Twisted Cravings (The Camorra Chronicles 6)

“There’s no way I can make up the points I lost in the last few races, nor can you. We’ll have to go through qualification races next season.”

Excitement flashed in Dinara’s eyes. “I love a challenge.”

“I think people see you in a new light as well. The apprehensive looks aren’t only for me.”

Dinara glanced around and people quickly looked away. “I doubt they fear me for myself. Women are always underestimated.”

“Anyone who underestimates you is a fool.”

“I really missed this,” Dinara said when we sat on a log around the fire with the rest of the camp, drinking beer and eating chicken wings that burned my taste buds. Country music blared from the speakers set up around the perimeter.

“Yeah, it’s a strange little world of our own where we can bend the rules.”

Dinara moved her legs in rhythm to the country beat. I grinned challengingly. “I never took you for a country girl.”

She took a sip from her beer, a slow smile spreading on her gorgeous face. “I’m a multilayered personality.”

I chuckled. “No kidding.” I wrapped my arm around her shoulders and she leaned her head against my shoulder. “It’s strange to think that this will be our home from now on.”

Dinara shrugged. “We’ll be free. I don’t think there’s anything better in the world.”

“Yeah,” I murmured. The first people started dancing around the fire as their alcohol levels rose. “Did you talk to Dima?”

Dinara sighed. “I didn’t see him before we left. I suppose he avoided me. Maybe he feels that I betrayed what we had.”

“But you weren’t a couple anymore. He was your bodyguard.”

“He’s always been more than that. But Dima is loyal to my father and he can’t follow me on this new path. He’ll always serve my father until he dies or gets killed doing his duty. Maybe he thinks it’s my duty to stay in Chicago and be the Bratva princess my father always wanted me to be.”

“But it’s not who you want to be. If Dima ever really loved you, he must realize it.”

Dinara raised her head. “What Dima and I had wasn’t really love, I realize that now that I’m with you.”

“Because you love me.”

Dinara gave me a strange smile. “You really want me to say it more often, don’t you?”

I kissed her. “Oh definitely.”

The dancing around us got wilder, stirring up dust. Many people began singing along to the songs, most of them without having a clue about the actual lyrics.

“Let’s join them,” Dinara said, setting her beer bottle down on the ground.

“I thought you’d never ask.” I shoved to my feet and pulled her along with me. When we joined the dancers, a few of them hesitated, obviously still unsure about us after the killer couple rumors Crank had told me about, but soon the music and alcohol carried away their tension and we became part of the camp again.

Dinara laughed as we stumbled along to the music in an uncoordinated but fun line-dance formation. Her eyes locked on mine, her face illuminated beautifully by the fire. This wasn’t fake happiness. No pretend laughter. Darkness was a part of both Dinara and me, but we’d banished it to a faraway spot in us. It didn’t rule over our lives.

It was almost three in the morning when Dinara and I finally went to bed in our tent. We weren’t drunk but a gentle buzz filled my body. After making love, we fell asleep in each other’s arms.

Dinara’s tossing and turning, and unintelligible mumbles woke me from my own nightmare—the same one that haunted me for years, but other than in the past, I didn’t wake covered in sweat and with my heart beating in my throat. The nightmare had altered since Dinara and I had started our vengeance trip. Now I always managed to free myself from my restraints eventually and fought my torturers. It seemed my nightmares now allowed me my revenge.

Dinara’s breathing slowed once she woke and I kissed her cheek. “I wish the nightmares would have died with my abusers,” she whispered into the dark.

“Eventually they will fade or maybe they’ll change,” I said then told her about my own altered nightmare.

“I’m still surprised that you never sought revenge against the people who tortured you. You have the Camorra at your back.”

“Revenge against the Outfit, especially their Capo and his Underbosses wouldn’t change anything, it would only continue an endless spiral of violence and revenge. You could end everything by killing your abusers, but in a war, revenge only leads to more violence. What happened to me wasn’t personal.”

Dinara let out a strangled laugh. “I think getting tortured is pretty personal.”

“It wasn’t about me, it was about Remo. My pain was revenge for Remo’s actions, and if I took revenge in turn it would lead to a new act of revenge from the Outfit.”