Twisted Cravings by Cora Reilly

My fingers shook with nerves and excitement when Adamo dragged the struggling man into the basement of a Camorra storage. Considering that his death wouldn’t be quick, Adamo had chosen the place for its remote location. The walls were thick and would contain my abuser’s screams.

I had never hurt someone on purpose before Adamo and I started our vigilante journey. There had never been a reason to do it. I wasn’t someone who enjoyed seeing people in pain. It didn’t give me a kick, or even fascinated me.

Adamo was different. I occasionally caught the flicker of eagerness in his dark eyes when we’d discussed possible torture methods that we could try on number two. Adamo had called them by their names in the beginning but I preferred to give them numbers. It made them appear less human and more like the monsters that haunted my nightmares.

The basement was dank and the stench of something rotten and piss hung in the air. Maybe rats. A few smaller puddles of water littered the floor where the ceiling leaked.

“We could have used one of the Camorra torture rooms. They are better equipped and cleaner,” Adamo commented as he shoved the struggling man toward the wall. He collided hard with it and fell to his knees with a pained gasp.

“No,” I said firmly. I’d already accepted too much help from the Camorra, and technically still was, even if Adamo didn’t do this in his capacity as a Camorrista but as my… lover. Boyfriend? I pushed the thought away.

Number two turned around and stumbled to his feet. His eyes sought mine. They lacked emotion and I vividly remembered the blank look in them as he’d laid hands on me many years ago. He’d paid extra. I remembered that too. My mother hadn’t wanted him to see me again but eventually Cody convinced her because the money was too good. Three encounters… three horror-filled hours. I didn’t remember much of them, as if my mind had blacked out parts to protect me.

Adamo held the knife out to me, a smaller, curved blade, not meant to kill, but maim or skin. After he’d pinned my abuser on the ground, Adamo used duct tape to bind the man’s hands and feet together.

The man struggled against his restraints, and for the first time, true fear flashed in those pitiless eyes. I nodded with a bitter smile. “That’s what I felt.”

I remembered the choking fear, the daunting panic and eventually the heart-breaking realization that I was helpless. That even my mother wouldn’t stop him. But today I was the one in control. I approached him slowly, my fingers around the blade tightening.

“Do you remember me?” I asked.

The man’s brows furrowed as he scanned my face. “No! I swear. This must be a misunderstanding.”

It wasn’t. I recognized him and the Falcones had made sure he was the right person. There would be no mistakes, no regret, no mercy.

I glanced at Adamo and gave a short nod. Adamo unpacked his laptop and set it up in front of the man. “Watch it closely,” Adamo said, fury tinging his voice. Violence twisted his expression. I took strange consolation in the realization that even if I’d fail, Adamo would be there to do what I couldn’t.

The video began and the man’s eyes widened with surprise. I stepped back, allowed him to watch the videos of us. On occasion, eagerness flickered in his eyes and my stomach tightened at his obvious excitement over what he’d done to me many years ago. I wanted to believe that people could change, that they could better themselves, but so far Adamo’s and my experiences proved the opposite. Adamo leaned against the wall to the man’s right with balled fists. It was obvious how difficult it was for him to hold himself back. Every time my abuser showed signs of enjoyment, Adamo’s body rocked forward.

I turned the video off when I couldn’t bear another second. I allowed myself a few deep breaths to steal myself, to lock little Katinka away deep inside my mind before I confronted my past tormentor. “Do you remember me now?”

His gaze snapped up to mine. He didn’t say anything but the nervous back and forth of his eyes told me he was trying to think of an excuse. I lifted the knife. He began struggling against his restraints again and screamed at the top of his lungs for help. I flinched at the volume, goosebumps rising on my skin. I stepped closer and held the knife right in front of his face. “Stop screaming,” I whispered harshly. My voice wasn’t as strong and threatening as I wanted it to be.

The man didn’t stop. He struggled even harder, almost topping over backwards with the chair Adamo had tied him to. “Shut up,” I rasped.

