Page 12 of The Primary Pest (Iphicles Security #1)

CHAPTER TEN

Dmytro

Ajax Freedom. I am the angel of the apocalypse, and I am right behind you.

Dmytro had learned a lot about Ajax in the brief time they’d been together. Ajax confounded a lot of his expectations. He might test boundaries and need constant attention, but Ajax was neither an idiot nor a wastrel.

In truth, he was a bit of a Renaissance man—a mathematician, an extremely competent hacker, a bit of an actor with a broadly ironic take on politics and the world in general.

He was claustrophobic. He had self-defense training and money to hire security on his own had his parents not done it.

After the threat to him was neutralized, he could go back to his secure apartment building and get on with his life.

Using Iphicles was overkill, even for a billionaire’s son, unless there was a credible threat. So why had he asked Zhenya about finding a gun range? Surely once this danger was gone, Ajax could go on his merry way.

What would Ajax choose to do next? He possessed surprisingly keen insight for someone his age. And every so often, caught in just the right light, he was…

Thank heavens Ajax was finally asleep.

Dmytro frowned into the darkness before lighting his flashlight going over possible threats.

Ajax didn’t take his Shearwater dive watch off while he swam or showered.

He removed it only to sleep. Despite turning off its hackable GPS, Dmytro discovered he wanted the extra insurance of a tracker only he and Iphicles could monitor.

He opened Ajax’s watch and placed a tiny military grade transmitter inside.

He closed the case, knowing what he’d done had probably ruin the waterproof features of the watch at depth.

He turned off his flashlight and crawled back into bed.

What he’d done wasn’t strictly ethical. He hadn’t discussed it with Bartosz in advance. Zhenya probably wouldn’t approve, as Ajax hadn’t attempted escape, but one never knew how one might lose a client.

Dmytro would not lose Ajax.

Later, Dmytro watched Ajax by moonlight. He took in his client’s closed eyes and sharp nose The dark smudges where his lashes lay on his high cheekbones. Plump, pursed lips, pale skin, beard shadow, and dark, curly hair… Ajax had a disturbing kind of beauty.

As if he knew he was being watched, his eyes fluttered open. For a second, he didn’t seem to know where he was, and then he smiled.

“Oh. Hi.”

Dmytro had trouble catching his breath. “Hello.”

“Are we doing the changing of the guards?”

Dmytro nodded. “Soon.”

His thick lashes fluttered closed, but Ajax’s lips curved into a smile. “Not too much ceremony, please. I need my beauty sleep.”

“No, you don’t,” Dmytro muttered as he rose from the bed.

Ajax’s eyes opened wide, and Dmytro could have kicked himself for saying anything.

“You’re infamous,” he improvised. “Compared to that, beauty is nothing.”

“You have no idea how little either of those things means to me.” Ajax pulled the covers over his head.

Dmytro wanted to walk away. He wished he could ignore the implication of Ajax’s words and simply switch places with Bartosz and walk the perimeter in peace, but curiosity got the best of him. “What makes you say so?”

Turning to face the wall, Ajax said, “My parents hate me.”

“Of course they don’t.” Dmytro pulled the curtain aside a crack. “They’re moving heaven and earth to keep you safe.”

Ajax laughed. “Which are you? Heaven or earth?”

The teasing tone caught Dmytro by the balls, but he couldn’t—wouldn’t—let his interest show. “Behave.”

“Okay, they probably don’t hate me.” Ajax fluffed his pillow and put his head back down, still not facing him. “But they’re ultradisappointed, which is far worse. They’re stoically bearing the weight of that disappointment for my sake. They’re ashamed to face their friends.”

“Then they have bad friends. You can earn back their respect.” This, he knew. Even after all the things Anton did and said before he left, Dmytro had loved the man he’d become. “Nothing is forever but death.”

“So I’d better stay alive, huh?”

Melancholy Ajax was unbearable. Dmytro much preferred outraged Ajax. “If you can manage it.”

Finally Ajax turned to face him. The grin surprised him. Warmed him. “I’ll do my bit, but it’s going to be way worse for you than me if I get killed.”

“I doubt it.”

“Have you read my mother’s CV? You don’t get where she is by allowing incompetence.” Ajax let his head drop back on the pillow just as the tap on the door signaled Bartosz had returned. Dmytro let him in.

“Hey, Bartosz,” said Ajax.

“Cold out there.” Bartosz shrugged off his coat. “Hello. Did you sleep?”

“No.” He filled Bartosz in on everything he’d missed. “Anything?”

“Nothing.” Bartosz stepped into the bathroom to wash his hands and splash water on his face before answering.

He returned, toweling off. He kept his voice low.

“The girl in the office was dancing with her headphones on, last I saw, but otherwise it’s quiet out there. What have you heard from Zhenya?”

“Everything seems legitimately coincidental as far as he can tell.”

“But you’re not convinced?” Bartosz asked.

“We’ll see.” He shrugged.

“Keep your eyes open, brother.”

Dmytro glanced back and caught a vulnerable expression on Ajax’s face, though he hid it quickly. The doubt had been visible and authentic all the same.

“Don’t worry. Next to me, Bartosz is the very best protection money can buy.”

