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...

inches. Well cared

Well used…

Left-handed…

Thinks that gives

against right-handers. I've done

stabs out. Hard. Fast. Teeth bared.

the arm. We grapple. His blade to my throat. My hand locked

I smell

Sweat. Sour.

scent of

Not excitement.

Fear.

dancing back from me and suddenly I'm overreaching…

but

up on my advantage, I bully forward, reaching for

slash at his chest with my right hand and he twists away, still grinning manically, but he

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

away from my

the rib cage and

Got you, you bastard…

her. The

of nowhere, pelting for the exit, apparently blind to me and Baxter,

back, my

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

my arms wind-milling for

I go down...

Baxter’s on

…

My gasp as his

The rasp

metallic

Whose?

Mine…

maniacally, he hovers, enjoying his moment, the knife poised at

at the vein, he reaches into his jacket,

My Glock?

for my forehead,

not use

got the balls

swing round wildly, one

There are none.

I’m staring straight up the barrel of my own

Is this it?

all this time… this is how

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

something I didn’t

Live by the sword…

works at these moments. The brain does

don’t think

of the gun looms close and huge. The rest of the world vanishes around me. My peripheral vision

My throat tightens…

is sultry, smooth, and drips honey and contempt in equal measure… “A hero with a gun and

know

eyes swing to its

six feet in the spiked heels. The matching skirt just clears the crotch and the zip-front leather

shoulders and frames a face made up

“Mitch?”

admit it.

So does Baxter.

women offering their all.

never seen her dressed like

pose. And with

finger into the loop and tooth by tooth, slides the tag

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