Page 30 of The Primary Pest (Iphicles Security #1)

He didn’t dare look at Ajax. Didn’t dare, because to look at him would be to give away everything.

How much he cared. How hard he yearned. How badly he wanted what Ajax offered—his humor, his body, a chance at something beautiful when all of this was finished.

Ajax wasn’t warm like sunflowers, he was lightning in a bottle.

Ajax may have won his heart by giving away his hat and scarf to a pregnant woman who looked cold but he’d sealed Dmytro’s fate with his willing body.

If this ploy didn’t work, if he failed and Ajax died, even if Dmytro went home safely to his daughters, he knew he’d never feel warm again.

Ajax was nothing like Yulia, but his heart was something new and precious. Something real and good. Perhaps this new trial was penance for Dmytro’s past. For all the times he’d turned his back on human misery.

Maybe he would finally pay for the suffering he’d caused others in his lifetime.

All the pain he would cause in his future now that his trajectory had changed again.

Perhaps this was what he deserved—to lose everything one thing at a time.

His humanity, his future, his girls, his life, the man he loved…

Wait. Loved?

Don’t look at Ajax. Don’t look. Don’t look toward the chair where Ajax is tied. Where he sits bruised and defeated and weeping softly.

When had love happened? Had it begun with that dimply, arrogant smile?

Had it begun with Ajax’s first wisecrack?

The meal in the back of the town car that ended so wretchedly?

Or did it have more to do with the generosity Ajax showed to others?

Or Ajax’s body when he’d risen from the water like a young god, dripping and wet?

Had he fallen when he’d discovered Ajax’s secret anxiety, why he tapped his fingers, counting off the decimals of pi to hide his fear from others and control it for himself?

Did he truly love Ajax Fairchild, the brash boy, whose maturity outstripped his years?

Unlike Ajax, love had slipped beside Dmytro silently, effortlessly, shyly, and permanently. It had attracted no attention to itself because it simply was .

Dmytro would protect what they had together with everything he had.

“Have they asked for proof of life yet?” he asked.

Peter nodded. “His livestream last night. I wired instructions to his parents through the same channels.”

Peter let his weapon drop. Dmytro hid his relief. “If they contact Iphicles for help in arranging the ransom, they’ll ask for another look at him right before they make the drop.”

“Not this time. It seems the Fairchilds no longer trust Iphicles because of the dog-and-pony show you and Bartosz put Ajax through.” Peter grinned, motioning for him to lead the way up the stairs. Dmytro hesitated for a few long seconds.

“Come on, Dmytro,” Peter coaxed. “Old war horses know when to fight and when to go home. You’ve given me your loyalty, or rather, you’ve sworn on your girls’ lives. I don’t expect more.”

“What about what I expect?”

Chet laughed and spat at Dmytro’s feet. “Expect nothing, ’cause that’s what you’re getting.”

Peter seemed to agree. “You’ll take your girls and be grateful.”

Dmytro hesitated. Christ, if he pushed and fucked this up—what should he do? What would he have done before Yulia when the glaciers inside him had been unyielding, unmoving? When he’d been frozen for so long he didn’t know what warmth was?

“Fuck. That.” He turned with a frown. “I’ll expect my cut. I can be bought easily, but not cheaply. What’s the asking price for the boy?”

“That’s none of your goddamn business,” Chet answered.

Dmytro glared. “Nevertheless, I expect a share. We can bargain, but don’t for a moment think I won’t be paid for this.”

Chet shoved him. “Or I could kill you. Say the word, boss.”

Dmytro’s gaze shifted to Peter. Had he planted enough doubt about their chances?

“That’s right, Peter. Go back to Zhenya with only Chet and some idiotic story about me and Bartosz being outgunned during a ransom drop.

At sea. You won’t last an hour. I’m the key, Peter.

Don’t fool yourself. Only I can make this happen for you. ”

“Chet, go back to the bridge,” Peter said finally. “I need to talk to Dmytro alone.”

“ Skipper .” Chet’s jaw dropped with shock and disappointment.

“Don’t be an ass. He’s right. We go back without Bartosz and Dmytro and Zhenya’s gonna see right through us. Dmytro will help us sell this thing and then we can punch out. Just like we said.”

“There’ll still be new identities and lots of cash, though, right?” Chet asked.

God, what a loser.

“That’s right, Chet. We’ll go to Ukraine. No extradition there. We can try out some nice Ukrainian girls for a change.”

Chet narrowed his eyes at Dmytro. “Just you and me, Skip?”

“Right, Chet. Go man the bridge and listen out for any chatter on the radio.”

“Okay, boss.”

Chet skipped up to the bridge and disappeared, leaving Dmytro to eye Peter with some distaste. “He has no idea he won’t survive this, does he?”

“What do you mean?” Peter’s eyes shone fever-bright, and for the first time, Dmytro wondered if he was on something. “We’re all going to Ukraine. You, me, and him. We’re gonna need a native speaker. We’ll be the three amigos.”

Which meant no. Or yes. It meant Peter was an inveterate liar, or he was making things up as he went along to confuse them.

If Dmytro was right, neither Chet nor he would ever see shore again. Not if Peter had anything to say about it. Was that even his plan? To make a ransom drop at sea? It was up to Dmytro to make sure he was the last man standing.

Oh, Ajax… Please don’t believe anything you heard me say just now.