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.

Hard. Fast.

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

close, I

Sweat. Sour.

sour scent of

Not excitement.

Fear.

and suddenly I'm overreaching…

for his neck but as he

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

slash at his chest with my right hand and he twists away,

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

Just well-practised. As he swerves away from my right

rib cage and

Got you, you bastard…

it’s her. The Indian

Baxter, she charges between us and I twist away to avoid slicing the silly

back, my

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

my arms

I go down...

Baxter’s on

…

as his blade

The rasp of shredding

The metallic tang

Whose?

Mine…

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

the vein, he reaches into his jacket, he takes out

My Glock?

for my forehead, he backs

not use the

the balls

my elbows I swing round wildly, one way or the

There are none.

of my own fucking gun

Is this it?

all this time… this is

wars with irritation. Of all the ways I could have died over the years,

I

Live by the sword…

the mind works at these moments. The brain does

think

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

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

its owner.

skirt

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

“Mitch?”

admit it. I

So does Baxter.

It might have been full of women offering their all.

never seen her dressed like this, not even

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

tag dangles, an open silver loop. She hooks a finger into the loop and tooth by tooth, slides

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