“I need a shower.”
“AndIneed to have a look around and call someone to tow the car,” Bartosz reminded him. “Or have you forgotten protocol so soon in the face of—”
“Fine.” Dmytro flung his bag on the bed closest to the window before handing the orange leaflet over. “You go. At least order some food.”
“I will. Be nice to the primary.”
Ajax waved. “The primary would be me. Be nice.”
In their shared language, Dmytro said, “You have thirty minutes, because if I don’t get a break from this kid soon, I will kill someone. There’s a fifty-fifty chance it will be you.”
“I hear you,” Bartosz replied. “Don’t get bent out of shape. I’ll bring something to eat for now. We can decide how long a leash our boy will get later.”
After Bartosz left to check out the motel’s security and call for a tow, Dmytro slid a look Ajax’s way. Perhaps he should speak to him. It paid to put the client at ease. There was no reason, after all, that he had to act tough. That kind of treatment worked for one kind of client—captain-of-industry types who expectedsecurity to be invisible and lethal. But for a babysitting job like this one? As Bartosz pointed out, they were in California, not Kazakhstan.
Perhaps being quiet, polite, and well-meaning would be enough.
He tried out a smile, and Ajax flinched as if he’d slapped him.
Okay. Maybe his smile wasn’t awesome. His daughters told him their friends found him frightening—something about his light eyes made people uneasy.
But comeon. He wasn’t a troll… He had the same looks his brother Anton had. Fifteen years older than Dmytro, Anton was considered handsome as a fairy-book prince by most of the women they’d known growing up. But Anton had been raised by their mother, who’d died when Dmytro was only six, and maybe it was her soft side, her sweetness, that tempered the rough discipline their father had forced on them both. She had imbued Anton with charm that Dmytro didn’t possess. Given time to grieve and age, their father had only grown ten times meaner. Dmytro had been smart enough to tear any softness out of himself before his father could beat it out of him.
Now it bothered Dmytro because Ajax was young and probably—rightfully—frightened. Except in certain useful situations, Dmytro didn’t like being thought of as scary.
“I’m not an ogre.”
“No, you’re the guy who’s going to curtail all my fun and freedom for the foreseeable future. I wish you were an ogre.”
Fair enough. They knew where they stood now. Dmytro didn’t like being thought of as a lead balloon any more than he liked being thought of as an ogre.
He was never going to get on the right foot with Ajax. But that wasn’t as important as keeping Ajax alive, so he decided to ignore him.Let’s see how you like that.
CHAPTER FIVE
Ajax
Ajax Freedom.I come ever closer. The world suffers from the sins of men like you, depraved and indecent. Indolent and lascivious. Only I can save the world from the peril you place it in. Only I know how to end the evil that you represent. There is no one who can save you now.
The newest threatof the I’m-coming-ever-closer variety said nothing revolutionary. None of it bothered Ajax anymore. Threats were a dime a dozen.
Besides, this motel was exactly the kind of place Ajax liked. From the drab paint, the crusty commercial carpet, and the bullfighter pictures on the walls, it was a classic California motor inn like the ones he’d seen on old Route 66 when he and his hippie-dippy grandfather had road-tripped together.
They weren’t chain places but had names like the Melody Inn and Serenity Lodge. They had a certain structure—a square U of buildings around a pool. They had icemakers at each corner. Other times he and his grandpa had stayed in little cabins wherethey’d felt like the only people in the world. He was dying to look around the place. There was a glassed-in spa and sauna room across from the office. No one had been in there when they’d walked by, but the water had to be warm because steam misted the glass.
Ajax liked both dry heat and the drama of dripping water over lava rocks to create steam. He enjoyed the anonymity of sitting with men who wore only towels inside the cedar-scented cubicles and made no eye contact as if it would be misconstrued. Dmytro and Bartosz probably weren’t interested in hearing what he wanted, but perhaps instead of the pool, they’d let him relax inside the closed spa room.
There were few cars in the parking lot, and no one could possibly know they’d be there. Surely it would be safe enough since there appeared to be only one way in or out. He made a mental note to ask, but then Dmytro and Bartosz started barking at each other in whatever language they spoke, and Ajax sat in the desk chair to wait and watch.
Dmytro, the taller one—the one with eyes like ice chips—had brown hair. In a breeze, some of his locks lifted in rippling slow motion like wheat.
Unlike every other thirtysomething guy Ajax knew, Dmytro’s hairline didn’t look like it was going to recede anytime soon. In fact, he had hair like some shady post-Soviet kleptocrat—thick and silky. In some places it glistened with hints of silver.
OMG, another silver fox. No fair. His parents had apparently hired a straight silver fox to guard him twenty-four seven—one who even looked like his old bodyguard, Anton, for God’s sake. Ajax glared at him and muttered, “Coincidence? I think not.”
Maybe they thought he couldn’t get into trouble with a fatherly type. That joke was on them. If ever there was a twink with daddy issues, that twink was him. He wanted to call a guyDaddy and get his ass spanked for being a bad boy sometimes. Was that so weird?
Guys his age were dumb. They wanted to play the field. Often they were tragically immature. Ajax wanted a guy who was settled. He wanted someone who had gravitas and intelligent conversation to offer. He wanted a man who could be patient with him because he was aware he could be… a bit of a pill. His heart was in the right place. He could treat a good man to fine dining, art museums, concerts, but he was thoroughly over clubbing. Was it too much to ask to stay home and cook and maybe throw a ball for a dog?
