Page 1 of The Primary Pest (Iphicles Security #1)

CHAPTER ONE

Dmytro

Ajax Freedom. Your time on this earth is at an end. Prepare to meet the God you denigrate. Prepare to pay for your sins. Prepare for the coming bloodbath.

Death threats came hourly to Ajax Freedom, the internet persona of their client, Ajax Fairchild via his website, but you wouldn’t know it from the slow, deliberate way he dressed.

Like a stripper in reverse, he smirked at Dmytro, daring him to react to the bulge in the boxer briefs he wore beneath loose, soft jeans that hung open while he pulled a Henley on over his pale, well-muscled body.

He put on and zipped up a hooded sweatshirt.

Dmytro frowned into his phone. The client was apparently trying to get a rise out of him, but this was the twenty-first century. Did the boy expect him to blush with maidenly modesty?

Modern, rational thinking didn’t stop the shockwave of intense physical attraction, but Dmytro had practice hiding his reactions from the most dangerous men in the world. This pampered boy-man posed no problems for him.

“It’s 7:57 p.m.,” Dmytro warned. “Be ready to leave in three minutes.”

“All right.”

“All right,” Dmytro echoed uselessly. Ajax had been walking around in a provocative state of undress since they’d finally lured him out of his room.

Dmytro took solace from his phone and his daughters, Alexandra and Penelope, who had texted him that they missed him and couldn’t wait for him to get home.

The two little girls were the most important people in his world.

If he messed up on the job, the least that could happen was those two angels didn’t eat.

Dmytro had been hired to keep Ajax Freedom alive, so that made him number three on Dmytro’s list of people to care about, if only until the job ended.

Freedom could run about naked and swing from the chandeliers, flaunt himself in front of the men who protected him, or make crank calls to the White House for all Dmytro cared, so long as Dmytro got back to his girls in one piece.

He hid his smirk behind an impassive face. The egregious display of pale, freckled skin wasn’t getting Ajax anywhere, even though said skin was pretty, creamy, and looked velvety soft. Plus… freckles. A particular kink. Still, nothing Dmytro couldn’t handle.

Ajax fussed noisily in the closet for a few seconds before turning to say, “Well? Are we going?”

Dmytro briefly lifted his gaze from his phone. “Has three minutes passed?”

With a huff, Ajax fussed in the closet some more. He muttered, “Suitcase, suitcase, sports bag, garment bag, messenger bag, backpack, laptop bag.”

“Nuh-uh,” Dmytro reminded him. “Laptop stays here.”

Ajax appeared aghast. “I thought you were just saying that to piss me off.”

“When I want to piss you off, it will be unmistakable. Leave the laptop. You’re on an enforced digital time-out.

” Dmytro had cloned Ajax’s phone and pulled the batteries from it, disabled his desktop, and confiscated the laptop, his fitness tracker, and anything else that could be traced.

They had allowed the young man to keep his fancy dive watch but had disabled its GPS.

The rest of his many devices had been secured or would be stored.

They’d checked his bags. “Think of it as a chance to go old school and read a physical book.”

Ajax frowned. “When was the last time you read a physical book?”

“None of your beeswax.”

“Fine.” Ajax handed over the bag he’d filled with outerwear.

“Please use the next two minutes to double-check that you have everything you need.” Dmytro scrolled through his texts, looking at the drawings his daughters had sent recently.

The picture Alexandra—Sasha—had sent of Mrs. Whatsit was wonderful, although he could hardly stand to look at it.

She’d made Whatsit’s eyes glisten, and they seemed to follow him no matter how he held his phone.

Dmytro didn’t know about art. His sister Liv once said it had something to do with shading and negative space.

Sasha was going to be a real artist someday, sophisticated and subtle, like her late mother.

With a sigh, Dmytro texted that yes, he’d watch A Wrinkle in Time with Sasha and Pen again when he returned, although privately he thought children’s movies were going to destroy humanity. So much music and magic and mystery.

You are more than you believe.

Everyone hoped that was true, but no one actually was more, they were only different.

He eyed his client.

There was something intrinsically wrong with a job that took him away from his children to protect someone else’s.

He was good at what he did, but his methods never deviated.

Get in, keep the client alive while the rest of the team from Iphicles Security—the bespoke service he worked for—neutralized any threats, and get home.

Pen’s drawing showed her love of geometric shapes and primary colors. There was nothing nuanced about Pen. He liked her drawings as much as her sister’s. They both showed promise to him. He put his phone away and checked the peephole. Peter stood by the elevators, keeping watch in the hall.

“Time to go.” When Dmytro moved, he moved quickly.

He could spring from a twenty-minute power nap into a melee with no ramp-up time at all.

He picked up Ajax’s duffel and looped the shoulder straps over his neck.

Next came the messenger bag, and finally the backpack and one of the suitcases.

There was no point in arguing about the amount of luggage a client had.

One simply found a way to carry it. Sometimes, if one had to, one carried the client as well.

Ajax froze like a gazelle faced with a cheetah.

“You take the wheeled Pullman. I’ve got the rest.” How Dmytro wished people wouldn’t dither .

Ajax dropped his hand on the Pullman’s handle as if he didn’t know how to work it. Was this man—this rather young man—incapable of following basic commands?

It’s a shame for his parents.

He took out his phone and texted his sister, who was watching the girls.

D: This job will drive me mad. There is nothing to do but squat in a safe house and keep him from doing something stupid until Peter tracks down each of the threats. He has a bag of toys, I think.

