Page 10 of The Primary Pest
“Signal’s weak.” Bartosz held his phone up.
Dmytro checked. “Mine too.”
One or two cars whizzed by theirs at a high rate of speed. Dmytro didn’t like that either. Disabled car plus fog plus the possibility of fast traffic was an equation for disaster.
“I’ll bet you’re rethinking the decision to change plans at the last minute.”
“Not really.” Dmytro was rethinking the job, not that he’d been given much of a choice. He was the best, so Zhenya and Peter had decided he’d be the best man for it. Plus, he had children of his own, and they believed he’d be able to make Ajax cooperate. But his kids were girls. They were sweet and only wanted hugs and rainbow ponies and to watch a hundred movies with him whenever they had him to themselves.
Ajax was… not that.
Dmytro glanced back. “We’ll have to cross to the motel and call Zhenya about the vehicle from a landline.”
“We’re sitting ducks here.” Bartosz narrowed his eyes. “When we cross the street, we’ll be ducks in a line at a shooting gallery.”
“I’m not fond of the situation either.” This came from Ajax. “My parents usually get the best security money can buy, but so far you guys aren’t filling me with confidence.”
“Iam the best that money can buy.” Dmytro was confused about many things but not that. “As for the car…”
Smoke had started to pour from beneath the hood. Some of it seeped through the dash vents. It didn’t smell like burning insulation or charred plastic—or like C-4 and gunfire—but Dmytro’s mind reeled with shock and panic, and he couldn’t stay inside the car. Not for anything.
He opened the door, leaped out, and then opened the rear door for Ajax. When Ajax didn’t move fast enough for him, Dmytro caught him by the arm and hauled him out.
“Hey.” Ajax yanked his arm away. “No touchy.”
“Take all the time you want inside a burning car.” Bartosz gave an indication they should get their bags. “I’ll wait and haul your roasted flesh outside later.”
“Mitya.” Bartosz went to the rear of the car and opened the hatch. He shoved Dmytro’s go bag into his arms. “Which bag has what you need, Ajax?”
“All of them.”
“Pick one.”
“The duffel.” Ajax pointed. Bartosz shoved it into his chest.
“Go. I’ll catch up with the rest in a bit.”
This time, Dmytro got a solid grip on Ajax’s arm and pulled. “Come with me. I don’t like being in the open.” They had tododge two cars, but they made it across the highway without accident.
Ajax gasped with pleasure once he saw the motel. “It’s a real-life midcentury motor court!”
“No choice now.” Dmytro gave him another little tug. “Come.”
“I’m not your pet.” Ajax fought him. “You get that, right?”
Dmytro eyed him. “If you were my pet, you would come when I say.”
“Oh, I’d come when you say.” Ajax smirked before yanking his arm away again. “But only in bed.”
“That’s harassment,” Dmytro complained. Plus, it was Ajax Freedom talking, not the almost bearable Ajax Fairchild. Dmytro gave him a sour glance before pulling on a door that clearly said Push.
Ajax said, “Um—”
“I see it.” When the door opened, Dmytro congratulated himself for finally winning a battle, even if it was against a door. “Get inside and wait while I help Bartosz with the—”
“No need.” Bartosz said from behind them. Somehow he had followed them burdened with every bag and box except the ones Dmytro and Ajax carried. “I’ve got everything.”
“Thank you.” Dmytro turned back to the front desk where the night manager sat on a barstool behind the counter.
