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 cared

Well used…

Left-handed…

that gives

practice against right-handers. I've

out. Hard. Fast. Teeth

arm. We

I smell

Sweat. Sour.

sour scent of

Not excitement.

Fear.

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

his neck but as he

my advantage, I bully forward, reaching

at his chest with my right hand and he twists

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

not. Just well-practised. As he swerves away from my right hand, my left

rib cage

Got you, you bastard…

her.

Baxter, she charges between us and

staggering back, my

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

arms wind-milling

I go down...

on

…

gasp as his

rasp

The metallic

Whose?

Mine…

he hovers, enjoying his moment, the knife poised

at the vein, he reaches into his

My Glock?

aiming for my

use the

the

swing round wildly, one way or the

There are none.

straight up the barrel of my

Is this it?

this time… this is

have died over the

something I

Live by the sword…

at these moments. The brain does odd things under extreme

think

but the muzzle of the gun looms close and huge. The rest

My throat tightens…

man.” The voice is sultry, smooth, and drips honey and contempt in equal measure… “A hero with a gun

know

its

feet in the spiked heels. The matching skirt just clears the crotch and the zip-front leather vest hugs a narrow

smooth white shoulders and frames a face

“Mitch?”

admit it.

So does Baxter.

have been full of women offering their all. But nothing compares to

dressed like this, not

pose. And with an eye

loop. She hooks a finger into the

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