L: Peter? she’d texted back, but he was sure she meant it as a joke.

D: No, the boy.

L: Mitya. You must treat even a stupid client with respect and kindness. She could lecture him about anything.

D: Of course. When have you known me to be unkind?

“I’ll take the Pullman too.” Dmytro took its handle. “When we leave the room, stay behind me.”

“It’d be easier to let them kill me now,” said Ajax. “At least then I won’t be bored to death.”

“Don’t worry.” Dmytro concealed his irritation. “I’ll keep you safe.”

Freedom didn’t look reassured. “Who’ll keep you safe while you’re carrying all that?”

The boy had a point, but what could he do? Dmytro pocketed his phone and glanced both ways before turning to Ajax. “We’re going to pretend we’re mice. Be as quiet as you can.”

“Okay.” Ajax held up a finger and ran across the room. “Just a sec. I need my cards at least.”

With a deep sigh, Dmytro closed and locked the door again. “This might be what I meant by do you have everything ?”

“I have everything. I just need these too.” Ajax got his cards and went back to the coat closet, where he wrapped a soft-looking scarf around his neck, tugged a slouchy beanie over his hair, and slid on a pair of sunglasses.

Not bad. With his dark curly hair hidden and his trademark chiseled face obscured, he didn’t look like his internet persona anymore. Dmytro nodded his satisfaction.

“Better.” He checked his weapon, returned it to his holster, and gripped the door handle. Once he wrenched it open, he checked the hallway again. All clear . He and Ajax moved toward the elevators and Peter. The three got in together.

As soon as the doors closed, he and Peter stepped in front of Ajax, keeping their bodies between him and anyone on the outside.

They traveled to the lobby of Ajax’s condo building without stopping, and when the doors opened, a further reassuring nothing happened.

Dmytro and Peter swept their client out the revolving door and to the curb where Bartlomiej waited with the town car.

Dmytro left the luggage for Peter to stow and settled Ajax into the back seat. Then he got into the front on the passenger side with a huff. He bitterly resented being unable to drive after suffering a head injury and seizure a few months before.

“All right?” Dmytro greeted his colleague.

“All set.” Bartlomiej, whom everyone called Bartosz, sat behind the wheel with the engine running. “Don’t pout. You’ll be driving soon enough. In the meantime, you’ve got me. Enjoy.”

A few more months without a seizure and he would regain his driving privileges. Until then, he did what he was told. He rolled the window down and called to Peter.

“Be well, brother.”

Peter waved before melting into the night.

“He left?” Ajax asked. “Why’d he leave? Where’d he go?”

Dmytro closed his window. “We’re a team. We split up when we need to. Peter’s going to seek out and neutralize your admirers while we take you to the safe house.”

“Lucky me.” He didn’t sound like he felt lucky.

“Drive, Bartosz.”

“Bartosz,” Ajax addressed him. “Any chance we could hit a drive-through? I need something to drink. Which, I’ve gotta warn you now, will probably come right back up because I get really carsick.”

“Perfect.” Dmytro winced. “Do you need to sit up front?”

“It wouldn’t matter if I did.”

“All right.” Bartosz nodded and said in Ukrainian, “He’s like you, my very special snowflake. Did you bring an extra patch?”

“Not this time.” When Bartosz started to snicker, Dmytro gave him a warning grunt.

To Ajax he said, “Your lucky day. I have meclizine. One tablet and you should be fine.” He handed a blister pack of pills to Ajax along with a bottled water.

“Make sure to drink all of it. The medication will give you dry mouth.”

Dmytro popped the pill and cracked open his own water.

“Nighty night, boys.” Bartosz’s voice took on a teasing quality. “You’ll both be sound asleep before we hit the highway.”

“You have the directions?” Dmytro asked.

Bartosz rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry.”

Dmytro glanced at Ajax. Bundled up like he was, he barely looked older than six-year-old Sasha. About as defenseless too. In Bartosz’s native Russian, he asked, “What do you suppose makes someone want attention so badly they’ll do any repulsive thing to get it?”

Bartholomew shrugged. “He’s a good-looking boy. I could find a use for him.”

Dmytro groaned. “Don’t be that guy.”

“I’m teasing.”

Dmytro hoped so. Bartosz was a professional, after all.

Ajax hissed, “Speak English. You’re being so rude.”

“I told him I’d like a corn dog.” Bartosz smirked at the rearview mirror. “Do you still want a drink?”

Ajax’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, please.”

“I’ll get you a corn dog.” Dmytro cuffed Bartosz for that.

“And Jalapeno cheese peppers and a strawberry lemonade slush,” Bartosz added.

“Fine.”

“That’s poppers ,” Ajax corrected.

“What is?” asked Bartosz.

“Jalapeno poppers,” he continued in a didactic tone, “are jalapenos stuffed with either cream cheese or cheddar, dipped in batter, and fried. They’re called poppers .”

“Thank you for educating us.” Dmytro was never that arrogant.

At twenty-two, he’d been a homeless thug with two lucky gifts: a mild form of genius with foreign languages and the ability to read very fast. By chance, he’d connected with a crime boss who needed a translator with muscle.

The man had introduced him to classic literature, a love of which they’d shared until Dmytro tried to walk away.

That went poorly, to say the least. One didn’t walk away from the Russian mob.

Dmytro met Bartosz’s amused glance before retrieving his phone from his pocket.

D: Good news, the client is probably not stupid. He’s just a mudak.

An asshole.

Liv would understand.