Page 21 of Triplets for the Russian Boss

Bonnie

One minute, you’re sliding up to strangers at the bar, trying to relieve them of their paycheck on a Friday night, and the next, you’re hiding out at a Mafia headquarters in the middle of the night, rubbing the wide shoulders of the man who put babies in you just two short years ago.

He doesn’t know, but the fact that we’re already so close scares me. He’s bound to recognize me eventually, and even though I had my regular babysitter switch to a fulltime gig with a single phone call, I don’t think I’m going to be able to hold up this façade of being a wild and free stripper for long.

Kostin is going to find out, and when he does, I’m afraid of what he will do to me. Even more so, I’m afraid of what he will do to my precious boys. I can’t imagine him being that cruel, but I don’t know him that well -and apparently, he’s in the Russian Mafia.

It almost makes too much sense that he would be involved in something so crazy and evil. He’s charismatic, a natural leader, and his eyes can switch from warm and seductive to cold and brutal in a split second. It frightens me, just as much as it arouses me.

Kostin is sitting in a wide leather chair. He’s less intimidating when he’s sitting down, because he’s not towering over me like a yeti, but his broad shoulders are a stark reminder of just how large he is. They’re nearly as wide as I am tall.

I place my hands on his shoulders, squeezing the thick muscles, trying to work out the knots that have found themselves there. He’s tense man, and that betrays the calm demeanor he always wears. Maybe it’s a mask, to hide the stress of running such a dangerous organization.

“You’re very tight,” I say, the words slipping out of my mouth before I have a chance to filter them. I know he’s going to twist them back on me.

“And I bet you’re tight too, darling,” he replies, a hint of amusement in his deep voice.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I mean, you’re all tense. Do you never get massages?”

He shrugs, lifting my hands up to his ears before they fall back down again. “I’ve never had a masseuse. Usually, I’m too busy for that sort of thing.”

“You can’t have been busy this weekend,” I reply, working my thumbs deeper into his crisp collared shirt.

“I was taking some time off to celebrate closing a weapons deal with a manufacturer in Russia. The imports are cheap, and the cut we get is quite hefty,” he explains. “But you know, if you say anything about that I will have to kill you.”

He says it like it’s not a big deal, but I know he’s serious. I’ve seen him kill a man with so much casualness that one would think he did it every weekend.

But, who’s to say that he doesn’t?

“Your work sounds a lot more stressful than mine,” I reply with a laugh. “Have you ever thought of retiring?”

He tilts his head back, curls resting gently on my belly as I continue to work his shoulder. I try not to look into his eyes, but they pull me in like gemstones.

“Do I look that old?” he asks, and the question sounds genuine.

I look deeper into his eyes, reliving the night that changed my life in a fraction of a second. I look away. “No, you have a youthful gaze.”

He chuckles, rolling his head forward again. “I think I’ve heard that before.”

Oh shit, was I the one who told him that, at the club two years ago? How would he even remember something like that?

I massage him harder, hoping to sweep his thoughts away with a healthy dose of muscle relaxation. He groans, melting in my hands and growing limp in his seat.

Thank god, because I can’t handle any more questions about where he knows me from.

“I’ll need a massage every night,” Kostin says, after a few minutes in silence. “The job is indeed quite stressful.”

“Every night?” I ask.

“Is that too much for you?” he asks.

“No, but does it have to be at night?”

“You’re used to working at night, and I have to work during the day. I’m a busy man.”

“Of course, but…” I don’t know how to put this, but I know rubbing his shoulders and probably all other parts of his body more likely to get me in trouble in the evening. When the sun goes down, people behave differently. A tired mind is the devil’s playground.

“There are no butts, except for yours,” Kostin says smoothly. “If you want to argue the details, you should’ve done it earlier.”

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