Die for Me (Killing Eve #3) - Luke Jennings Page 0,49
you’re basically a dwarf. Have you ever thought of doing porn?”
I sip a cup of tepid tea. I no longer have any idea what I’m doing, or why. Am I training to take part in a political assassination for the Twelve, or working as an undercover agent for Tikhomirov and the FSB? My compass is spinning. The only real allegiance I have is to Oxana. I’m rehearsing a murder to be at her side, and right now she won’t even look at me.
But then, this is how Oxana is. Loving her is a kind of death. I feel hollowed out, as if the core of my being has been eaten away, like an apple by wasps. Is this what she always wanted? To occupy and toxify me? To make me wholly, helplessly hers, and then simply detach herself?
Ginge, Charlie and I return to the firing point, and continue until dark. The wind gets angrier as the light goes, and the desolation of the place seeps into my soul, or what’s left of it. Charlie, meanwhile, is calm, patiently sending bullets to targets as I call the shots. I learn how to choose the moment to speak, how to align my breathing with Charlie’s so that they’re exhaling as the balloon is lifted by the swell, and squeezing off the shot as it achieves a millisecond of stillness at the peak of the wave. For all the differences between us, we’re a good team.
That night, as Nobby and Ginge exchange banter over the food preparation—impossible to call it cooking—and Oxana and I studiously ignore each other, Anton informs us that it’s Christmas Day. Pulling a liter bottle of brandy and six paper cups from a locker, he pours a large shot into each and hands them out.
We look at each other awkwardly. Oxana bolts her brandy straight down and holds out her cup for more, which Anton hesitantly gives her. She knocks that back too, and retreats into sullen silence.
Charlie sips their brandy and shudders.
“Don’t you like it?” I ask.
“I like it with hot chocolate, fifty-fifty. That’s how Emma and Celia used to drink it. By itself it’s too acid.”
“You’re very good on that gun.”
“I know.” They look at me earnestly. “But it’s super-helpful for me, having you spotting. At the moment it’s all just sea out there. But when we get to the real firing point you’ll see how important your job is. Do you like working with me?”
The question takes me by surprise. For all Charlie’s lethal proficiency, they can be almost childlike at moments. I’m about to answer when Oxana starts to dance. We all watch in amazement as she bops around the tiny space, winding between us with her arms and hips swaying. “Come on, everyone,” she sings out. “It’s Christmas.”
No one moves. Instead they watch open-mouthed as Oxana throws open the steel door of the container and shimmies outside. After a moment I follow her onto the unlit platform deck, where she’s still flailing around, her combat clothes flattened to her body by the salt wind. I grab her, terrified she’s going to go too close to the edge, and she twists violently in my arms.
“Oxana, stop. Please.”
She starts to speak, but I have to put my ear to her mouth to hear her words against the roar of the gale. “Didn’t you hear what Anton said? It’s Christmas.”
“I heard him, yes.”
“So don’t you want to dance with me?”
“Not here.” I drag her back toward the door. “Come inside.”
“Why won’t you dance with me?” She stares at me accusingly. “You’re so fucking… boring.” She screams the word at me but it’s plucked away on the wind.
I leave her there, her eyes streaming, her hair a crown of spikes around her face. Back in the container, the ping of the microwave announces that the food’s ready. It’s some kind of curry-based sludge from a packet. I help myself to a portion, but I’m so pissed off that I barely taste it.
Oxana comes back inside. Ignoring everyone, she takes a disproportionally large helping for herself, and starts shoveling it into her mouth. Her plastic spoon breaks almost immediately, so she throws the pieces on the floor and uses her hands.
There’s a moment’s silence, then Nobby launches into an anecdote about a woman he met in a club in Brentwood High Street and Charlie starts telling me how they’re sure they have a future as a Hollywood film actor, and what do I think, and I pull myself together