Page 51 of Bitter Queen (Advantage Play 4)

The door to his office is open as we step inside. With his fingers steepled and his elbows resting against the desk, he taps his lips and inspects Q.

Like a raisin, she shrivels under his scrutiny and leans into my side.

Kingston quirks his brow but doesn’t comment on it as he orders, “Take a seat, Q.”

Shaking, she sits down on the edge of the cushioned chair across from Kingston then folds her hands in her lap.

“Look at me, Q,” Kingston demands, coolly.

Her trimmed fingernails dig into her palms, and her teeth bite into the inside of her cheek before she forces herself to look at him.

“It’s time we have a little chat.”

20

Q

I stay silent but hold his gaze and swallow back the bile that creeps up my throat. I am so freaking screwed.

“Who are you?” he demands.

“Queena.”

“And what’s your last name?”

“K-Kowalski.”

Satisfied, Kingston urges, “Do you have any family?”

I shake my head.

“No mother? No father?” Kingston prods.

Again, I shake my head.

“So you just miraculously appeared as a grown adult?” he challenges with a dry laugh. “Who raised you? Are they alive? If not, then how did they die? Do you have any grandparents? Siblings? I’m going to need details if we’re going to figure this out.”

My knee bounces up and down as I offer him a noncommittal shrug and deflect, “There’s nothing to figure out.”

“And I disagree. Listen, I want to make this as painless as possible for you.”

A low growl escapes D from beside me, cutting Kingston off. “Careful, Boss.”

Kingston’s intensity snaps to D before he leans back in his chair and raises his brows, practically begging D to confront him. “Something you’d like to add, Diece?”

“She’s scared.”

“She should be scared. She should be fucking petrified. Half the mob thinks she’s a Fed and is hunting for her head right now. Others are sniffing around, asking questions about her, and yet the one family offering to protect her seems to be the last to know the truth.” Turning to me, Kingston adds, “You need to start talking, Q. You don’t have a choice anymore.”

“I can’t,” I whisper. “I can’t do this.”

Kingston’s expression stays calm and indifferent. But the truth stays the same. He’s my judge, jury, and executioner.

“Like I said, you have no choice.”

Desperate, I turn to Diece and reach for him. “D—”

“Do you want him to lose a hand right now, Q?” Kingston interjects, that same cool indifference oozing from every pore.