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 him

practice against right-handers. I've done

out. Hard. Fast. Teeth bared.

but I grab him by the arm. We grapple. His blade to my throat. My

I smell

Sweat. Sour.

sour scent

Not excitement.

Fear.

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

I lash for his neck but as he swings

on my advantage, I bully forward,

my right hand and he twists away, still

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

away from my right hand, my left hand is coming

rib

Got you, you bastard…

her.

me and Baxter, she

staggering back, my

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

arms wind-milling

I go down...

on

…

his blade slices across

The rasp

The metallic tang of

Whose?

Mine…

hovers, enjoying his moment, the knife

at the vein, he reaches into

My Glock?

and aiming for my forehead, he backs

use the

got the balls

swing round wildly, one way or the other, searching

There are none.

straight up the barrel of my own fucking gun and

Is this it?

this time… this is how

died over the years,

I didn’t

Live by the sword…

mind works at these moments. The brain does odd things

think

of the gun looms close and huge. The rest of

My throat tightens…

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

know that

swing to its owner. So do

boots set her close to six feet in the spiked heels. The matching skirt just clears the crotch and the zip-front leather vest hugs a narrow waist

and frames a face made up with

“Mitch?”

admit it.

So does Baxter.

of women offering

I have never seen her dressed like this, not even in her ‘professional’

strike a pose. And with an

open silver loop. She hooks a finger into the loop and tooth by tooth,

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