Page 20 of The Primary Pest (Iphicles Security #1)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Dmytro

Ajax Fairchild. Rich fags like you should die bleeding and screaming for your mothers.

Dmytro, Zhenya, and Bartosz had gone over Ajax’s messages and formed their plans while Ajax slept. In light of Ajax’s intransigence, Dmytro and Bartosz thought it best to be extra cautious about letting him loose, but in the end, he only insisted on breakfast.

Zhenya agreed because he believed the decoy they had in place was working. Dmytro didn’t hate the odds either. They’d taken a random vehicle. This was a random destination. He and Bartosz believed no one knew where they were except Iphicles.

The coffee shop wasn’t much to look at, but the place smelled delightful, a combination of maple and bacon and the yeasty, malty aroma of homemade waffles.

Gulls wheeled overhead, soaring and dipping to bother families eating outside and fishermen casting off the docks, pecking at bits of bait and diving to swoop things up from the water.

“This is so strange.” Ajax stepped onto the boardwalk. “Another little town I’ve never been to. I think I love the central coast.”

“It’s quaint enough.” Dmytro stayed on high alert, just in case.

“Too small for my taste. I need the crowds and filth of LA or San Francisco to feel halfway at home.” Bartosz stopped outside the gaily painted wooden door of the tiny café. “In you go, both of you.”

Dmytro opened the door and said, “After you.”

Ajax had dressed incognito as he’d promised. He’d slipped a beanie Dmytro found over his curly hair. He’d borrowed Bartosz’s sunglasses, making him look like a child playing spy.

Ajax started toward a table inside, near the window, where they could look out on the water but not be ravaged by the briskly blowing breeze.

Instead, Dmytro chose a recently vacated four-top that put him in line of sight to every threat that could possibly come at them.

He and Ajax sat with their backs to the wall, facing the entrance.

Bartosz sat across from them, his body angled toward the boats.

Dmytro took in the view—gray-blue sky, sailboats bobbing serenely in the murky water, seabirds angling for their breakfast—and all the things that had been twisting him up inside unknotted.

He began to relax. There was still an unease inside him.

He could see he’d confused Ajax, maybe even hurt him by acting as if they’d never spoken the night before.

As if they’d never exchanged confidences or condolences.

Dmytro bitterly regretted opening up to Ajax about Anton. About parenting. He shouldn’t have gotten emotional. Shouldn’t have let his guard down.

Trust—for lack of a better word—was supposed to go only one way in a relationship like theirs.

Now Ajax looked at him with new, hopeful eyes. And Dmytro would have to let him down again. It wasn’t unusual for a client to develop feelings for him. But this time it would hurt both of them to walk away.

“This isn’t so bad, is it?” Ajax asked.

“What’s not?”

“This place. No one has a clue who I am here. We can probably even take a few days to chill while Peter finds whoever’s been threatening me. No need for a boat.”

“If Zhenya says we get on a boat, we get on a boat.” Dmytro turned the breakfast menu pages with a snap.

“The boy likes boats as much as you do, Mitya.” Bartosz teased.

“What’s that mean?” Ajax asked.

“Motion sickness, remember?” Dmytro glared at Bartosz. “If we wear patches, it won’t be a problem.”

A couple stared at them from a nearby table. Ajax flushed. “Um, guys.”

“What?”

“Can’t you at least take off your jackets?” Dmytro and Bartosz were dressed alike—both men wore black jeans with black polos and sport jackets. Both were big and brawny enough to announce “hired muscle” to everyone around.

Ajax whispered, “You keep talking about me, but you’re the ones drawing unwanted attention.”

Bartosz’s eyes twinkled. “You think they’ll be less curious once they realize we’re armed?”

“I only mean—”

“Here you go, gentlemen. Thanks for your patience.” Their waiter carried a tray with water and coffee mugs toward them, smiling.

He was in his late thirties, wearing low-slung jeans and a skintight Harley-Davidson T-shirt.

His eyes stopped on Ajax like he was the last glass of water in Death Valley. “Ooh. What can I get for you, sugar?”

“Chilaquiles, please.” Ajax folded his hands on a placemat featuring eggs and bacon dancing together.

“You want your eggs scrambled or served sunny-side up?”

“Scrambled.”

“Shredded chicken?”

“Yes, please.”

“And for you, sir?” He nodded toward Dmytro.

“I’ll have the same.” Dmytro handed both his and Ajax’s menus over with a sour look.

The server turned to Bartosz. “And you, babe?”

“Fill me in.” Bartosz’s brows lifted flirtatiously. “Do I want waffles or french toast?”

The waiter gave it some thought. “The waffles are out of this world. Like donuts fresh from a waffle iron. Ever tried a bacon waffle?”

“I’ll take that,” said Bartosz. “Plus eggs and potatoes.”

