Icing on the Cake Chapter 8

“I don’t want anyone to get seriously hurt because of my affairs. Competent mercenaries aren’t afraid to get blood on their hands. Even killing people.”

Cheriot’s smiling face as he explained was oddly cold. Contempt briefly flickered through his eyes, and Yuri sensed an old hatred in his words. The disdain buried in his speech didn’t seem like mere rejection of those who lived by committing crimes—it seemed to stem from something personal.

For a moment, Yuri’s hands went cold. The word “good” was always an expression that caught in his throat like a candy he couldn’t swallow. He had been a sinner from birth and had willingly crawled through the mud to survive. So Yuri Kiselov was not someone who could hear such words, even as a joke.

His jaw tightened. He clenched the hand resting on his thigh into a tight fist. His trimmed nails dug into the skin of his palm, stinging. The sharp pain radiating from his flesh traveled through his veins and pricked uncomfortably at his heart. His soul whispered that not denying those words would be tantamount to deceiving himself.

But Cheriot had come for Alexei, after all. His friend was indeed someone who deserved to be called good, and Yuri didn’t want to unnecessarily undermine that reputation by stepping in. Still, unable to bear sitting there any longer, he opened his mouth, seeking an excuse to step away for a moment.

“Alyosha, I’ll get us something to drink.”

Slowly pushing his chair back and standing up, Yuri turned. As he started toward the kitchen, he thought he should offer something to the man he had now at least acknowledged as a guest. In a low voice, he asked.

“Do you want anything?”

Knowing that deliberately avoiding eye contact would come across as awkward, Yuri briefly glanced at Cheriot along with the question. The lime-green eyes, like translucent marbles, were staring straight at him. Looking into those eyes made him feel as though his lies were being read, and it made him nauseous. It had been a long time since he’d felt this way. Feeling embarrassed in front of ordinary people.

I thought I’d become shameless enough.

“If it’s something made with Yuri’s heart, anything’s fine.”

But perhaps he hadn’t become quite that shameless. Erasing his self-deprecating thoughts, Yuri twisted the corner of his mouth.

“Before I bring you cyanide, say it straight.”

“That’s a metaphorical way of saying coffee, right?”

Alexei corrected Cheriot’s misunderstanding.

“Unlike me, Yuri doesn’t say empty words.”

“Honesty is one of humanity’s virtues. It’s charming, isn’t it?”

Just when it seemed he’d eased up a little, Cheriot started his nonsense again. Yuri was about to point out that he’d apparently forgotten the earlier warning, but deciding it was just his nature, he chose to ignore it.

“I’ll bring black tea.”

“That’s exactly what I wanted.”

Cheriot never stopped talking. Leaving him to prattle on, Yuri spoke to Alexei.

“Black tea for you too.”

“Gladly, if you add whiskey.”

“You sound like an Englishman.”

Fully aware of Alexei’s preference for adding liquor to his coffee or tea, Yuri tossed out a light joke and left the living room. Walking down the hallway to the kitchen, peace finally returned. Fatigue washed over him belatedly, and Yuri squeezed his eyes shut, letting out a weary breath.

Roughly rubbing his face with his dry hands a few times, he reached out and opened the cupboard door. Inside was an old tin case where he kept tea bags. After finishing the Russian cookies his mother had loved in her lifetime, his father would always use the container for storing something rather than throwing it away.

Yuri stared quietly at the lid adorned with a matryoshka doll and suddenly felt a sense of alienation. Unlike his father, whose identity as a Soviet-born man remained firm even after spending more time in North America, Yuri had never once felt any sense of belonging. He was neither American, nor Canadian, nor Russian.

And he was certainly not a good person.

∞ ∞ ∞

Despite his delicate features, Cheriot seemed to enjoy alcohol as much as Alexei. Showing great interest in whiskey-laced black tea, he insisted on trying that dreadful concoction, asking Yuri for it. Alexei, in high spirits from the alcohol, egged him on, and after an hour, half a bottle of bourbon whiskey was gone.

Cheriot Gutnight’s commission was neither difficult nor easy. The organization he’d gotten entangled with was a biker gang spanning all of British Columbia, a large group that had crossed over from the United States. Though extensive investigations had reduced their size, they were still making money through drug trafficking.

As previously mentioned, asking for police help would be the cleanest solution, but because of Cheriot’s vulnerability—a weakness of sorts—he said he wanted mediation. Cheriot said the gang would likely want money, and Yuri and Alexei’s thoughts weren’t much different.

Still, criminals’ schemes often exceeded expectations, so they weren’t optimistic. Ordinary people don’t know how greedy trash who’ve abandoned their morals can be. The details would need to be investigated.

“How much are you willing to negotiate up to?”

Alexei asked, picking up a chocolate from the table and eating it. Cheriot dropped four sugar cubes into his freshly brewed black tea, then stirred it with a spoon.

“How much do you think they’ll ask for?”

“Don’t know. They haven’t made any demands yet. What exactly did the person you had an affair with say?”

Cheriot wrinkled his nose. With a look of “that’s too much,” he answered Alexei.

“Samuel? Sam just said it was dangerous and I should get help. I haven’t contacted him since.”

“You remember the number?”

“Yes, I memorized it.”

Alexei let out a whistle.

“Must be the love of the century. Memorizing numbers in this day and age.”

“I tend to give my best to whoever I’m seeing.”

Cheriot said this, then scratched between his brows with his index finger.

“If I’d known he was someone else’s partner, I would have cut it off immediately.”

“You can’t know if someone’s deliberately deceiving you. But weren’t there a lot of people approaching you for shady reasons? Being a superstar and meeting people without background checks… that’s naive.”

With the alcohol loosening his guard somewhat, Alexei was kinder to Cheriot than before. Alexei had always been soft toward ordinary people, and especially weak toward someone naive and seemingly unaware of the world’s ways, like Cheriot. Perhaps it was because he overlapped with the lover he had raised and cared for.

Yuri simply listened to their conversation in silence. Running the fixer business was ultimately Alexei’s domain; he himself was merely an assistant who helped when more hands were needed. Accepting or refusing commissions was ultimately Alexei’s responsibility… he was just there to help his friend. The payment wasn’t particularly important to him.

“I didn’t want to meet people that way anyway. Since it’s not like I’m dating them, just brief encounters, backgrounds don’t really matter.”

Right, he didn’t seem like the type to settle down with one person. That had been clear when he’d approached a stranger on the street, calling him handsome and hitting on him.

Alexei didn’t argue with Cheriot’s naive answer. Sipping his whiskey-laced tea, he fell into thought for a moment, then set down his cup and spoke.

“The commission…”

Yuri felt a gaze on his cheek. Having been looking at the living room ceiling reflected in his cooling tea, he raised his head and met Alexei’s eyes.

“Given Heather’s introduction and the circumstances, I think it’s fine to take it. Yuri, can you help me out? I’m pretty capable, but taking on a biker gang alone is a bit much.”

The answer was already decided.

“Sure.”

At his brief reply, Cheriot asked back in a bright voice.

“So you’ve decided to protect me?”

“It’s for Alexei, not for you.”

Yuri answered, cutting him off before he could spout more nonsense, and then laid out the plan he’d been organizing in his head.