Twisted Cravings (The Camorra Chronicles 6)

My eyes began to droop but I held onto to consciousness for a long time until finally sleep won.

A hard knock at my window woke me. The sun was only just rising over the horizon. My fingers on my gun tightened as I tried to get my bearings. Dima’s face peered inside. Frowning, I sat up, wincing at the stiffness in my back from sleeping half sitting up on the backseat. I unlocked the car and Dima ripped open the door at once. A cold gust hit my body. This early in the morning it was really bearable out here in the desert. “What’s wrong?” I asked groggily, pushing to the edge of the seat and swinging my legs out of the car. Dima’s eyes were bloodshot and dark shadows spread under them. He looked as if he hadn’t gotten much sleep, and possibly drunk more than he was used to.

I pushed into my boots and stood.

Dima glowered, taking a step closer. He put one of his hands behind me on the roof of the car, taking up too much room. “I was there.”

“Where?” I asked, not following his train of thoughts.

“Last night.”

I flushed. I hadn’t done anything wrong and yet a part of me felt guilty. Admitting weakness wasn’t my strong suite, so I got angry instead. “You spied on me?”

Dima’s face twisted with matching anger. “You didn’t really try to hide it, did you? How could you do this?”

“Because I wanted to.”

Dima shook his head. “Will you suck every Falcone’s cock to get what you want?”

My eyes widened. I slapped him hard. “It’s none of your business. It hasn’t been for a long time. Maybe you should remember your place. You are my bodyguard, Dima. You are working for me. Remember your place, or my father will remind you.”

Dima stepped back, hurt flickering in his eyes, which I only caught because I knew him better than anyone, but his face turned ice-cold and hard instantly. “Thank you for reminding me. Don’t worry. I won’t forget it again.”

He turned around, and guilt slashed into me. Dima had been my bodyguard for seven years, first one of several but eventually the only. Before that, we’d been friends and after we’d become even closer. He’d never only been a bodyguard and I had never threatened him with my father, or put him in his place.

I was absolute shit at apologizing and admitting faults but my feet moved of their own accord. “Dima,” I said, my voice still on edge and not at all apologetic. Damn my pride. “Wait.” The apology tickled on the tip of my tongue.

Dima stopped but he didn’t turn. Tension lingered in his shoulders.

“Won’t you face me?”

“Is that an order?”

“Stop this shit! You know I didn’t mean it like that. But you have to stop shoving your nose in my personal business. If I hook up with Adamo, it isn’t your business.” I hadn’t been with anyone else since Dima and I had started dating when I was sixteen, but he and I would never be a couple again. Even when we’d been together, it had never felt right. Though, that might be something to do with my twisted self and not Dima.

He whirled around. “You should know better.”

“You’re jealous but you need to get a grip.”

“Jealous?” he whispered. “Don’t I deserve the right to a little jealousy?”

“No. Not anymore.”

“Is there a problem?” Adamo asked, appearing tall and slightly sleepy behind Dima. He was only in tight boxers, revealing muscled thighs, and an impressive upper body.

Our argument had gotten loud and woken several people who were now poking their heads out of their tents or cars.

At least, none of them spoke Russian from what I knew so they didn’t know what we’d been talking about.

“Fuck off,” Dima snarled, his face turning red. I gripped his arm to calm him down but he shook me off.

Adamo grabbed his shoulder, expression hard. “How about you take your anger somewhere else? Calm down before you return. Dinara doesn’t need your shit.”

Dima jerked free of Adamo’s hold, his body tightening in a way I knew too well. He was a martial arts fighter, had been for as long as I could remember and had even killed a couple of men with aimed kicks. There was a reason why my father trusted Dima to keep me safe.

“Dima,” I growled, but he wasn’t even listening to me. His furious gaze was focused on Adamo. “You have no business getting involved, Falcone pup. This is between Dinara and me, so why don’t you return to your bed and stop bothering me.” He finally moved as if to turn to me, probably to continue our argument but Adamo grabbed his arm again. He still looked remarkably calm, at least his face, but in his eyes, I could see a dangerous fire I’d never seen on him before, and I couldn’t deny it: I was fascinated by it.