Kazal closed the door behind him and stepped over the bloodied body on the floor.
"Slut!"
Ruth stared down at Harry who had sunk to his knees to catch Zofira. Blood was splattered across his chest. His haunted eyes, guilty now for a different reason, looked up at her.
A low noise of air squeezed through bleeding damaged lungs came from her throat.
Kazal sighed, inconvenienced and waved them through into the apartment.
Harry bent and as gently as he could picked Zofira up, laying her on the sofa.
Ruth followed, her hand eager to reach for the gun in her handbag, waiting and watchful for her chance.
Harry had stripped off his jacket and was pressing it against the wound in Zofira's chest. Kazal patted him down for a weapon but found none.
"Phone!" he demanded, hand outstretched. Harry gave it up and immediately it was on the floor with Kazal's heel over it.
He turned to Ruth but did not give her the chance to reach for her phone which lay in her coat pocket, instead he grabbed her hangbag. His head tilted with surprise and awareness as he felt the unexpected weight of it. He stepped close to her: too close, she could feel his heavy breath and see his eyes dip down to her chest. With a smile that was far from gratifying he reached into the bag and pulled out the gun holding it up to her.
She opened her mouth to speak but Harry cut in.
"What do you want Kazal?"
Kazal emptied the magazine from the gun and tossed it, redundant, across the room.
"What do I want, government man?" he repeated, prowling the space before them, "My missiles would be a start, not to mention my men, but what I really want is that you had not slept with my woman and killed my only brother."
"Then perhaps you should have done the job yourself," said Harry.
Kazal stood very still.
Ruth's breath caught in her chest.
Then Kazal laughed.
Zofira's eyes opened at the sound and she began to cough: small pitiful coughs, spattered with blood. She looked up at Kazal, the man she had lived with for two years, the man who had terrorized her, Now at least she was free of him, or would be very soon.
"I…" she struggled to speak, "…I'm…"
A red bloom spread across her face as the bullet punctured her forehead.
"A dead slut," said a cold, sharp voice.
Kazal's eyes turned to Harry, "You shouldn't have touched her," he hissed, as the gun was raised once more, the angle narrowed and now aimed directly at Harry.
"Stop!" cried Ruth.
Kazal laughed that cold, hard, joyless laugh and his finger began to squeeze the trigger.
"No. Stop," she shouted, "It's too easy!"
Now, even if only for a moment, she had Kazal's attention. He looked at her, leaving the gun hovering exactly where it was.
"Kill him. Kill him, by all means," she glanced at Harry, keeping her voice as calm yet as bitter as she could. "Why do you think I brought the gun?"
Kazal's eyebrow twitched with curiosity and Ruth knew she had him.
"Kill the lying bastard, but not so easily."
The tension on the trigger was eased slightly.
"After all the others he told me it wouldn't happen again, but one young, pretty slapper and all that's forgotten."
"Please, Ruth…" Harry began, seeing what she was doing but not where she was going.
"I've suffered for years, why should he get away with an easy out?"
Kazal smiled, "You want me to hurt him?"
And this was Ruth's play. She had thought of all the others but this was all she had.
"I want you to kill him," she said calmly, slipping the coat from her shoulders and throwing it dismissively at Harry, "but not before he gets to know how it feels."
Kazal looked at her with lust in his eyes.
"Ruth, no!" cried Harry in horror.
"Shut up, you bastard," she spat at him, eyes blazing.
Kazal threw his head back, laughing a deep, satisfied laugh.
Ruth's eyes flicked from Harry to the coat and back to him. He caught the look before Kazal's hand grabbed the back of Ruth's neck and he thrust his face to hers.