured to the neon signs. They were huge, standing so tall and grotesque behind them, flashing their message for miles to anyone who cared to look. “I would have you naked and bound between the letters on this side of them. Wrapped in silks of gold and red so you would blend in. Only I would see you. Only the camera would capture you.”

  She didn’t take her gaze from his, maintaining eye contact. “We don’t know when they’ll be here, Ricco.”

  He sighed. “No, we don’t.”

  “Did you bring rope?”

  “I always carry rope. You know that.” He did. Silk. Silk could go through the shadows. He didn’t go anywhere without rope. In the past, sometimes rope had been his only sanity. Now, he always enjoyed the thought of binding her and taking her whenever he wanted. Coming off a job, coming out of the shadows, always brought on a savage need for release. Combining that with Shibari and his beautiful, erotic woman, the sex was always crazy, but he’d never considered actually staying close and using the actual location.

  The rooftop was so perfect. The insanity of the grotesque neon signs hiding them from the world. The coolness of the night air. The shadows they could escape into should they need to. He could bind her close to the mouth of one and release her with one yank of the knots, catch her up and dive for the shadow if need be. Once the idea took hold, he began to consider how he wanted to bind her.

  “You’re really thinking of using this rooftop? Not after?”

  “After. And then after again when we get home. Once won’t be enough.” He could tell that already. He was going to be wild with need for her. Just the thought of sex with her on the rooftop, surrounded by the neon flashing signs and his own artwork in stark contrast, was making him hard already. He had never bound her completely off the floor, she’d always been a little intimidated by the idea, but tonight, when they got home, he thought perhaps he could talk her into it.

  “It could be dangerous, Ricco. If someone discovers the bodies and calls the cops too soon, we could be in trouble. I don’t think we should take chances.”

  He could see the color sliding under her skin. Her breathing had changed, and her eyes had taken on a glow. He leaned down and took her mouth. Claiming her. Forcing her head back. Telling her he was in charge right then. Knowing she was already on board with his ideas.

  “I hear cars, farfallina
mia, I’ll be right back.” He always called her his little butterfly. She was so much more. She was everything to him. He kissed her again and then moved soundlessly across the flat rooftop toward the side parking lot where he could easily hear the noisy group of men getting out of their vehicles.

  Two SUVs had parked under the tall lamps, the only two that weren’t shattered. Clearly, they didn’t want anyone messing with their cars. Five men descended from each of them. They wore their colors, shoving one another, laughing, each talking louder than the others. All ten bragging about what they were going to do to Valdez’s enemies. The truck pulled up next to the SUVs and four more of the Demons leapt out. They swaggered after the others.

  Ricco watched them go into the café before returning to Mariko. “The information is correct. We have fourteen opponents. Three vehicles. We’ll take care of those first, just to ensure that no one escapes us and we have to give chase. It’s easier to contain them here.” And he had plans after.

  Mariko stood up and stretched, easing her muscles into working order before she followed Ricco to the shadow that would take them both over the side of the building to the lot where the Demons had parked their vehicles, thinking them safe from any tampering. Ricco had chosen one of the slower tubes. It was wider and went over the side of the building and almost all the way across the parking lot. Thrown by the lamppost, the shadow touched the tube that reached out from the building itself.

  The riders moved from one shadow to the next without hesitation. Ricco went under the hood of the first SUV and disconnected the ignition relay and then followed up with removing several of the other wires. He did the same in the other SUV and truck. Satisfied that it would take quite some time for the gang members to figure out what had gone wrong with their rides, Ricco and Mariko rode the shadows right up to the café.

  The fourteen Demon members were swaggering around the café, taunting the waitress, who looked a little intimidated. She was older, her face drawn and tired. The cook could be seen throwing annoyed glances at the men, who were tossing napkins into the air and throwing spoons and forks at one another.

  Two customers walked out. When they tried to pay, one of the men who had ridden in the truck grabbed the invoice from the waitress and tore it up, indicating for the couple to leave. He even opened the door for them. The couple hurried out, obviously afraid to stay and fight it out to pay the bill.

  The same man who had let the couple go without paying sauntered over to sit on the table of another group of customers. Four men who looked like construction workers, big burly men with obvious muscles and tattoos that looked as if they might have gotten them in prison. The Demon member reached over and flipped a plate of food into the nearest construction worker’s lap. Immediately, the other Demons howled with glee and gathered around the booth.

  The moment he’d sat down, there had been a mass exodus from the café. Everyone else who had been eating there jumped up and, without paying, rushed for the door, ignoring the taunting laughter of the gang members as they ran to their cars. Ricco watched them drive out fast. Not a single one was on their cell phone reporting a disturbance at the Harold and x’d-out Son Café. And no one would. The café was known to be a safe haven for the various gangs.

  The construction worker trapped in the booth tried to jump up as hot gravy and mashed potatoes burned through his jeans. The table and close booth seating inhibited his movements, causing him to teeter there, while the Demon member tipped more plates at the others sitting. One made the mistake of trying to punch the Demon while they all leapt up to protect themselves.

  Instantly the construction workers were dragged from the booth. The waitress tried to pull out her cell phone but another Demon caught her in a vicious hold, forcing her to drop the phone. He stomped on it repeatedly.

  “This café has the mark on it. You don’t ever violate that mark, or we kill every one of you, bitch, your families, and then burn your houses down. You got that?” As he threatened her, he kept putting more pressure on her arm until he nearly snapped the bone.

