Page 17 of Triplets for the Russian Boss

“A girlfriend?”

I laugh, and it feels good because it hides my nervousness. “No, I don’t think anyone really wanted to be with that weirdo. I’m pretty sure Crystal sucked him off once, but that’s because she was really fucked up and went through a bad breakup.”

“Crystal doesn’t know. In fact, nobody but you knows about Jerry, and that’s the way it’s going to stay,” Kostin says in a calm voice. “I am the new owner of the Diamond Score, but you will no longer be working there.”

“Are you going to kill me?” I ask, my heartrate doubling in an instant.

“I don’t kill people in the interrogation room. I take them out back for that.”

“Well, that doesn’t make me feel much better.”

“It’s not intended to,” he says flatly.

“Okay, so what’s the deal?” I ask, the flutter of panic rising in my chest at the thought of Kostin murdering Jerry. If he could do that to him, he could do it to me. What’s stopping him from taking me out back, after we’re finished in his so-called interrogation room?

“The deal is that I still have questions for you, and you’re going to be a good girl and answer them,” he says, leaning forward and letting the light from above catch his blue eyes. They sparkle, like they did on the night we first met.

“Ask away,” I say, masking my discomfort with more indifference than I actually have.

“Who else did Jerry know? What friends did he have?”

“Jesus, I don’t fucking know,” I say, shaking my head. “I wasn’t his babysitter.”

Kostin squints at me, then retrieves a cigar from his pocket. “We’re going to be here for a while,” he says. “Do you want another cigarette?”

“How long is a while?” I ask, deciding that I already do want another. Those fuckers never last as long as you want them to.

“As long as it takes, darling.”

Fuck, why does he keep calling me that? Moreover, why does it give me butterflies?

Kostin rolls another cigarette across the table, following it with a blue plastic lighter. It looks small in his hand, but it’s actually full-sized. “Let’s switch topics a bit. I want to know more about you.”

“What do I do with this?” I ask, holding up the smoldering cigarette butt.

“Floor. This place gets cleaned after every use,” Kostin replies.

Odd, but okay. I drop the end of my cigarette and pick of the next one, already feeling a churning in my gut from the nicotine. It’s been a while, but my body knows the feeling of a good buzz.

“Now, what’s your name?” Kostin asks, slipping the question in like it was nothing but another on his list.

To me, it’s not a question. It’s an attack.

I cough on the smoke, crinkling my nose and frowning at him. “Bubbles. You know that already.”

“Your real name,” he says flatly.

“Bubbles.”

Kostin jumps up from his seat, slamming his fist on the table so hard that it jumps up and smacks the cigarette from my fingers. I nearly fall out of my seat.

“Your real fucking name!”

Dead silence follows his outburst, settling into the room like snow in the night. I can barely breathe because of it, and my freshly lit cigarette is rolling around somewhere on the cold concrete floor, lost in the shadows, like the butt I dropped there.

“Bonnie,” I finally say once I’m able to find my words again. “My name is Bonnie.”

“Full name,” he says through gritted teeth, standing over me like a hawk.

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