Security’s beenon my mind. Has been since I moved in. But I think I’d like a better level, not just a change of passcodes, so I send Isaak a message. He sends back a thumbs-up.
Demyan keeps focused on his phone, so I send another message.
Me
Top level security.
After a moment, my phone lights up again.
Isaak
Chase’ll know. All fine? Aren’t you at dinner with your lady?
Me
Demyan.
Isaak
Do I want to know?
Me
Workout fodder, man.
I then check in with Elisei. And Denis. They must think I like to hover.
Demyan is still texting.
With a sigh, I give up, put my phone down, and stare at him. “Demyan?”
“Busy. Like you are.”
I could buy that if mine lasted for more than two minutes and not been contrived. He’s texting like he’s in the middle of a crisis. But Pavel would have let me know if there was a crisis.
Not out of disloyalty, but because Pavel knows I’m an ally, unlike Demyan here. And Pavel actually respects my expertise.
“I swear to fucking god I’ll rip away your phone,” I say.
He doesn’t look at me. “Try it and I’ll shoot you.”
“Not if I shoot you first.”
Demyan lets out a long sigh, and when he puts down his phone, I can see a Russian blog on his phone’s screen on…renovations?
The ass wasn’t even texting people. I’ve never seen him pretend like that.
I bite the inside of my cheek. “Demyan?—”
He stops a waiter who passes by and orders a vodka, effectively shutting me down.
I clench my jaw and finish my wine. Then, as the waiter who served us comes up with the dessert menu, I order a bourbon. Two, actually, because fuck Demyan.
“I’ve always known you’re a stubborn asshole,” I say to him in English. “But you’re entering award territory.”
“I hear sounds,” he says in Russian. “Buzzing like those little blood-sucking creatures.”
He knows what a mosquito is.
