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 used…

Left-handed…

Thinks that gives him

right-handers.

Hard. Fast. Teeth

the arm. We grapple. His blade

I

Sweat. Sour.

sour scent of

Not excitement.

Fear.

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

grins, then grunts as I lash for his neck but as he swings away, my

advantage, I bully forward, reaching for his blade, slashing out with

right hand and he twists away, still

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

from my right hand,

rib

Got you, you bastard…

her. The

nowhere, pelting for the exit, apparently blind to me and Baxter, she charges between us and

my foot skids on

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

arms

I go down...

on top

…

his blade slices

rasp

metallic

Whose?

Mine…

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

vein, he reaches into his jacket, he takes

My Glock?

for my

use

the

swing round wildly, one way or the other, searching for

There are none.

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

Is this it?

time… this is

have died over the years, I’m taken out by

I didn’t

Live by the sword…

how the mind works at these moments. The

think

the gun looms close and huge. The

My throat tightens…

you just the real man.” The voice is sultry, smooth, and drips honey and contempt in equal measure… “A hero with a gun and a knife against an unarmed man. And

I know

its owner. So do

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

smooth white shoulders and frames a face made

“Mitch?”

it.

So does Baxter.

brothel. It might have been full of women offering their all. But nothing compares to Mitch in all

like this, not even in her

leg a little curved to strike a pose. And with an eye on Baxter that

hooks a finger into the loop and

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