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Price didn't bother wondering who the blocked number could possibly belong to. There was only one person, one man, who called him at this hour.
"Makarov," he growled as soon as he picked up.
"Price," Makarov drawled.
"What do you want?"
"I've just acquired the footage of you dragging MacTavish through the city. I thought you might want it."
"I don't."
"I found it very entertaining. The way he begged you to leave him behind is so sweet. Begging looked good on him. Maybe if he did more of it, he would still be alive."
Price gritted his teeth at the things Makarov hinted at but left unsaid. "You sick fuck."
"You of all people have no room to talk."
"I'd never sink that low."
"Then what are you doing with Yuri? Or..." He could practically hear Makarov's grin. "Could it be that Yuri got to fuck MacTavish instead of you? It certainly would explain the way you look at him. But why fight over a dead bitch?"
It took all of Price's control to not crush his phone.
"I will kill you," he promised.
"We will see about that."
"I hate you."
"I hate you too."
Price hung up.