“Wait, you have street tacos al pastor?” Ajax saw a sign on the wall. “Those are the little ones, right? Can I try a couple of those too? Chips and salsa?”

“You bet. What can I get you to drink with that, sweet thing?”

Taken aback by the man’s engaging smile, Ajax decided to capitalize on it. Dude was hot. “How about a pitcher of margaritas?”

“We’ll have coffee.” Dmytro took the menu out of Bartosz’s hand and practically slapped the server with it.

“I’d have had to card you anyway, sugar.” The next look the server shot him seemed more sympathetic than leering.

Ajax’s cheeks heated. “I’m of age. I have ID.”

“Don’t bother. It’s fake.” Bartosz shot him a pointed look.

When Ajax would have argued, Dmytro kicked him under the table and mouthed the word hiding .

Another commiserating glance from their server subdued Ajax, and he didn’t pursue it, but he made a mental note to make sure the bar was stocked on this godforsaken boat they kept talking about.

Although that was probably a terrible idea, what with both him and Dmytro getting motion sickness. Well… sometimes it helped if he ate.

Meanwhile, there was the waiter to look at and the boardwalk where people were already cycling and skateboarding. Laughing and meeting up with friends. Some were lining up for a harbor tour and some were waiting outside for their turn in the tiny restaurant. The place had filled up quickly.

“Guess we got here just in time,” Ajax observed.

Dmytro rested his elbows on the table. “Guess so.”

Their server brought them chips and salsa to go with their chilaquiles. Dmytro picked up a chip and played with it before dipping it. He brought it to his lips with enough salsa to savor, and ate it, chewing thoughtfully.

“It’s good, but hot,” he announced. Ajax got his own and tried it.

“You’re both insane.” Bartosz turned away. “I can feel the heat from here.”

Ajax glanced heavenward. “Every chili has its own flavor. My dad’s a hot sauce guy, so I’ve been schooled. Mom can’t stand the stuff, though. I think she’s afraid she’ll lose control and a tear will slip down her cheek where someone can see. She hates looking weak.”

“It’s not weak to cry.” Dmytro’s quiet words surprised all of them. Was that for him? Ajax had to wonder. He’d cried himself to sleep the night before.

Had Dmytro cried when Anton died? Had he cried for his wife?

Ajax wanted to lay his hand over Dmytro’s, though it would go over like an elevator fart. The waiter came by with their food then, and this time Ajax couldn’t see anything but him, his build, and his dazzling smile.

He must have let on what he was thinking because Bartosz laughed and said, “I think someone has developed a crush.”

“Little lysytsya .” Dmytro flicked the side of Ajax’s head. “We mustn’t draw attention, remember?”

Cheeks on fire, Ajax dug into his food. He was so hungry at first he barely tasted the flavors, but after a while, he started savoring each bite.

“This food is delicious.” He frowned. “What did you call me just now?”

“ Norka , more like.” Bartosz grinned at Dmytro.

Dmytro laughed so hard he had to cover his mouth with a napkin. “Yes. Very much so.”

“What was that?” Ajax asked between bites. “What did you say? Was it about me?”

“Dmytro called you a fox,” said Bartosz, scooping up his eggs.

“Fox? Oh.” Ajax was… not exactly offended. “Okay.”

“Bartosz called you a mink .” Dmytro’s lips twitched with hidden laughter. “I agree. Mink fits better. You’re a mink scenting its mate with the waiter.”

At this, he did a comic pantomime that made Ajax’s skin boil with shame.

“Fuck you both.” He forked up a big bite of creamy refried beans and seasoned rice. “He’s hot.”

Bartosz gave their waiter the side-eye and signaled for more coffee. “He is that.”

“But it’s more than that.” Ajax swallowed and took a sip of his water. “He’s just… real. He doesn’t hide who he is. He seems to like everyone. Makes them feel special.”

“I will say he’s wasted here,” Bartosz remarked while Ajax watched their waiter’s round, firm ass retreat. “Serving pancakes for twenty tables of tourists at a time. His mother must be so proud.”

“His mother should be proud as long as he loves what he does,” Ajax argued. “It’s not the number of people who—”

“How many Instagram followers do you have again?” Dmytro asked slyly.

Ajax lowered his gaze to his nearly empty plate. “Not as many as Cardi B.”

“The boy is a romantic attention whore, Mitya.”

Ajax sought out a clean napkin. “Do you have a pen?”

Dmytro’s brows drew together. “For what?”

“So I can give the hot waiter my number. What did you think?”

Dmytro stared at him in shock. “You have no phone. Plus, he’s far too old.”

“It’s cute how you think that’d be a problem for—Ow.” Ajax rubbed his calf. He glared when Dmytro didn’t apologize for bumping his leg again .

“Don’t stare at the old man,” Dmytro ordered.

“Everyone’s staring at him. He’s amazing.” Ajax laughed at the shocked expression on Dmytro’s face.