Page 81 of Cashmere Cruelty
Everybody takes the hint. They stand up, nodding their heads in respect. “Yes,moy pakhan.”
“Good. I’ll see you next month.”
They file out. One by one, until it’s only me and my inner circle remaining.
It’s Yuri who speaks first. “You shouldn’t talk to them like that.”
“Why not?” I retort. “They’re my men.”
“They’re yourtopmen,” Grisha corrects gently. “And they matter. If you treat them like they don’t, they’ll get fed up eventually.”
I look from one to the other. “Christ, you’re creepy when you gang up. Can’t you go back to bickering like an old married couple?”
“He’s old enough to marry? I didn’t notice,” Grisha taunts, earning a scowl from Yuri.
“Don’t you have a bullet to test?” Yuri retorts acidly. “Or a bingo game to host?”
Good. World order’s restored.“Alright, break it up; I changed my mind. Grisha, you go back to the hotel. Yuri, with me.”
Grisha gives a courteous half-bow and leaves, but not before pinching Yuri’s cheek, to which Yuri responds by trying to bite his finger off, but that’s to be expected.
Afterwards, to my growing surprise, Yuri says, “He’s not wrong, you know.”
I turn. “Alright, who are you and what have you done with my brother?”
“I’m just saying,” Yuri insists. “Thevorymatter.”
“Thevorydon’t matter,” I spit back as we head for the exit. “They’re not blood.That’swhat matters. And that’s you and me, Yura—no one else.”
Yuri falls silent next to me. I get into the elevator and listen to my own words echoing in my head.No one else.
For now, anyway.
25
APRIL
“You don’t understand!” I freak out over the phone. “Islept with him.”
On the other end of the line, June snorts. Because of course she does. My best friend, everyone. My ride-or-die, my soul sister, ruthlessly making fun of me in my time of need. “I mean, that’s nothing new, though, is it? Clearly, you’ve done that before, or else?—”
“I know how it works, June!” I stop her before my face can go up in literal flames. “You don’t have to give me the talk about the birds and the bees. I think I’ve got that covered.”
“If you saaay sooo,” June sing-songs.
“Ugh, I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Yeah, I don’t.” I flop on the couch with a sigh. Then I scramble back up, because that’s the ottoman where—where we?—
“Did you see a bug?” June asks.
“Worse. I saw the death of my dignity.”
“Look, what’s the big deal?” June asks over the buzz of background conversation. I shouldn’t be bothering her while she’s on a shift—but then again, she’s the one who said, and I quote,If I have to pay attention to one more teenager counting pennies for a milkshake, I’m gonna put my head in the blender. Please, distract me.“You guys hit it off once. It’d be stranger if you never fudged again. I don’t get what the big deal is.”
In any other circumstances, June’s feeble attempts at censorship would make me laugh. Especially since those coin-counting teenagers probably know three times the amount of swear words we do.