Page 9 of The Primary Pest (Iphicles Security #1)

CHAPTER SEVEN

Ajax

Ajax Freedom. When you think you’re safe, I will tear you apart and look upon your insides where the rot and filth reside.

“Sorry,” Ajax said stiffly. He jerked the door to the sauna closed behind him.

It felt like summer in Denver inside—hot and dry and relentless.

He was still thinking about Dmytro, about his losses.

How had he survived losing his wife? Sounded like she was the love of his life. She was like an armful of sunflowers.

Ajax gave her a moment of silence, much like he did for Anton every now and again. He wished for better things, a better future for Dmytro and his little girls, but he’d never been good with long silences or tight places, and this was no exception.

“You ever been to Denver?” he called through the door.

Dmytro’s one-syllable answer might have been yes, or it might have been no. Maybe he was on the phone again.

Despite Dmytro’s physical strength and toughness, Ajax had a hard time picturing him trail hiking or rock climbing in the Mile High City. It was too friendly. Too amiable and open for a guy like Dmytro.

He could picture Dmytro in Budapest or perhaps Prague. Those cities seemed like a natural fit for a man whose life was a romantic tragedy; perfect for a dangerous, repressed man like the one sitting outside the sauna doors in a skimpy swimsuit, holding a gun in a towel.

Ajax stepped out only to find Dmytro had moved one of the heavy iron chairs as far away from Ajax as possible. From there he could avoid conversation. Ajax didn’t need subtitles to read the man’s mood. He put his phone away.

“Was that your daughter?”

“None of your beeswax.”

“That’s not subtle.”

“Do I appear to be a subtle man?”

Ajax toweled sweat off his body. “Do you always answer a question with a question?”

Dmytro glanced away, presumably to give Ajax some privacy while he rinsed off under the shower before getting into the hot tub. Dmytro should worry about his own privacy. His Speedo showed every vein on what appeared to be a long, thick cock.

Bad enough Ajax’s godfather Zhenya was such a beautiful man.

Zhenya’s late business partner Anton—Ajax’s childhood bodyguard—had been gorgeous too.

Anton was the manly statue come to life who played with him and made his lonely nights a torment of inexplicable longing.

He’d died before Ajax was old enough to understand what he’d yearned for, but Ajax had never forgotten his first love.

Dmytro had the look of Anton—a similarly hewn jaw and an equally narrow, sharp nose. But Anton’s hair had been lighter, and where Anton’s eyes had been the color of Ajax’s mother’s Wedgewood bric-a-brac, Dmytro’s eyes were the color of the sky on a cloudy winter day.

He slipped into the hot water with a gasp of pleasure. “Why aren’t you coming in again?”

“Because I can’t shoot from under water?”

“Was that a question?”

“I phrased it as one, so yes?”

“That doesn’t make it one.” Ajax swam the short distance from one side of the hot tub to the other and back. “How long have you worked for Iphicles?”

“Long time.” Dmytro didn’t relax one iota.

Ajax sat on the bench in front of a jet and let his arms fall on the deck to either side. Nice to feel the water pulse against his stiff muscles. Hilarious how it blew up his trunks and made him look like he was farting. He laughed.

“What are you, twelve?” Dmytro asked.

“Zhenya is my godfather. Did you know that? He and his first partner, Anton, used to trade off going with my family whenever we had to leave the country. But Anton was killed in a plane crash.”

“I know.”

“Did you ever meet Anton?”

There seemed to be some hesitation on Dmytro’s part. Ajax caught a fleeting look of unhappiness. “Yes.”

“You look like him.”

“He was”—Dmytro frowned—“from Ukraine. Like me.”

“I loved Anton for real.” The heat on Ajax’s face had nothing to do with the spa. “His death was devastating for everyone in my family, but especially for me.”

“Me too.”

“His eyes were darker blue than yours, but other than that, you could be brothers.”

“Our mother used to call his ultramarine. She painted. She”—a sad smile appeared on Dmytro’s lips—“She called mine cerulean.”

“You were brothers ?” Ajax couldn’t help the burst of shock and sorrow. “God, I’m sorry I even mentioned him. Nobody told me. You lost two people you were close to. I am horrible at small talk.”

“We are brothers,” Dmytro said quietly. “There’s nothing death can take away from us.”

“I’m so, so sorry.” Ajax wanted to drown. “I just saw the resemblance—”

“There were six of us, but the others were years older.” Dmytro shrugged. “Anton was born when my mother was forty-five. I came eight years later. A surprise, as you can imagine. Anton and I didn’t have a lot in common since he moved to America when I was ten. But I miss him every day.”

Me too , thought Ajax. Of all his bodyguards, he’d liked Anton best. “What does that make you now? Thirty-five?”

“Thirty-six.” Dmytro seemed far away. “Just last week.”

“Happy birthday.” Ajax swam to the side of the hot tub to rest his arms on the concrete deck.

“Thank you.”

He was hungry and dehydrated, but he didn’t want to leave the magical no-man’s-land he’d created here—the ceasefire—where he could ask questions and Dmytro answered.

“Did your daughters throw you a birthday party?”

“Yulia’s sister helped them make me breakfast in bed.” Even though Ajax had brought up his dead brother, the idea of those girls made Dmytro smile.

“That’s cool. I cook for my mom when she visits. I make her diner food like patty melts and Monte Cristo sandwiches. She never eats stuff like that when I’m not around.”

“Maybe there’s a reason she doesn’t order those. Does she even like them?”

“Nah, she likes those foods, but they’re not very healthy. It’s a special occasion thing between us.”

“I haven’t met your parents yet.” Dmytro deflected away from himself. “Tell me all about them.”

“I really can’t.” They valued their privacy. The fact he couldn’t keep a secret to save his life was a sore point between them.

The problem was, Ajax actually liked his parents as people .

He was proud of them. They did interesting, important things, even if they mostly put him in a comfy box somewhere safe while they did them.

That was why the whole misguided Ajax Freedom adventure was so painful for everyone.

He’d been playing the part of the entitled, privileged asshat, which wasn’t his story. Well, not his whole story, anyway.

It hurt his parents to hear that people thought they’d done a terrible job raising him. His entire family—especially his parents—was disappointed in him, and anyone who believed in them now believed they’d raised a monster.

Iphicles—Dmytro and Bartosz and no more liberty for the foreseeable future—was the price he was going to have to pay for his stupidity.