Behind the Lens (Behind the Lives) (6 page)

“Don’t
you dare look at Ash,” Tiana snapped. “He’s finished with you, like Dante is
too, and ’bout time they came to their senses.”

Beth
refocused on Tiana. “I wuzn’t lookin’ at Ash inappropriately, and I hafta sort
this mess out with Dante, I love him,” she said, wanting Tiana to understand
that she wasn’t in anyway a threat to the woman’s relationship.

“No!”
Tiana yelled. “Dante deserves better than you. He’s told me all about how you
insult him. That man is like a brother to me, and I won’t allow you to hurt him
or my man any more. So get out!”

Beth
couldn’t believe this was happening, that she was being punished for finding
another woman in Dante’s bed. And regardless of whether he’d cheated, she knew
she’d forgive him, because she couldn’t lose him, not after what they’d found
together, his passion reaching deep inside of her, making her think she was
just as crazy as he was, but with love. She knew it was sappy, but she couldn’t
help it.

Tiana’s
face hardened with hatred. “Get out of this house before I slap you like you
slapped my man,” she hissed.

“I’m
sorry, I didn’t mean for that to happen, it wuz a misunderstanding. I’ve
already apologised to Ash. Please, just lemme talk to Dante and everything will
be sorted—” Her head whipped to the side, Tiana’s slap silencing her.

Bursting
into tears, Tiana took off into her bedroom, closing the door behind her. Beth
brought a hand to her cheek and stared at the door, not understanding why on
earth Tiana was crying over hitting her, or maybe she’d walked into the
Twilight Zone, where everything was up the wop and totally insane—like this
whole family.

The
shower started, making her turn back to the bathroom and bang on the door,
pleading for Dante to come out. He swore, telling her to leave. She leaned
against the door and slid down it, planning on waiting him out. A shadow loomed
over her. Dante’s ex was now dressed in one of his singlets, and wasn’t that a
kick to the guts. Because...

HE

WAS

HERS!

Beth
jumped to her feet, wanting to punch the bitch’s smirk off her face.

Kara
cocked her head to the side. “If you strike me it’ll only make him angrier.”

Beth
lowered her fist. “Get out,” she ground out, digging her nails into her palms,
the pain stopping her from going postal on the bitch.

Smiling,
Kara leaned forward and whispered in Beth’s ear, “By the way, he was fucking
great last night. Thanks for looking after him, but now I’m back: bye-d-bye.”

“I’m
not leaving! You are!”

“In
your dreams, because I’m going back to Dante’s bed, where the covers smell of
his cum. I knew I should’ve washed, but oh, I do like to keep him inside of me
for as long as possible. Dribble, dribble, dribble.”

Beth
stared at her, totally shocked by the woman’s crassness, and worse, the
confirmation that Dante had cheated—and lied to her about it.

Smiling,
Kara spun around and headed for Dante’s room.

“Oh,
no you don’t!” Beth shouted, snapping out of her shock. She stormed after Kara,
but got the door slammed in her face. The lock clicked followed by a laugh,
making Beth yell out in fury. “You bitch! Get out now!”

“Beth!”

Beth
turned as Ash stepped out from his bedroom. God, it was like everyone in the
house was working against her, one person after another making her run the
gauntlet of emotions.

“Please
leave, you’re upsetting everyone,” Ash said, the look on his face making her
cringe, his features full of sorrow. She didn’t want to upset him, hated what
he’d been through, so she did the only thing she knew how to:
She left.

Unable
to hold back the tears, she headed outside, but even as she got into her car,
she knew this was far from over. She was going to get Dante back if it meant
killing that bitch, because there was no way on God’s green earth that she was
losing another Rata brother.

No
Way!

4

Kara

Kara was sitting on the bed,
staring at the door, willing Dante to walk through it. He’d been in the
bathroom for well over an hour, doing God only knew what, which hopefully
didn’t involve a razor and his wrists. The thought almost made her spring off
the bed, but she quickly dismissed it, because there was no way Dante would
commit suicide over a woman of little worth such as Beth, plus
he
was
the one who’d broken up with the witch, not the other way round, which pleased
Kara no end.

A
door banged down the passage, making Kara’s hopes rise. Dante had to come to
his bedroom to get some clean clothes—
unless
he borrowed Ash’s. She got
to her feet, nervous that he could be doing that, then leaving without telling
her, which made sense considering he hadn’t come into his room earlier to get
his work-out clothes. But maybe he’d used some dirty ones from the bathroom,
which was a distinct possibility since he could be a dirty, dirty boy sometimes.

Her
fears evaporated as the door-handle turned. She quickly sat back down on the
bed, suppressing a sigh of relief when Dante stepped inside. He had a towel
wrapped around his hips, his expression shell-shocked as though he’d witnessed
a horrific crime. She wondered whether he’d taken a hit of drugs, because his
eyes were unfocused. He touched under his nose then sniffed, like he was
getting rid of the remnants of a powder, most likely coke, something he’d taken
when she’d been with him. Yeah, he was high alright, because his muscles were
twitching. For a second Kara felt guilty, knowing she’d caused this, then she
pushed it to the back of her mind. She was here for a purpose, not to be his
guardian angel.

