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...

eight inches. Well

Well used…

Left-handed…

that gives

against right-handers. I've

Fast. Teeth

back and he follows through, but I grab him by the arm. We grapple. His blade to my throat. My hand locked to

close, I

Sweat. Sour.

sour scent of

Not excitement.

Fear.

I'm overreaching… off-balance… and

lash for his neck but as he swings

advantage, I bully forward,

and he twists away, still grinning manically, but

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

As he swerves away from my right hand,

the rib cage

Got you, you bastard…

it’s her.

for the exit, apparently blind to me and Baxter, she charges between us and I twist away to

staggering back, my

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

my arms wind-milling for

I go down...

on top

…

his blade slices

The rasp of shredding

metallic tang of

Whose?

Mine…

hovers, enjoying his

at the vein, he reaches into his jacket,

My Glock?

my forehead, he backs

use

the balls for

up on my elbows I swing round wildly, one way or the other, searching

There are none.

staring straight up the barrel of my own fucking gun and to

Is this it?

this is

ways I could have died over the

I

Live by the sword…

works at these moments. The brain does odd things under

don’t think I’m

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

My throat tightens…

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

I know

eyes swing to its owner. So do

to six feet in the spiked heels. The matching skirt just

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

“Mitch?”

admit it. I

So does Baxter.

of women offering their all. But nothing compares to Mitch

like this, not even in

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

dangles, an open silver loop. She hooks a finger into the loop and

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