Twisted Cravings (The Camorra Chronicles 6)

Remo leaned against the corner of the cage, his eyes never leaving me. “I’m not the villain here, Adamo. My intentions are pure for not telling you.”

I couldn’t help but laugh as I climbed out and Fabiano took my place in the cage instead. “The word pure and you are at odds.”

Nino came toward me before I could leave the gym. “You should join us at the pool in the afternoon. We’ll have a barbecue and enjoy the good weather.”

I shook my head. “No thanks, I’ve had enough of Remo’s mind games.”

“He’s not the only one at fault. Whenever you’re here, you’re looking for a topic to fight over.”

“I don’t have to look. Remo and I disagree on many things.”

“He and I do too, but you only focus on your disagreements and try to ignore the good. Remo loves you and always does what he thinks is best for you.”

“I really need to return to camp now. The next race is in only a week. I have plenty of things to set up.”

Nino nodded and allowed me to pass. I felt a pang when I left. But it wasn’t only because of Remo. The next race was the start of a number of races in short succession, all of them without a day for rest between them. I had plenty to organize and make sure my car was in top condition.

And I was eager to see Dinara again.

The first trailers and tents came into view in the distance, and I couldn’t help but smile. Living the nomad life wasn’t very comfortable, especially the sanitary options sometimes left a lot to be desired. But we preferred to be among ourselves instead of staying in motels. Of course, some racers opted for the comfort of nearby hotels and only joined us the night before a race, especially those who were sponsored by their rich parents and didn’t do this for the money. Luckily there weren’t many of them. With the upcoming seven races in only one week, everyone would have to camp or sleep in their car.

I parked my car at the edge of camp and got out. Crank’s rustic trailer was in the center with everyone else’s makeshift homes set up around it. He was the go-to guy when I wasn’t there and his trailer was often our business home-base.

It was late in the afternoon and tomorrow was the last day to get everything in order before our seven-day-race, especially drill the rules into the participants. I already knew a few people I’d have additional chats with to make sure they really got the message.

A fire burned in the center in preparation for nightfall and the scent of meat smokers and barbecues filled the air. I set up my tent, a small two-person thing that I attached to my car. I preferred to keep a close eye on my BMW. Sometimes strange accidents occurred.

“How was Vegas?” Dinara asked close behind me, just when I’d zipped the tent up. I turned around to find her standing very close with her arms crossed over a cut-off AC/DC T-shirt, revealing that tantalizing piercing again. It was a tiny red and golden egg. For once Dinara wasn’t in boots but flip-flops, revealing dark-red painted nails.“And what happened to your face?”

My lip was slightly swollen from Remo’s punch. “A friendly grapple with my brother. And Vegas is the same it always is. Loud, flashy and dirty,” I said, tearing my eyes away from her body and meeting her knowing gaze. Dinara seemed perceptive, but even if she weren’t, she would have noticed me checking her out by now. It was really difficult not to do so. Her confidence alone drew me in.

Dinara’s brows rose as she leaned against my car and took a sip from a Styrofoam cup. “Someone’s holding a grudge against his hometown.”

I glared off into the distance. She held out the cup to me. “You look like you need it more than I do. Why did you fight with your brother?”

I took it without asking what it was and swallowed a big gulp. The bitter burn of Vodka bloomed in my mouth and traveled down my throat. I hated the stuff. I’d never understood the reason for drinking it pure. Dinara’s lips twitched as if she knew what I was thinking. “Dima brewed it himself.”

I handed the cup back to her, ignoring her previous question. “You sure it’s safe to consume?” My eyes scanned the circuit for her buzz-headed shadow, and of course, I found him beside his car, watching us.

“You don’t seem like someone who shies back from taking risks.”

“I’m not. I’d just rather not die from consuming homemade Vodka. There are far more interesting ways to leave this planet.”

She took a sip before her lips pulled into a teasing smile. “Like dying in a car race or being killed by an enemy bullet?”