Twisted Cravings (The Camorra Chronicles, #6)(49)

During the race the next day, I had a hard time focusing. One reason was lack of sleep because Adamo and I had kept each other busy until the early morning hours. The other were thoughts of my upcoming meeting with Remo distracting me. I’d be closer to my mother than I’d been in over a decade. The only time I’d ever really seen her had been in nightmares. Would reality be worse?

I wasn’t sure if I wanted to see her. When I’d thought she was dead, I’d always wished for a chance to confront her, but now that the option was real and in my reach, my chest constricted at the mere thought. Even if the past still haunted me on occasion, I had it under control most days. What if seeing her would rip open wounds I couldn’t close again?

I finished the race in fifteenth place. My worst result so far, but despite my ambition, even that barely registered. All I could think about was that we’d head out to Vegas early in the morning.

Dima didn’t join the party after the race and instead hid in his tent right away. I went after him. I wanted to check on him, and I still needed to give him the sleeping pills so he wouldn’t get in the way of our plan to head to Vegas. I really didn’t need an escort of my father’s men at my side. That wouldn’t make Remo give up any of his knowledge. He’d kick us out with blazing guns.

“Dima?” I called. I couldn’t really knock at his tent. A form shifted inside and eventually the flap opened and Dima poked his head out. He was only in his boxers, a sight I’d seen countless times before, but it felt awkward now.

The tattoo of the crossed Kalashnikovs branded his chest— the sign of the Bratva. “What do you need?”

I held up the two cups with vodka. “We didn’t share a drink after the race.”

“No reason to celebrate, right? We both didn’t do well today.”

Dima had never much cared about succeeding in the races. He’d stayed for me. “Vodka is right in any situation. To commemorate, to celebrate and just because.”

The flicker of a smile ghosted across Dima’s face before it disappeared.

I handed him one of the cups and he accepted it as he stepped out of the tent. The dose wasn’t too high. It would make sure he fell asleep soon and would sleep until the morning. His light slumber would otherwise prove tricky.

We bumped cups before we emptied the vodka in one gulp followed by a hiss. I grinned. It was a homemade vodka from Dad’s cook and stronger than the stuff you could buy in stores, especially in the States. Widow maker was one of its nicknames among Dad’s men.

Dima scanned my face. “I’m worried about you, Dinara. Since you found out about your mother, you pulled away from me. I feel like you don’t trust me with your plans anymore.”

I scoffed, even if he’d hit the nail on the head. “You pulled away because you don’t like me with Adamo. I gave you room.”

“Don’t make the mistake of trusting him. A wolf is still a wolf even covered in sheep fur.”

“You aren’t a sheep either. I don’t have any sheep in my life. And don’t forget, I’m a wolf myself.”

Dima laughed. “You are.”

My gaze drifted back to the party. People were dancing around the fire, already drunk on whatever concoction they’d brewed today. Adamo talked to Crank but he kept throwing glances my way.

“You better return,” Dima said coldly. “He’s waiting.”

I sent him an exasperated look but he slipped inside the tent and closed it.

The moment I reached the party, someone grabbed my hand and pulled me into a dance circle around the fire. I was too stunned to tell them off. Instead I allowed my body to sway to the music.

Adamo grinned as he watched me. As we passed him by, I grabbed his shirt and tugged him along. For seconds at a time, I forgot what lay ahead and lived only in the moment, existed in the beat. My boots stirred up the dry earth as I danced to the music.

The afterparty was still in full swing when Adamo and I snuck off toward his tent. Nobody got suspicious since we’d done it before. By now our affair wasn’t a secret anymore. Luckily, people didn’t stick their noses in our business. Most of them had secrets of their own they wanted to cover up. The only one who commented on it at all was Dima. I wondered if he’d mentioned anything to my father, but I doubted it. Dad would have asked me about it if he knew.

It was four in the morning when Adamo and I dismantled the tent and got into his car. Adamo hardly touched the gas and instead let the car roll away from camp slowly. When we were a good distance away, he sped up and we hit the street toward Vegas.

My gaze followed the monotone landscape, only occasionally broken up by Joshua trees or stone formations. “How long will it take?”

“The ride takes about three hours. Maybe four depending on traffic once we reach Vegas.”

“And Remo knows we’re coming?”

“I sent him a message. He and Nino will wait for us in the Sugar Trap.”

The Sugar Trap…the name rang a bell and eventually the image of a neon sign with spread legs formed in my mind as if dragged out of murky waters.

With the memory came a tight sensation in my belly. “Will we ride back right away?”

Adamo slanted me a cautious look. “Maybe you’ll need more than just a couple of hours. I booked a hotel for us at the strip. Camorra owned.”