Page 10 of Triplets for the Russian Boss

Bonnie

Idon’t work at the club for excitement. In fact, the more boring my job is, the better. Excitement usually means danger, and I wouldn’t be wearing the same sly grin as Kostin if tonight ended with someone getting hurt.

However, I do like money, and at the mention of it, I perk up considerably. Kostin has money, and I can’t forget that he’s chosen me to spend it on tonight. Maybe he intends to gamble it away on Jerry, but the least I can do is get a healthy tip for spending my time with him.

My bra straps may never have to leave my shoulders this evening.

“A million in cash. Touch it if you want,” Kostin says to Jerry as he opens the lid to a suitcase sitting in the trunk of his black Mercedes. “You’d get a lot more if you had a bigger club, but as it stands, this place isn’t all that great.”

“It’s a good thing you’re not getting it, then,” Jerry mutters, running the tips of his fingers over the tightly stacked bills. “This isn’t counterfeit, is it?”

Kostin rolls his eyes, but Jerry can’t see that because he’s too enthralled by the cash. “I’m not the kind of guy who deals with fake shit. You can bet your ass this shit is real.”

“Where’d you get it?” Jerry asks, only now showing concern about the source of such a suspicious amount of cash.

“None of your goddamn business,” Kostin replies, with a level of firmness that sends a shudder through me. At one point, I thought he was a trust-fund baby, but now it’s obvious that money came from more nefarious activities. Gambling would be the most innocent.

For Jerry, ignorance is bliss, so he extends his hand and shakes on a new agreement. They’re playing a best out of three on blackjack, and guess who the dealer is?

“It’s chilly out here,” Kostin says, his hand making contact with the bare lower half of my back. “Let’s go inside.”

This time, the goosebumps on my skin could actually be from the cold, but I know they aren’t. Kostin’s touch is like an ice bath and a sauna at the same time. It’s uncomfortable, confusing, and I'd rather not endure it a second longer.

I step away from him, crossing my arms and walking back toward the glowing club entrance with a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. Kostin didn’t come here to pick up girls and drink himself silly. He came here to cause trouble.

Jerry and Kostin follow me back inside the club, and the thick waves of bass envelop us again. It isn’t until we’re back behind the crimson curtain that we have some semblance of peace and quiet.

With the bass nothing but a rumble outside the champagne room, Jerry and Kostin take their positions, and I snatch up the cards, ready to deal them out for the game of a lifetime.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” I ask the men, speaking more to Jerry than Kostin. For some reason, I don’t believe Kostin will lose. Sure, it’s mostly a game of chance, but Kostin always has a way of twisting things in his favor. He gets what he wants.

“Shut your mouth and deal the cards, sweetheart,” Jerry chimes, waving his hand over the table.

Kostin gives me a sympathetic glance and shrugs, and I no longer am concerned about Jerry losing. I want him to. It’ll teach him a lesson for being such a fucking prick to me.

I deal the cards onto the table, taking close note of Jerry’s expression as he looks at his. Kostin knows by now that Jerry shows his cards through his expression, but he’s not even looking at him. He’s drumming his fingers on the table and looking straight at my cleavage.

Jesus, Kostin, focus on the game.

“Hit me,” Jerry says, with the biggest shit-eating grin I’ve ever seen on a man.

It would give me great joy to take him up on that offer, but I lay a card down for him instead, satisfying his actual request.

“Fuck,” he exclaims, pushing his cards away. “I swear this deck is rigged.”

“It’s your deck,” Kostin says, holding up a finger. “Would you like to use mine instead?”

“No,” Jerry grumbles. “Deal the next hand, will you?” he asks, looking at me. “Best two out of three.”

I deal the next set of cards.

Jerry springs up from his seat, nearly knocking the entire table over as he comes up. “Blackjack! A perfect hand!”

Kostin takes a sip of his beer, confidence rolling off his huge body like a parent on Christmas morning. He’s amused by Jerry’s childish antics, but he knows he has this one in the hole. There’s a fair chance he’s going to walk away with complete ownership of the club.

In that case, I’m going to have to find a new job.

“You better have that suitcase ready for me,” Jerry jeers at Kostin. “Maybe we’ll double or nothing after this game.”

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