“
Oprosti
mi
, Dante,” she apologised, making him jump as though he hadn’t realised
she was in the room.

He
looked at her, his expression confused, then he shook his head, his drug addled
mind probably piecing together why she was half-naked and on his bed. “It’s not
your fault,” he finally said. He slumped down on the bed, getting the covers
wet, the sheen of water making his tattoos glisten. Her mouth went dry for a
second, wishing she could moisten it by licking the water off him.
Da
,
she would, but not before warming him up.

She
got up and closed the door, then bobbed down in front of him, purposely giving
him a view of her breasts. His eyes did what she wanted, fixing on her fabulous
twins.

“I
should apologise to Beth,” he said to her breasts. “It did look bad, you in my
bed, me in a towel.”

She
took a hold of his hands. “No, Dante, this is her fault, not yours. I even told
her you didn’t do anything with me, but she wouldn’t listen.”

He
pulled a face, then looked at the door as though he expected Beth to burst
through it, which Kara could believe, the woman a bulldozer, someone who ripped
through barriers without giving a person the chance to defend themselves.

“But
I love her,” Dante said.

“And
if she loved you back,
dragi
, she wouldn’t have treated you so badly.”

He
pulled his hands free. “You used to treat me the same way,
draga
,” he
said, putting emphasis on the feminine version for
darling
.

“Which
I truly regret. I was young and stupid, and crazy with jealousy,” she said,
recounting the lines she’d formulated while he was in the bathroom. “And if I
was thinking logically, I wouldn’t have ruined our relationship.”

He
frowned. “I’m not used to you apologising; I wuz the one who always had to
grovel.”

She
took his hands again, wishing she could kiss his scowl away. “Which is why I
have a lot to make up for, and I’ve grown since we’ve been apart—for the
better.” She hid the lie with a kiss to his hand, wishing she’d grown into
someone he could be proud of—no, someone her family could be proud of, because
Dante never judged her, unlike her older sister. No doubt her overly religious
sister would be horrified with what Kara had become: a whore to the very men
Marina would kill without remorse.

Dante’s
frown deepened. “I’m the same as when you left me. No, I’m worse.”

Oh,
no, you’re definitely better.
Her
eyes wondered down to his six-pack, then to his new tattoos, her gaze almost
glazing over with lust. God, the man was pure sex, his tattoos again making her
want to lick them. “You seem fine by me,” she said.
Real fine.
Letting
go of one of his hands, she reached for the tattoo around his left eye, the
curving Māori design so intriguing. She’d originally thought it had been
black, but up close she saw that it was a dark green, the colour of the forests
at night where she used to play hide and seek with her sister.

He
moved his head to avoid her touch.

“I
like your new tattoos.” She lowered her hand to his right arm, tracing the
colourful designs, a mixture of Māori and Croatian imagery, representing
his cultural heritage. He’d only had tattoos on his left arm when she’d left,
but now he had them covering both arms and a canoe tattoo on his back, which
resembled what the Māori people called a
waka.
Her eyes flicked
back up to the facial design, her favourite one, apart from the
We Are One
tattoo
connecting them together.

“What
are you staring at?” he said, his muscles still twitching.

“Your
tattoos,
dragi
.”

“I
told ja to stop calling me that. I’m
not
your darling.”

“I
know,”
but I wish you were.
“It’s just hard to lose endearments,”
but
even harder losing you.
She refocused on one of the tattoos on his arm,
tracing the
koru
with a fingertip. The black curvature design weaved
itself through the checked Croatian crest, almost violent in its penetration,
something she would normally have considered a travesty. But she understood
what it represented, the combination of two cultures. And she wanted him to
penetrate her too, to combine their cultures completely, making them one again.

He
flinched but let her continue touching the tattoo, his dark eyes watching her
face, intense and voracious. She’d always loved that about him, still did,
because he was looking at her like he wanted to eat her up, but not in the same
way as Craven, because unlike the wolf, Dante’s expression was erotic, filled
with promises of pleasure.
Da
, both of them could feast on each other,
ending this famine she’d been forced to bear.

“Why
are you still staring at me?” Dante asked, breaking through her thoughts.

“Because
you are beautiful—and you are staring at me also. Do you think I’m beautiful
too?”

“A
woman is beautiful, not a man, and I’m not stroking your ego.”

“Beauty
can be masculine just as much as feminine, and I’d love you to stroke my ego.
By the way, my ego is here,” she said, reaching between her legs.

His
lip twitched, telling her he was irritated, but he said nothing. She wondered
whether his irritation was with her, or more likely himself, because he wasn’t
moving, the desire she saw keeping him chained to the bed. She smiled,
imagining him chained to it literally—and what she’d do to him while he was
helpless. Oh dear Lord, that was a dangerous thought.

Unable
to help herself, and not wanting to either, she leaned forward to kiss him,
barely brushing his lips before he shot up off the bed, making her fall onto
the floor.