When that didn’t seem to reassure Ajax, he put it down to the fact Ajax was receiving credible death threats on a daily basis. It was hard to find reassurance when that happened. He hesitated, wondering what else he could say.

“Are you a hen now? Go.” Bartosz gave him a shove. “I’ll take care of the egg.”

Ajax submerged himself beneath the waves of his covers and pulled his pillow over his head.

“Not as bad as he seemed at first.” Dmytro spoke only for Bartosz’s ears.

“You like children.” Bartosz switched languages. “You’ll be cured as soon as he throws a tantrum.”

Dmytro stepped out. He breathed deeply. The damp ocean air felt marvelous on his skin.

He was… uneasy. He’d missed his daily meditation goals.

Perhaps it was only that. He normally took some quiet time in the morning and evening to regroup.

Together with keeping his body healthy through exercise and good nutrition, meditation kept him emotionally balanced, despite the things he saw—or did—on the job.

Only recently, on a security detail in Canada, the principal had come under attack from her bat-wielding maniac of an ex.

The bastard had gotten a lucky shot to Dmytro’s head.

Thank God Bartosz had been there that time to disarm the fucker, but the hit had been brutal.

That job ended with the client safe, her husband in jail, and him in the hospital.

He stayed in the shadows as he silently stepped along the gallery, despite the hollow deck beneath his feet. He made his way down concrete steps and out to the parking lot to look around.

He didn’t like not having a car, even for the brief time it would take Zhenya to send another. He didn’t like the indefensible motel room or their too-smart-for-his-own-good client.

He was getting tired of Bartosz’s teasing.

Dmytro was an unlikely mercenary but not an inept one.

But for his birth order and his longing to take after his brother Anton—and not his father—after his mother died, he’d have chosen a different path for himself entirely.

Construction, maybe. Or if he’d been allowed to choose a fine art, then photography.

As an almost accidental enforcer, he was nevertheless truly gifted.

His first underworld boss hired him because he was fluent in at least six languages and conversant in two others. Then he’d let greed and power corrupt him, and with those two things, the need for violence arose more often than not.

Once he’d decided negotiating with people was a better gig than frightening them—or worse—he’d taken to protection work like a duck takes to tea smoking. That pragmatism led him to some hard times but also to Yulia, and his girls, and Zhenya.

If he worried about a client’s safety, it was only because he was the best .

It didn’t have anything to do with a certain person’s Renaissance angel good looks or his soft brown eyes.

Or his generosity of spirit, which was arguably the most attractive thing about him.

Dmytro’s anxiety was simply surging to the surface along with old fears.

He never wanted to lose someone he was supposed to protect again.

The parking lot was half-empty. Perhaps he should call it half-full? The fog still shrouded them, but it was late enough that few cars passed by on the highway. He made a quick check of the perimeter and then walked by the office where he found the door open a crack.

Hadn’t Bartosz said it was locked?

Even as he drew his weapon, his heart gave an unpleasant lurch.

He glanced toward the end of the gallery upstairs where Bartosz watched over the client. It fell to him to see if the girl had left for some reason or if something else was in play.

As he stepped inside the office, he reminded himself she might have gone to buy a soda or snack from the vending machines. He told himself she might be checking the grounds, or meeting a boy, or any number of things girls did when no one was looking.

But the moment he pushed open the door, the hair on the back of his neck stood up, and he knew.

He took out his phone and dialed Bartosz’s number. It rang.

“What?”

“Something is wrong.”

“Tell me.”

He stepped inside the room silently. Cleared the corners with his gun ready. He found the girl. She lay in the shadows next to a potted plant, bleeding from a head wound.

“The girl’s been attacked.”

“Wait. What? How? She was dancing just minutes—”

“Don’t know her status. She’s got a head wound.” He knelt. “Pulse is good. She’s breathing. Could be a robbery. Could be about us.” He resorted to his first language to save himself the trouble of thinking through translations. “What do you want to do?”

“We have no vehicle, but in these rooms, we’re sitting ducks.”

“Girl probably has a car.”

“We should come to you. Do you see anyone else around?”

“No, but you wouldn’t see me if I was hiding. There could be a dozen good men on the property waiting to pick us off one at a time.”

“But Zhenya said he’d narrowed the threat down to a few likely loners. Better to regroup. Stay together. Find a ride. Wait there. We’ll be coming shortly.”

“I should come to you. What if—”

“I’ll bring the boy to you safely. God’s sakes.” Bartosz clicked off, and not for the first time that night, Dmytro cursed him silently.

He recalled Bartosz’s teasing and Ajax’s lithe, lean body as he rose from the spa.

He wasn’t sure which was worse: Bartosz breaking protocol or the situation they found themselves in. Not because having enemies who wanted to kill them was a novelty. People had been trying to kill him all his life. That was business.

But this? Despite his misgivings, Ajax had grown on him.

The cloned phone in his pocket chimed. He pulled it out and glanced at it.

Ajax Fairchild. I am the one you can’t see in the darkness. I will force my hand inside you and tear out your organs one by one.

Dmytro’s skin crawled. They had to find this fucker and stop him because the threat had escalated.

Anton would want him to keep Ajax safe.

That made it personal for Dmytro.