Page 6 of The Primary Pest
“Not yet, no.” That got a brief unhappy flash of Dmytro’s cold eyes.
“What would it take?” Ajax leaned toward him.
“What do you mean?” The man’s thick, well-shaped eyebrows rose.
“What would it take for you to care what I think? Cash? Sex?” This was a big preemptive strike, and he thought he knew exactly where it would land.
Sure, it was reckless and stupid, but Ajax’s heart was pounding.
“If those are all you have to offer,” Dmytro said coolly, “I don’t believe I’ll ever care what you think.”
Ajax’s hands stilled mid-dunk. “That’s better.”
“What is?” Dmytro was obviously unhappy he’d lost control.
“Don’t pretend you like me. You were hired to do a job. We’re not going to be friends.”
“If you say so.” They finished the rest of their food in silence, and afterward, Ajax drifted, dimly aware of city lights passing by outside the car’s tinted windows. Then they were climbing the Grapevine. Darkness seemed to swallowed them as trafficthinned out. Only an occasional car heading in the opposite direction broke the illusion that they were the last people on earth.
Beside Ajax, soft whuffling sleep sounds reminded him he wasn’t totally alone. He yawned, turned his face to the window, and fell quite deeply asleep.
CHAPTER THREE
Dmytro
Ajax Freedom.You will be judged by your God and your fellow man. You are an abomination. The world will be a better place after you’ve breathed your last.
Dmytro wason the phone with Evgeni Ivanov, the owner of Iphicles Security, when Ajax’s eyes flew open.
“Bartosz, window. Stop! Unlock the door.” Ajax banged on the glass. He looked pale and sweaty with a delicate green undertone. “Stop the car!”
“Boss? Hold a minute, the client needs—”
“Shit.” Bartosz swerved off at a vista point and parked between a minivan and a pickup truck. Several people stood at the edge of the lookout, braving the wind and cold to enjoy a beautiful moonlit view of the valley in the distance. Ajax shouldered his way out of the car just in time to be sick on the ground.
The noise he made was incredible. Foul, retching, choking sounds.
Dmytro felt his own gorge rise. He’d killed men, sometimes in cold blood, but he couldn’tbearthe sound of someone getting sick. He dove out the door just in time to be sick too.
Somewhere behind him, Ajax hurled again. Fresh splatters hit the ground. The sound made Dmytro gag. He closed his eyes, blinked back tears, and breathed the fresh, desert air.
“Stop that,” he called weakly. “They can hear us getting sick at the office.”
“You stop.” Ajax didn’t stop. Dmytro felt himself going again. This was the crack in his armor. His true Achilles’ heel. Blood didn’t bother him at all, but give him someone vomiting, even one of his precious girls—
“Christ.” He heaved again, following Ajax in a pas de deux of wretchedness.
He wiped his mouth and dug his earbuds out of his pockets. Shoving them in, he hit Play and Dwayne Johnson sang “You’re Welcome.”
Memories of the film—of sitting with his daughters in a theater full of giggling elementary school kids—reinforced how out of place he was in a world that believed monsters were imaginary, and gods had sway, and good triumphed over evil.
Maybe this was his punishment.
Dmytro found a piece of Big Red chewing gum to fold into his mouth. The rear window on his side rolled down, and Bartosz shouted, “Everything come out okay?”
“Shove it.” Dmytro leaned his back against the SUV and automatically checked his weapon. He pulled an earbud out. “Are you done, Mr. Freedom? I have nothing left.”
Ajax called, “It’s Mr. Fairchild and… sorry.”
