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…

Thinks that gives

practice against right-handers. I've done

Fast. Teeth bared. Pupils

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

I smell

Sweat. Sour.

sour scent

Not excitement.

Fear.

from me and suddenly I'm overreaching…

his neck but as he

forward, reaching

with my right hand and he twists away, still grinning

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

I’m not. Just well-practised. As he swerves away from my

rib cage

Got you, you bastard…

her.

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

staggering back, my foot skids

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

my arms

I go down...

Baxter’s on top of

…

his blade

The rasp of shredding

The metallic tang of

Whose?

Mine…

enjoying his moment, the knife

reaches

My Glock?

aiming for my forehead,

not use

the balls for

elbows I swing round wildly,

There are none.

straight up the barrel of

Is this it?

this time… this is

irritation. Of all the ways I could have died over

something I didn’t

Live by the sword…

these moments. The brain does odd things

don’t think I’m

and huge. The rest of the

My throat tightens…

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

I know

swing to its

in the spiked heels. The matching skirt just clears the crotch

frames a

“Mitch?”

it. I

So does Baxter.

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

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

lifted, one leg a little curved to strike a pose. And with an eye

a finger into the loop and tooth by

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