Hot Revenge Box Set 2

Chapter 15

Klempner

Although I can hear chaos from down the stairs, up here now, it’s quiet. There’s no-one in the dance room.

In the pool room, the only sound is the crunching of glass under my boots. I carry on to Finchby’s office.

All empty?

It seems so.

The time?

Time to go.

Except… as I’m about to turn and leave a girl, I see her; barely a teenager, some variety of Asian, Indian perhaps. Streaming tears, she skitters out from behind the desk, making for the kitchen.

I follow her and she cringes back into the corner. I offer my hand. “I’m not going to hurt you. You have to leave.”

She babbles at me in I’ve-no-idea-what language, then abruptly, her face swings up to mine and fingers outstretched, leaps up at me, clawing at my face. Reflexively, I jerk back, and she bolts past me and out, back the way I came.

Fuck!

I dash after her, but in the few seconds, she’s gone, vanished.

Where did she go?

Out?

Or somewhere deeper inside?

I check my watch… Three minutes…

Christ!

I have to find her… If she’s on the stairwell, perhaps I’ll hear her. I turn for the bar, heading for the stairs up and down, and there…

Fuck.

Baxter.

I reach for my Glock… And it’s not there.

Damn… When did I put it down?

Baxter flashes brows. And the knife in his hand. “Going somewhere?”

“I was planning on leaving.” I slip the knife from my belt. “Your friend Finchby has already left the building. I believe the money may be with him.”

“I’m not going to weep over Finchby. And I didn't do it for the cash. Well… mainly not for the cash. And I have my half anyway.”

We circle, eyeball to eyeball.

Make the first move?

Wait for him?

I move slowly, watching for the twitch of the hand. The nudge of the shoulder. The tell that he's going to stop talking and...

He slashes out… moves fast…

But it’s a feint and we both know it, calculated to draw a reaction from me.

Testing me…

My speed…

My reactions…

Younger than me...

How much by?

Ten years?

His knife...

maybe eight inches.

Well used…

Left-handed…

Thinks that gives him an

against right-handers. I've

Hard. Fast.

grab him by the arm. We grapple. His blade to my throat. My hand locked to his

close, I

Sweat. Sour.

sour scent

Not excitement.

Fear.

away, dancing back from me and suddenly I'm overreaching… off-balance… and I

neck but as he swings away, my fist lands in his

advantage, I bully forward, reaching for his

my right hand and he twists away, still grinning manically, but he doesn't

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

As he swerves away from my right

rib cage

Got you, you bastard…

her.

Baxter, she charges between us and I twist

my

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

my arms wind-milling for

I go down...

Baxter’s on top

…

as his blade slices

rasp of shredding

The metallic

Whose?

Mine…

hovers, enjoying his

reaches into his jacket,

My Glock?

aiming for my forehead,

not use

the balls for

swing round wildly,

There are none.

barrel of my own fucking gun and to

Is this it?

this is

the ways I could have died over the years, I’m taken out by a shite

something I didn’t actually

Live by the sword…

at these moments. The brain does

don’t think I’m

gun looms close and huge. The rest of the world vanishes

My throat tightens…

the real man.” The voice is sultry, smooth, and drips honey and contempt in equal measure…

I know that

its

heels. The matching skirt

tumbles gloriously over smooth white shoulders and frames a face made up with

“Mitch?”

it. I

So does Baxter.

be a brothel. It might have been full of women offering their all.

never seen her dressed like this, not even in

one leg a little curved to strike a pose. And with an eye on Baxter that dares him

finger

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