Hot Revenge Box Set 2

Chapter 11

*****

 

Michael

I recognise the face of James’ guard, the one they’re calling Hickman. I’ve seen it before in the photo Klempner identified; Baxter’s henchman.

He shoves James towards us, James shooting him a look that would knock flies from the air, before squatting down by Charlotte. He runs a finger over her cheek. “Sorry we took so long to get here.”

She returns the gesture. “They’ve hurt you.”

James’ brows rise. His head tilts. “They’ve hurt me?”

I struggle out from behind her. “James, take my place, support her. I need a look at what’s happening.”

He manoeuvres to sit behind Charlotte, his back against the wall, kissing her rank hair as he supports her against himself.

And now, kneeling between her open legs and with a decent view, I can see Cara’s head is all but out. “I think one more good push will do it, Babe.”

Baxter waves the barrel of his pistol at Klempner. “On your knees. Hands behind your head.”

Klempner gives him a slow look then drops to the ground, fingers clasped at the back of his neck.

“Stannis, you keep him there.” Baxter jabs a finger at the other guard who moves to stand by Klempner, gun muzzle pressed to his temple. Then he nods Hickman to my bag and Klempner’s. “Check them out. See what’s inside.”

He tips out Klempner’s first; his mobile armoury tumbling to the floor with a clatter. Baxter kicks guns, knives and rope to the far side of the cell, out of Klempner’s range.

Then he looks him up and down. “Larry, have you put on weight?”

Klempner adopts a pained expression. “I’m wearing rather more clothes than usual.”

Baxter cocks a brow. “I'm not sure about that outfit as a sartorial statement.”

Lips pressed tight, Klempner casts eyes sidelong, then back again. “What's your gripe with me, Baxter?”

“You have to ask? More than twenty years I worked for you, and you left me behind like I didn’t matter. Abandoned me to the cops like some piece of rubbish.”

“The police were coming. I had about a minute to get out of sight. When I last saw you, you were unconscious after you'd let a complete amateur take you out. As I left, you were nowhere to be seen. What was I supposed to think? You’d gone. I assumed you’d run for it.”

“No. I hadn’t. I’d just crawled into the shadows while I got my head back. You didn’t even look. You walked out and you kept walking.”

“Yes, because I didn’t know you were there. You couldn’t have called out or something? I could see blue lights flashing. What was I supposed to do? Mount a search? As far as I was concerned, you’d gone.”

Baxter sneers. “Make your excuses, Larry. You owe me. You’re going to pay.”

“I owe you nothing. I never did. And besides, you have the money.”

Baxter rocks on his heels. “Money’s not everything, Larry. Money’s not everything.”

He turns from Klempner, dismissing him, nods to Hickman, then to my rucksack. “Turn it out. Let’s see what’s in his bag of tricks.”

I try to interrupt, to stop what I can already see happening… “No… don’t…”

But it’s too late. Clean towels and wraps tumble out, dropping into the slops on the floor, no longer fresh and sweet-smelling but wet and fouled.

“Was that necessary?”

Baxter smirks, poking through the heap with the end of a boot, wiping them further into the dirt. “Can’t be too careful, can we. Who knows what you have in there?”

“What I had in there were the basics for a young woman to safely deliver her baby. Now…” I poke through the pile, trying to find something useable…

Christ…

“… What the hell am I supposed to do with this lot?”

showing it to me. “What’re

case I have to cut the cord. And

no-one tell you at school that scissors

against James. Straining, mouth flung wide, she pants and heaves, and then, scarlet-faced, with a shriek of triumph, she

… I move fast…

into my hands then starts squalling loudly

for the door. “I’ll catch you later. Enjoy

wrong? You’re not bothered by a little

lip at the mess on the ground.

huffs. “So that’s what he’s

Charlotte levers herself

arms, legs… Eyes, toes, fingers…

reaching out, hands outstretched. “Give her to

a second.” I’m casting around, looking for the cover

Crap!

fine and warm, is now wet; cold and stinking. I pick it up, hoping… But it simply drips muck back

hurl the useless thing

baby’s healthy, isn’t

in. You and your monkey

From his kneeling position, he tugs the hem of the fleece he’s wearing… my

from thirty-five

a hundred per cent

is, I wrap the squalling, protesting Cara in it, tying the sleeves

filth and the gunmen standing guard over

utter exhaustion, the baby is placed in her arms and her face illuminates. Young or old,

her face. Taking the fleece-enveloped Cara, she stares, as though not

James, still cradling her, holding up the small be-wrapped squaller. “I did it, Mas... James. I gave you your

to kiss her, his lips cracking open, bleeding with the gesture. “So you did.” He touches his daughter’s face, stroking with a

Abruptly, Charlotte shudders…

even through his swollen face, looks

okay. It’s just the placenta being ejected.” Snapping fingers up at Baxter. “Give

“Not a chance.”

to have something to cut

“Improvise.”

Bastard…

to let me have the clamps and

back and forth,

hands the cord, hot to the touch, a strange braided alien-looking thing; thick, meaty and blue, pulsates in

towels and blankets stewing in the

Baxter shifts. “What for?”

the clamp and the surgical spirit

eyes flat, “Take what you

fucking stupid do you think I’m likely to be with

to stand over me as I open the transparent plastic bag containing clamps, gauze and the bottle of spirit. The bag is still sealed, as I packed it, and

to the How-To videos I watched, then carefully fix the first clamp in place, over

hands, I pull

me wants to heave. Another part tells me not to be so

It’s just meat…

that there are no nerves in the cord, nothing to cause pain

over an inch thick, with a gristly texture and slippery in my hands; resists. I’m almost sawing through the thing with my teeth. But there’s not too much mess. I waited long enough for the blood to leave the placenta, to enter

And it’s through…

drops in two parts; a blue stub on Cara and the trailing tail still attached to the placenta as I swipe

her belly, naked skin to naked

behind, is unreadable. It’s hardly surprising. The magic of seeing your child born. The sheer

back, leaning against

bloody mass of the afterbirth slops to the floor and I scoop it up, about

“Hickman, get the placenta. Put it in the

What the hell…?

echoes my thoughts. “What the fuck do

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