  She nodded over and over. The cook refused to watch, not even when sprays of blood went up and construction workers were piled up in the corner. One was dead, two well on their way and the fourth struggling for every breath but trying to crawl for the door. No one stopped him, but they watched as he made his way, using elbows and toes down the center of the café, leaving a bloody trail behind him.

  The plate-flipping member of the Demons smirked and then paced along beside him, kicking at him with his boots. “That was just a little warm-up, baby. Don’t you want to play some more? I’m in the mood to play. You all are nothin’ but pussies in here.”

  The gang member holding on to the waitress walked her over to the others. “Take their orders, bitch, and then get back here. Seems like you’re going to be the only entertainment we’ve got.” He leered at her and deliberately caught her breast and squeezed hard enough to bring on tears.

  Ricco glanced at Mariko. She didn’t change expression, but she was very focused on the gang member. He wore a blue plaid shirt. She didn’t look away from him, not even when the one who seemed to be in charge leaned down and slit the construction worker’s throat just as he reached the door.

  The Demons laughed, as if seeing the blood running under the door was great fun. The one in charge wiped the blade of his knife on the man’s shirt and turned back. “That’s thirsty work. We’ve got to eat fast and get the hell on the road.”

  The one in the plaid shirt grinned evilly at the waitress. “You’ve got five minutes to take these orders, and then you meet me and some of the boys in the alley.” He raised his voice. “I’m going out for a smoke. I want a Philly sandwich. Hot.” He gave her breast another twist and then sauntered out, stepping over the dead man.

  Three others gave their orders and hastily followed him out. The man in charge shook his head and laughed. “He’s always after pussy. Can’t help himself. You’d better hurry, honey. He can get mean if he has to wait too long.”

  Ricco and Mariko took the shadow leading them to the narrow alley behind the café. It wasn’t large enough to fit most vehicles. The garbage cans were in the back, but other than that, the asphalt was strewn with condoms, needles and cigarette butts. A few empty beer cans lay on the ground as well, and weeds pushed up along the broken seams, but for the most part, it was simply a narrow strip between a long fence and the building.

  The four gang members smoked, one a cigarette, the other three passing around a joint, all laughing. The shortest member walked a distance away, unzipped and relieved himself on the fence.

  Ricco slipped up behind him. A shadow in the dim light thrown by the hulk of the café. He caught the Demon member’s head between his hands and twisted, delivering the signature kill. “Justice is served,” he whispered as he lowered the body to the ground and disappeared back into the one shadow thrown by the bizarre flashing neon light from the massive overhead café sign.

  Laughter continued. One member turned his head toward their fallen companion. He sobered and walked a couple of steps toward him. “Alejo?” He hurried his steps. The others hadn’t turned around, still laughing as the side door opened and the waitress appeared framed there.

  Ricco waited until the man concerned about Alejo knelt beside him. Once again, he slipped behind him and repeated the exact same thing, catching his head and delivering the signature kill as he murmured the satisfying reality, “Justice is served.”

  “Come here, bitch,” the Demon member in the plaid shirt ordered, pointing to his feet. “Get on your hands and knees. We don’t have a lot of time. Don’t want my Philly to get cold.” He laughed and glanced around. He could barely make out his two friends lying on the ground.

  “What the fuck, Blas? What are they doing?”

  “Don’t know, Cleto, but Alejo’s got his dick out.” Blas giggled as he pointed. “I don’t know what Don’s doing, but he’s looking interested.” Don had fallen with his head very close to
Alejo’s exposed groin. Alejo looked as if he had his fist around his penis and was offering it to Don.

  “What are you two doing? I bring you a present and you’re sucking each other’s dicks.” Cleto grinned and turned back to the waitress. “Guess you only have the two of us, but we’ll make it worth your while. I get your ass and Blas can have your mouth or pussy. It’s his choice.”

  Blas giggled again, the sound high pitched. “Give me a second, Cleto, be right there.” He rushed toward a bush, ripping down his jeans, eager to relieve himself, digging in his pocket for a condom at the same time. He heard Cleto slapping the waitress, heard her cry out and he winced. Cleto had slapped him a time or two, and he hadn’t liked it. He was always low man and he didn’t often get the opportunity to choose how he wanted a woman. Most of the time she was gangbanged and he got leftovers.

  He never heard a sound as Mariko slipped up behind him. He didn’t feel it as her hands caught his head in both hands and she delivered the sudden signature move of all riders, wrenching the neck for a quick kill. He didn’t hear the softly whispered, “Justice is served.”

  Mariko lowered Blas’s body to the ground. Cleto faced away from her. He had already forced the waitress to the ground, dragging her plain black skirt up to her waist and ripping her white panties off her.

  “Shut the fuck up, bitch,” he snapped. “I haven’t given you anything to cry about yet. Put your fucking head on the ground. I’m going to give your face road rash.”

  Mariko walked right up behind him. She didn’t use the shadows. She didn’t need to. He was fully concentrating on the waitress. He liked hurting people. He’d all but forgotten his fellow gang members in his eagerness to degrade and hurt the waitress.

  Mariko had to reach up to position her hands on his head, but she was used to height differences, and she’d trained endlessly for that. She waited a heartbeat to make certain she had them just right before she gripped and wrenched hard, using the signature move she’d practiced hundreds of times daily since she was a toddler. The neck snapped with an audible crack. She lowered the body to the ground as she murmured, “Justice is served.” She then simply stepped into the nearest shadow and rode it to the café’s doorway.