Terminal Vendetta (A Diana Weick Thriller Book 3) Cate Clarke (little red riding hood read aloud TXT) 📖

the focus, the certainty, ringing over and over again in Diana’s head, that the Readers had to be stopped—a bullet in all of their heads. She would start with Zabójca. But she hadn’t forgotten about Cameron Snowman, the one who had started it all, the one who truly saddened her because she’d seen how good of a SEAL his father had been.

He didn’t have the right to wasted potential anymore. All of that had been reserved for Wesley.

Nelson Rank had been a Reader. Carson had been a Reader. Who else worked for this anti-military organization that was doing everything they could to destroy the structure that held up all of America’s defenses?

Her eyes slid over to Amber. Though he worked for MI6, it was possible that he had unsavory connections as well. It was clear his boss didn’t always follow the rules and was working on her own agenda, and whatever that was, for some reason, it heavily involved Diana.

No room for trust. No room for hesitancy.

They landed in Toronto, and from there, Amber hooked up a tablet to the airport’s wifi, getting their next location.

Diana gave herself a quick pat down in the airport bathroom, using the sink water under her armpits and between her legs to try and cover up the fact that she hadn’t showered in however long. There were still streaks of green paint along her neck.

As she rubbed at her neck with her fingers, the bathroom door opened. There was a click and a rustle alongside the tingle at the back of her neck.

In the mirror closest to the door, she saw the back of a man in a long tan coat, affixing the yellow cleaning sign underneath the bathroom knob so they would not be disturbed. He turned around, catching her eyes in the mirror.

His honey-brown hair was pushed back and flattened out with gel. He had grown a beard that covered the bottom half of his face. His eyes flickered with several expressions at once as he stared at her, tapping his fingers against his pants.

Taras Kushkin limped forward, raising his hands by his ears.

“You’re really just going to give up after all this?” Diana asked, turning to him as she rolled lip balm over her mouth. Kushkin had nothing for her. He was of no concern to her anymore. He’d barely been on her mind and maybe that was why he was here—a young, lonely man desperate for attention.

“I’m not here to give up,” Taras said.

“Did you follow me?”

“Yes,” Taras stated. “I did.”

“Why?”

“A few reasons…” Taras said, joining her next to the bathroom sink, taking a moment to splash some water on his face. Droplets of it scattering off his almost-blond beard. “I thought first that you may have been hiding Rex from me—”

“Rex is dead.”

Taras pressed his lips into a hard line.

Ignoring her, he said, “Second, I know where you’re going.”

“Where’s that?”

“Going after Zabójca and his cronies…those Readers.”

“It’s interesting that we do that…”

“What is that?”

“Separate Zabójca from the rest of the Readers…” Diana said, leaning one hand against the sink as somebody tried the knob, jiggling it and then giving up a moment later.

“Because he is not the same,” Taras replied.

“He’s pretty far into the Readers’ plot,” Diana stated.

There was a strange acceptance that Diana could almost feel, like a piece of Plexiglas balanced between them. Neither of them, for the first time in a long time, was trying to kill each other.

“For his own reasons…” Taras said, adjusting a roller bag behind his leg and tucking it under the sink. “Not for theirs.”

“You know more about him than I do,” Diana noted.

“Of course.” Taras smirked. “I know more about him than your friend outside too.”

“So what?” Diana asked, pulling out a fresh cardigan from her bag and throwing it over her shoulders. “You’re here to plead your case?”

“My case has already been pleaded,” Taras started. “I know you are working with Ms. Amita Voss.”

“Not working with… just lending a hand. I don’t work for anyone—”

“Aside from yourself. Yes, yes, I understand.” Taras lifted an annoyed palm. “We have a common enemy, Weick. I want to kill the Readers just as badly as you do, if not more. When they decided to kill all of those Americans at the Lieutenant’s funeral, they made enemies out of many. They took away the only person that I had ever seen myself sharing a life with… they took everything from me. They took everything from you. And I cannot sit back and pretend that you and I do not share the same goal.”

His voice echoed off the bathroom walls—one she’d avoided for so long, for so many years. Across the gray laminate countertops, a small spider ran past Diana’s curled fingers. Both of them watched it crawl into the sink, neither of them flinching.

“When I was young…” Taras cleared his throat. “I feared spiders. In the winter, we rarely saw them, but on those long summer nights, we all feared the karakurt. I suppose you’ve never heard of it, but it’s this black and yellow creature with a nasty bite. It only takes a matter of minutes for its pain to spread through your body after it’s taken hold. My brother and I were accompanying my father to meet and discuss business with my uncle, near Moscow. We were sitting outside on this courtyard, a fire burning between our bare feet when my uncle was bit. Immediately,” Taras snapped his fingers, “he was in pain, screaming and writhing around, clutching his hand to his ankle. I was terrified. The karakurt could very well kill my uncle in a matter of moments. And it was indeed a karakurt. I saw it skitter away across the concrete… though Andriy never believed that I did see it. My father, however, was a well-read man. He took a match from his pocket, lighting it by striking it against the metal sides of the fire pit. Then, he held the flame up to his brother’s wound. My uncle was