Twisted Cravings (The Camorra Chronicles 6)

“You think she’d use you like that? To do what she and her father can’t do?”

“It would explain why he allows her to race in our territory.”

Kiara regarded me with worry in her brown eyes. She let out a small sigh. “I guess there’s only one way to find out. Talk to her. Deceit isn’t a good start for a relationship.”

That’s something I’d learned the hard way with my first girlfriend Harper. I’d overcome the deep sense of betrayal and I wasn’t the unstable teenager from back then, but if exacting revenge through my hands had been Dinara’s plan from the very start, it would definitely leave its traces. Still, for some reason I couldn’t imagine Dinara to be deceitful like that. She had been honestly shocked that her mother was alive and she didn’t know about the existence of the recordings or that my brothers had gathered the names and addresses of her abusers. Even if revenge had been on her mind, it could only have been an abstract concept.

Kiara smiled. “Talk to her. Tell her what you know and see how she reacts, then you can still decide if you want to cease contact with her.”

I nodded. “Dinara was worried that I’d treat her differently after I knew. Now I think, how can I not knowing what I know now? She went through some horrible shit that must have left deep scars.”

“Definitely, but when you met her those scars were already part of her. She didn’t change. She’s still the same girl you met.”

I motioned at the steaming casserole of mac and cheese. “If we don’t take the food to the table soon, I fear the hungry bunch is going to devour us.”

Kiara squeezed my forearm briefly before she grabbed a bowl with salad. I carried the casserole and tried to enjoy a chaotic evening with my family, even as my mind kept whirring with a myriad of thoughts. I wanted nothing more than to hold Dinara in my arms again, even if part of me dreaded the encounter.

The drive from Las Vegas back to camp seemed to last forever. It was difficult to focus on the street, on anything really, except for the horrible images I’d seen. They’d haunted my night. I couldn’t help but wonder how much worse it must be for Dinara. We’d on occasion shared a tent and her sleep had often been interrupted by unintelligible mumblings. Whenever I’d asked what she’d been dreaming about, she’d evaded a reply.

It was impossibly difficult to link that helpless, cowering girl with the fierce and confident woman I’d been spending so much time with. I’d expected a sad story, but not this. Even a night’s sleep hadn’t managed to calm the raging flood of emotions in my body.

When we’d last seen each other two days ago before she’d left for Chicago and I had driven to Las Vegas, she’d been worried I’d view her in a different light once I knew about her past. I’d thought she was exaggerating. I had been confident nothing could change my opinion of her. Now, I wasn’t sure.

Dinara’s reaction in the car when I’d laid on top of her, her need to stay in control of her body at all times. It all made sense now. Even before I’d found out the truth, I’d considered her strong, now her strength seemed almost inhuman.

When the first tents of camp came into view, my chest tightened. I was fucking nervous about seeing her again, about doing what I’d promised not to do, about seeing her in a new light. And not just that, a small trickle of doubt about her motives remained. Maybe she would be disappointed if I returned without having killed her mother and everyone else.

A quick scan revealed Dinara’s Toyota at the very edge on the west side of camp. I steered my car in that direction.

The moment she spotted me, Dinara headed my way from where she was talking to one of the pit girls. This was the moment of truth.

I’d been anxiously awaiting Adamo’s return from Vegas, wondering if Remo had revealed my past to him. Part of me wanted him to know, because it would make things easier. Adamo might be more willing to help if he knew why I was doing what I did. On the other hand, I’d enjoyed our time together, the sex and conversations, the way he treated me like his equal. He didn’t consider me breakable. I’d proven my strength to him. But once he knew about my past, none of that would matter.

People only saw that one aspect of myself once they found out, as if it was all that defined me. The molested child. The rape girl. It was a big part of me, no doubt, and haunted me to this day, but I didn’t want special treatment because of it. I wanted to be treated like anyone else, not someone breakable or vulnerable or damaged. I was neither of those things.