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

Well used…

Left-handed…

gives him an

against right-handers.

Hard. Fast. Teeth bared. Pupils

arm. We grapple. His blade

close, I

Sweat. Sour.

scent of

Not excitement.

Fear.

I'm overreaching…

as I lash for his neck but as he swings away, my fist lands

advantage, I bully forward, reaching

chest with my right hand and he twists away, still

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

from

rib cage

Got you, you bastard…

it’s her. The Indian

apparently blind to me and Baxter, she charges between us and I twist away to avoid slicing the silly

staggering back, my

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

arms

I go down...

Baxter’s on top

…

as his blade

rasp of

metallic tang of

Whose?

Mine…

his moment, the knife

at the vein, he reaches into his jacket,

My Glock?

and aiming for my forehead, he backs

use the

the balls for

I swing round wildly, one way or the other,

There are none.

of my own

Is this it?

all this time… this

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

something I

Live by the sword…

at these moments. The

don’t think I’m

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

My throat tightens…

smooth, and drips honey and contempt in equal measure… “A hero with

I know that

eyes swing to its owner. So

skirt just clears the crotch and the zip-front leather vest hugs a narrow waist

gloriously over smooth white shoulders and frames a face made up with emerald eyes painted Goth-dark

“Mitch?”

it.

So does Baxter.

have been full of women offering their

never seen her dressed like this, not even in her

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

She hooks a finger into the loop and tooth

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