Killing Eve Die for Me (Killing Eve #3) - Luke Jennings Page 0,32
in murder, recently released from Butyrka jail. Beside Lara, cradling a submachine gun, is the man I know as Anton, formerly a squadron commander in the Special Air Service and now the head of the Twelve’s “housekeeping” or assassination department. The second man is Richard Edwards, my former boss at MI6, and a long-term Twelve asset.
Pain folds into paralyzing despair. It’s over.
When they’ve disarmed us, the newcomers look around them, registering the upturned furniture, the bodies, the spattered walls and the congealing pools of blood. All three appear entirely at home among the carnage.
“So,” Oxana says, continuing to stitch my back. “You.”
“Me,” Lara replies.
In the clip, sent to us by the Italian police, she and Oxana were strolling down the Calle Vallaresso in Venice, window-shopping. With her straw cowboy hat tilted just so, Lara looked like a catwalk model. In the flesh, with a state-of-the-art sniper rifle slung across her chest and Dasha’s Makarov in her hand, she looks a lot more dangerous.
“Is she the one who killed Kristina?” Dasha asks, her voice so low I can hardly hear her.
“Are they the one,” Lara corrects her. “My pronouns are ‘they’ and ‘them’ now. But yeah, that was me. Sorry.”
Dasha frowns. I know that she wants to scream, to hurl herself at Lara and inflict agonizing violence on her. But she is a Pakhan, and does none of these things. “Just know this,” she says to Lara. “I will kill you. That’s a promise.”
“You’ve already killed three of our soldiers,” Richard says. “For a local bratva, that’s impressive.”
Dasha turns to Oxana, her green eyes steady. “These are your people?”
“Not anymore.” I feel her pull the final stitch tight.
“You’ve heard of Dvenadsat?” says Richard. “The Twelve?”
“I’ve heard of them,” says Dasha. “So?”
“So you’ve been extending your hospitality to two people with whom we have issues, Miss Kvariani. Mrs. Polastri here, my none-too-bright former employee. And her somewhat unstable girlfriend.” He inclines his head in our direction.
“And for this you murder an innocent young woman, storm my building with assault weapons, seriously injure two of the men who are trying to defend me, and kill a third? Fuck you and fuck your Twelve.”
“Our condolences for the loss of the girl. That was unintentional.” He looks at Lara. “She mistook her for Eve.”
“They mistook her,” says Lara.
“Your condolences?” My voice shakes. “You have a daughter her age, Richard. How would you feel if someone shot Chloe, and then turned to you and said it was ‘unintentional’? You fucking monster.”
Richard ignores me and continues to address Dasha. “All that we want from you is Villanelle.”
“Who’s Villanelle?” Dasha asks.
“I used to be,” says Oxana. “Long story.”
“She’s ours,” says Richard. “Bought and paid for.”
“Wrong, asshole,” Oxana says. “Those days are over.”
Richard flicks her a brief smile and switches his gaze to me. He’s wearing a velvet-collared overcoat and beneath it an old school tie, black with a pale-blue stripe.
“So, did Kim Philby go to Eton too?” I ask him.
“No. Westminster. Bit of an oik, our Kim. And a traitor of course, which I’m not.”
“And how are you not a traitor, Richard, may I ask?”
“If I could show you the big picture, Eve, you’d understand. But right now none of us has the time for that.” He moves away from me and cursorily examines the three dead men on the floor. “You’ll be glad to know that your attempt to fake your own death delayed us for a whole twenty-four hours. A convincing piece of work. We allowed your husband a glimpse of the photograph, and he was quite upset. This time, though, it’s going to be for real. Anton, would you kindly do the honors?”
Anton takes Oxana’s Sig from his pocket, and weighs it in his hands. “No. I’ve got a better idea.” Popping out the Sig’s magazine, he removes all the rounds except one, and then hands the gun to Oxana.
“Villanelle, shoot Eve in the head. Quickly please.”
My mind empties. At least it’ll be her.
“Get on with it,” Anton says.
Oxana doesn’t move. She’s calm, her breathing steady. She stares at the Sig, frowning.
“Am I going to have to do it myself?” Anton says. “Because I’d be very happy to. I just thought it might be more intimate this way.” He regards us with fastidious distaste. “I know how… fond you two are of each other.”
“If anyone harms Eve, I’ll shoot myself,” Oxana answers, raising the Sig and pressing the barrel to her temple. “I’m serious. I’ll blow my brains across the room.”