The man didn’t even seem to hear me. I was air for him. I slanted a look at Adamo. He knew how to handle situations like this. I couldn’t ask for help, my tongue too heavy, and luckily, I didn’t have to. Adamo pushed away from the wall and pulled his second knife. In two long steps he appeared beside me, grabbed the man’s hair and pressed the blade against his throat. “Shut up, or I’ll cut off your fucking tongue,” he snarled, sounding so terrifying that even my body involuntarily leaned away from him for a moment.

Adamo relished in what he did. His eyes held the same euphoric rush I remembered from taking drugs. I wondered if his fall would be as steep once the rush waned off. I remembered the bleak, depressing hours afterward, and the increasing yearning for the next fix. When would Adamo need his next fix?

Adamo’s gaze slanted to me, frantic, eager, hungry. “He’s yours.”

Mine. Mine to judge. To torture. To kill.

I lifted the knife, scanned the sharp blade. Holding my breath, I jabbed the knife into his thigh. My eyes widened, my knuckles turning white around the handle, shocked by my own actions. The man cried out harshly, eyes wide and agonized. Blood soaked the fabric around the blade, which was still buried inside his leg.

“Twist it,” Adamo murmured, voice compelling.

I tightened my hold but didn’t move. Adamo covered my hand with his. “I can help.”

I nodded. He guided my hand, turning the blade clockwise.

The screams escalated, buried themselves in my head and raised goosebumps. My body revolted against my actions. I shook my head and Adamo released my hand. I jerked it away from the knife.

“Do you want me to do it?” Adamo asked.

I took a step back. I didn’t look at number two, only at the man I was falling for more every day. He wanted to help me, but beyond that he thirsted for the violence. He wanted this, needed this, maybe as much as I did.

“Yes,” I whispered.

Adamo fixed number two with a bone-chilling look. A hunter ready to tear into his prey. Adamo ripped the knife out of number two’s leg before he sliced it across his abdomen, creating a shallow cut. Painful but not lethal.

I backed away, and watched, fascinated and terrified by Adamo, by his focus, his eagerness, his skill.

I couldn’t help but wonder if I was the reason for the awakening of his bloodlust, if my request had broken through his walls and unleashed an unstoppable hunger.

“Adamo,” I whispered eventually. He dropped the knife, his eyes darting to me. It took a heartbeat before they really saw me.

“He’s yours now,” he said in a raspy voice.

I nodded and grasped the gun. Pulling the trigger was easy, and strangely enough felt almost like an act of mercy.

The shot rang in the dirty basement, followed by utter silence. I breathed harshly, trying to come down from my euphoric high. My pulse was pounding wildly in my veins and I felt almost invincible and overall: exhilaratingly alive. Slowly I became aware of Dinara’s presence again. She stood a few feet from me. She’d watched everything without a word, every second of me losing control. I must have looked insane as I’d lost myself in the blood revelry. Fuck. I couldn’t believe I’d let it consume me like that.

I met Dinara’s gaze, expecting the worst: disgust and maybe even fear, but I found only realization and the hint of shock. Dinara lowered the gun and put it back into the bag with weapons. I sat back on my haunches, wondering if I should explain myself. But what could I say to justify my actions? I was a twisted fuck. A bitter smile twisted my lips as I met Dinara’s beautiful eyes. “One monster killing another, a terrifying sight, hmm?”

Dinara tilted her head. “You are not like him.”

“But I’m a monster. If I were you, I’d want to get as far from me as possible.”

Maybe I finally needed to come to terms that I couldn’t be better, that my nature would never allow me to achieve the level of goodness I’d wished for when I was younger.

She shook her head, as her expression filled with gratefulness. “No. You do this for me. That’s something I won’t ever forget. And I sure as hell won’t go anywhere, Adamo.”

“I do this for you, yes, but a small part also does it for me, because I want it.”

“That’s okay.”

I laughed hoarsely. “Okay?”

“Yes, because even if you enjoy it ultimately, you do it for me. If that isn’t proof for…” She trailed off, looking almost embarrassed.

“It is proof,” I agreed. Proving to Dinara how much she meant to me was why I was here. It was why I started, but it wasn’t why I kept going once I lay my hands on my victim. Once I’d begun my dark task, I was lost, lost to a deep yearning and dark hunger. I staggered to my feet. My legs felt unsteady as if I’d ridden a rollercoaster too often. This after torture sensation came closer to a drug rush than anything ever had, and anything ever could.

