Page 14 of Triplets for the Russian Boss

She slaps her hands back down on the wheel and finally moves into the intersection, turning with the same reckless abandon as she did in the parking lot. She’s not going to make this easy for me, but it’s better than driving myself. I’d probably drive us both into a pole.

“You need to keep a level head,” I say. “We’re going to get through this just fine.”

“I might, but I don’t know about you,” she replies, shaking her head.

I chuckle. “I need to make a call. Just keep going down this road and I’ll let you know when to turn again.”

She continues shaking her head, but she doesn’t bother me as I slip my phone from my pocket to call the cleanup crew.

I have a few guys from the east side, who specialize in making killings look like they never happened. Even if cops swept the place for evidence, they wouldn’t find a single red blood cell once my guys are finished with the champagne room.

“Hey, we got another case,” I speak into the phone, immediately grabbing Bubbles’s attention in the process. “Look at the road,” I tell her.

“Where are we needed?” a computerized voice replies on the other end. They use voice changers, but I’ve never bothered. This is a secure line.

“At the Diamond Score club. The one with the raspberry pink sign out front. The champagne room got a little messy, but I have the witness.”

“We’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“Make it quick. The place is packed.”

“Yes, sir.”

The line goes dead, and I tuck the phone back into my pocket, keeping my pistol out so that Bubbles knows I’m not fucking around. I can’t have her going into hysterics again.

For one, it’s annoying.

Secondly, I’m trying to remember how to get back to the airstrip from here. We need to catch a flight, if I’m to transport Bubbles to one of our secondary headquarters in Texas. The main office is in California, but that’s too far from here. A plane can get us there in the snap of my fingers.

“There’s nothing out here. Are you sure we’re going to the right place?” Bubbles asks, turning on the high beams as we roll down an empty road.

There aren’t any houses here, nor any trees. We’re out of town, but the club was already on the outskirts. The landing strip can’t be far from here, but we’ll miss the turn if I’m not careful.

“We’re on the right track,” I mutter, looking out the window.

“Do you even know where we’re going?”

“Quiet,” I snap, holding my hand up. “I think I see a plane.”

“A plane? You think they sent the Air Force after you? I didn’t think it was that big of a deal.”

“My plane, darling,” I reply, shaking my head. “Just let me know if you see it somewhere. It’s blue, but it might be hard to see because I doubt the runway is lit up. They’re not aware that I’m coming.”

“Are you fleeing the country or something? Oh god,” she says with a gasp. “Are you using me as a getaway driver?”

I roll my eyes. “I’d have someone better at driving if that were the case. We’re only hopping over to the next state. My office is in Texas.”

“This is nuts. I don’t even have my ID with me. They’re going to search your bags and find the goddamn gun.”

I chuckle. Clearly, she’s never experienced the perks of owning your own jet. I don’t have to play by the rules, just as long as I follow air traffic and stay discrete.

“Don’t laugh! This is serious,” she insists, slowing down the car. “I shouldn’t even be driving you. Are you a convict or something?”

“I’ve only been to jail twice,” I reply, flashing her a sly grin. “Try not to freak out. We’re not on the run.”

She smacks her hand on her forehead. “Fuck, I knew you were a criminal. This is so fucked.”

I’m about to say something to freak her out further, if only just to have some entertainment while we look for the tiny airport tucked out in the middle of nowhere, but I’m cut off by the sound of a helicopter.

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