“I’m
not having sex with you, so don’t try it on,” he said, moving to the cabinet
behind her.

She
got to her feet, incensed he’d turned her down, and a little worried too,
because no doubt Craven would be expecting her to put on a show for the hidden
cameras, and in all truth she wanted to give it to him—and to his audience,
because if she did a good job he might honour his word. She frowned, knowing
damn well Craven’s promise that she could keep Dante was empty, just a ploy to
get her to do what he wanted.

Her
eyes flicked up to the tiny camera hidden in the clock above Dante’s head as he
searched through a drawer. Her gaze shifted to the other ones hidden in the
light fixture, the framed drawing of Jimmy Hendrix overlooking the bed, an
alarm clock and a Māori wall sculpture with curved pieces of wood and
metal, the only thing that Dante was proud of making in high school.

Dante
pulled out some underwear, then jumped as Kara ran her fingernails up his back.
She knew she was pushing him too fast, that she should take things slower, but
she was never one to wait for what she wanted, patience definitely not one of
her virtues, if indeed she had any virtues.

He
turned around, still looking angry, although he’d told her a long time ago that
he got off on her being pushy and aggressive, like the first time she’d met
him. Her pussy clenched at the memory of the sex that had followed, the man so
damn talented.

“Stop
lookin’ at me like that,” he snapped, bringing her back to the present. “I told
ja, I’m not having sex with you.”

Kara
looked up at him, the top of her head reaching his chin. “I don’t want to just
have sex with you; I want you to fuck me raw.”

He
shook his head, the curl of his lip making him appear as though he was going to
snarl. “It ain’t gonna happen. You left me, and now you expect me to forget
everything you did, the way you walked out, all the insults you threw at me.
Well, I don’t forgive so easy. So stop bloody coming onto me, cos you don’t
give a shit ‘bout me, just want me to service you like a fucking
prostitutka
.”

“You’re
wrong; I want you to service me as a lover.”

“I’m
not your lover, and now I’m not even Beth’s, no thanks to you.”

“You
can’t blame me for what happened. She jumped to conclusions.”

“Not
hard to do with you lying naked in my bed. I should’ve been the one apologising
to her, not the other way round.”

“No,
you should’ve given her a real reason to be angry.” Kara slipped his singlet
over her shoulders and dropped it to the floor, leaving herself completely naked.

“What’re
ya doin’?!” he said, his eyes going huge.

“Hopefully
you.” She grabbed his towel, whipping it away before he realised what she’d
done, then shoved him into the cabinet, making him fall back against it, his
body sticking out at an angle, his hardening cock putting a smile on her face.
Before he could right himself, she climbed on him, using the drawer he’d opened
as a step, then started kissing and biting his lips. He remained stiff
underneath her, like he was petrified of what she was doing, something she
wasn’t used to with him, because he never had self-control, her come-ons always
ending in him pushing her back hard, and fucking her even harder.

She
grabbed his cock, readying to penetrate herself with it, not willing to wait
for a condom, and if anything, she wanted him to get her pregnant, then there
would be no way Craven or Beth could separate them.

He
tore his head to the side and grabbed her wrist, his features pained as he
growled, “Let go.”

She
gripped tighter, using her nails just enough to let him know she’d hurt him if
he took away her prize. “Fuck me like I know you want to,” she growled back,
then bit his jaw, causing him to shiver.

“I
don’t wanna fuck you,” he said, his voice croaky, his dark eyes even more
dilated, like he was fighting with himself, both wanting and not wanting her.

“Liar.”
She loosened one finger and scratched his cock, making him wince, although she
knew he liked it. “And I won’t let your cock go unless you put it inside of
me.” She moved her nail up to his slit, penetrating it oh ever so slightly and
causing his eyes to widen. “I bet Beth doesn’t know how much you like being
hurt, how you prefer to be dominated, which is why I bet you dominate that
witch, when all you want is for her to do it back to you. Has she ever played
with you like I used to, tied you up, returned your vicious bites or used
clamps on your nipples, making you scream like a pussy? I love seeing you
defenceless, your eyes panicked as I use your body to pleasure myself. You like
that, don’t you? Being used, made to feel like you’re the most desired thing.
And you are. I’ll stake my life that no one else has done that for you.”

He
glared at her, again the conflict she felt within him making her pray he’d lose
his self-control. “
Please
,
get offa me,” he finally said, looking
like it pained him, his voice so soft, as though he didn’t want her to hear it.

“When
do
you
ever say please?”

“Just
get the fuck off!”

“
Zašto?
” she asked
why
in their
shared language.
“Because I know you want me, like I want you.”

“No,
I want Beth, so let go,” he said, squeezing her wrist so tight she thought he
was going to snap it. But regardless of the pain, she still held onto him,
because now it had turned into a battle, and she wasn’t one to submit so
easily, unless it was in bed, although she always did prefer to dominate,
especially since there was no greater high than getting a strong man to beg and
writhe underneath her.