Dinara grabbed a towel from my bag and handed it to me. I took it. My hands were coated in blood and my clothes were soaked. They were ruined. I remembered when Remo and Nino had returned home like this and I’d feigned disgust when I’d really felt fascination.

Dinara watched me calmly, and I wondered what she saw. I remembered the sick fascination I’d felt when I’d first seen Remo and Nino in action. Even back then part of me had wondered how it would feel to lose myself in something as depraved but I’d fought it, had resisted for as long as I could.

Dinara scanned the remains of number two. If the sight unsettled her, she hid it. Once my hands were clean, I touched her arm, drawing her attention back to me.

“I’m fine,” she said quietly. “I’m glad you did what you did. He deserved it, but it’s not something I can do. I realized that now.”

“You don’t have to. I can if you want me to.” I wanted to feel this high again. Dinara could probably see it in my face.

“I don’t want to be the reason why you lose control,” she said.

A dark laugh burst out of me. I touched her cheek. “You really think it’s your fault I’m like this. That’s the Falcone gene and my bloody upbringing, not you.”

Dinara pressed a soft kiss to my lips. “Let’s get out of here. I don’t want to give him another second of my life. He got what he deserved. He’s the past now.”

After calling the clean-up crew, Dinara and I headed back to our motel. It was better than the dump in Reno, but definitely not a place that invited you to stay longer.

Dinara sat cross-legged on the bed when I emerged from the bathroom after a long shower. She was staring down at the list with her abusers. She had already crossed off number two. I sank down beside her. “I wonder how I’ll feel once we can cross off the last name.”

That was her mother’s name. We hadn’t discussed her end yet. Dinara avoided the topic. No matter how much she hated her mother, killing her would be different to every other kill. “You’ll feel freed,” I said. It was the outcome I hoped for.

“How do you feel?” Dinara asked, changing the topic as usually when we discussed the end of our vendetta.

I scooted closer to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders as I considered my feelings. I didn’t feel guilty, not even slightly. He’d deserved everything I’d done. “Good. Back to normal.”

Dinara raised her eyebrows. “Normal isn’t a word I’d use to describe you.”

“Ditto,” I said with a grin, but I became serious when I saw the honest concern in Dinara’s eyes. “This is about you, not me. We’re doing this so you can bury your past and find peace. What I’m feeling isn’t important, but I’m not lying. I feel fine. The better question is how you feel?”

Dinara frowned as if she was listening into herself. “It’s surreal, all of this. For so long, these people haunted my nightmares, and I could do nothing, but now I’m no longer the victim, and it feels good. I want to keep going.”

“We will keep going, but I think it’s good for us to have a break for a few days before we move on to Vegas.”

When Dinara and I first had made the list and discussed our revenge plan, we’d agreed to return to camp after the first two kills to drive two races before we’d head to Vegas where the rest of the abusers lived. It would give us time to cool off, and would keep the speculations in camp to a minimum.

“I know,” Dinara said. “But now that we’ve begun I hate to stop.”

“You don’t want time to doubt our actions?” I guessed.

Dinara shrugged. “Maybe. I can’t imagine my conscience becoming a problem, not with the way I’m feeling now, but I…” She sighed. “I don’t know. I don’t want to risk it. I want all of them to get what they deserve.”

“They will, because my conscience sure as hell won’t become a problem.”

Dinara smiled strangely and kissed me. “To think that I’d ever fall for an Italian mobster—” She snapped her lips shut, eyes going wide.

The high from the torture was nothing to what I felt now.

I opened my mouth but Dinara clapped her hand over my lips. “Don’t say anything. Not now.”

My eyes crinkled in amusement. Kissing her palm, I nodded my agreement. Slowly, Dinara lowered her hand.

“I never thought I’d fall for a Bratva princess either,” I rushed to say.

Dinara kissed me hard. “Shut up, shut up. I don’t want to talk emotions, not now. Not yet.”

“After everything we’ve done, and everything we plan to do, you’re scared of emotions?” I teased. Her eyes begged me to shut up and this time I did. Instead I pulled her against me and showed her with my body what I felt. No words needed.