Page 63 of The Primary Pest
He was alone. He was Ajax’s his only guard against these men and how many others?
He had no real weapons, only a slim blade concealed in his boot. He had no way to communicate with the outside world. Peter controlled the radio and phones, and he could fabricate any story he liked. Even if they were being monitored, Peter had said they were to rendezvous in fifteen. An impossible time to mount an assault on their own people.
Bartosz was right. They had been herded into a trap. Neatly played.
Peter would ransom Ajax and then get rid of all witnesses. When he returned to land, Peter could play the part of grieving coworker, and Bartosz, Dmytro, and Ajax—maybe Chet too—would be gone forever.
“Why are you doing this?” Ajax demanded. “Ransom? Iphicles, the most respected, the most expensive security on the planet, was in on the plot all along. Fucking Iphicles.”
“Now, now. If your parents pay the ransom—”
“How stupid do you think I am?” Ajax shouted. “I’m never meant to get off this vessel alive. I knew it. Ihateboats.”
“Stop whining and sit in the chair, Fairchild.” Peter motioned with his gun before calling out for his second-in-command. “Chet? Set the heading and come down here. Bring tape.” He lifted his gun and aimed it directly at Ajax’s forehead before turning to Dmytro. “And don’t you try anything, or I’ll put a bullet in the primary. The crew is mine. You can’t possibly take us all.”
Peter gripped Ajax’s arm and led him to a chair. Seconds later, Chet arrived, carrying a weapon and a roll of duct tape. He held Dmytro at gunpoint while Peter tore off large strips of duct tape to secure Ajax’s wrists and ankles to the chair. He taped Ajax’s mouth shut, leaving his eyes, blank and betrayed, to speak for him.
“Come with me, Dmytro.”
The way Peter said the words was final. Apologetic. Both men held their weapons trained on him. He had no doubt they planned to take him topside and rid themselves of him as they had Bartosz. Ajax knew it too. The despair in Ajax’s eyes broke Dmytro’s heart.
He rattled the chair beneath him, the noise loud, even over the engines.
“Quiet, faggot.” Chet pistol-whipped him. The sound was shocking, acrackagainst Ajax’s face that might have shattered bone. Dmytro winced as if the weapon had hit his own.
Blood spurted from Ajax’s nose. Dmytro doubted he’d ever been attacked like that before. Not possible, with security by his side his entire life. He doubted Ajax Fairchild had ever been spanked, much less manhandled—beaten—by a brute like Chet. A sick, twisted pleasure sat on Chet’s face. He’d enjoyed it. Dmytro had known plenty of men like him.
Bile rose in his throat. “Leave Ajax alone.”
“Or what?” Peter sneered. “Move.”
“Wait.” Dmytro had to think. To stall. He had to bargain. “Wait a minute. What’s your plan?”
“How can it matter to you?” Chet asked. “Seeing as how you’re gonna be dead?”
Ajax’s whimper tore a new hole of grief in his heart.
“It matters because”—he motioned toward Chet—“he’s stupid, and I’m not.”
“Just for that—” Chet made to strike Ajax again, but this time Peter caught his arm. Chet cried out in dismay. “But, Skipper—”
“My point exactly.” Dmytro hid his loathing. He hid his fear. He didn’t dare glance at Ajax because then the game would be over before he started playing. “I have my girls to think about. If you’re purchasing loyalty, isn’t it better to buy from someone who has everything to offer and everything to lose?”
Peter shook his head. “You don’t fool me, Kolisnychenko. We’ve had eyes—and ears—on you from day one. You fell for Freedom. You can’t fake your way out of this.”
“If it’s true you’ve listened, then you know my daughters are my life. I would do anything for them.Anythingto go home to them.”
Ajax moaned. Dmytro hardened his heart. He’d been in worse situations, but he’d never gambled for higher stakes. His only option was to play for time, and he wasn’t going to get that commodity by going over the side with a bullet in his forehead.
He glanced at Ajax. He’d only spoken the truth, but it hurt like hell to see Ajax assimilate it. To know he believed it.
“Talk.” Peter returned the gun to Ajax’s head. “You have one minute.”
“Skipper, my God, Kolisnychenko’s a fucking do-gooder. He—”
A single filthy look from Peter silenced Chet’s tongue.
“Has the ransom demand been made? The drop arranged?”
