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…

gives him

right-handers. I've done

Fast. Teeth

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

I smell

Sweat. Sour.

sour scent

Not excitement.

Fear.

me and suddenly I'm overreaching…

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

forward, reaching

and he twists away, still grinning

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

Just well-practised. As he swerves away from my right hand, my left hand is

the rib cage and

Got you, you bastard…

her. The

to me and Baxter, she charges between us and I

staggering back, my foot skids on

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

arms wind-milling for

I go down...

Baxter’s on top

…

My gasp as his blade slices

rasp of shredding

metallic

Whose?

Mine…

his moment, the

the vein, he reaches into

My Glock?

aiming for my

not use

got the

my elbows I swing round wildly, one way

There are none.

of my

Is this it?

this time… this is

the ways I could have died over the

I didn’t

Live by the sword…

moments. The brain does odd things

think

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

My throat tightens…

contempt in equal measure… “A hero

I know

its owner. So

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

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

“Mitch?”

admit it. I

So does Baxter.

of women offering their all. But nothing

never seen her dressed like this, not

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

open silver loop. She hooks a finger into the

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