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…

that gives him an

practice against right-handers. I've

stabs out. Hard. Fast. Teeth

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

close, I smell

Sweat. Sour.

sour scent

Not excitement.

Fear.

suddenly I'm overreaching… off-balance… and I pull back recovering my

neck but as he swings away, my

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

hand and he twists away, still grinning manically, but he

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

swerves away from

rib

Got you, you bastard…

it’s her.

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

back, my

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

my arms

I go down...

on

…

as his blade slices across

The rasp of shredding

metallic tang of

Whose?

Mine…

hovers, enjoying his moment, the knife poised at my

nipping at the vein, he reaches

My Glock?

for my forehead, he backs

not use

the

my elbows I swing round wildly, one way or the

There are none.

of my own fucking

Is this it?

time… this is

I could have died over the years,

I

Live by the sword…

mind works at these moments. The brain does

don’t think

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

My throat tightens…

and contempt in equal measure… “A hero with a gun and a knife

I know that

to its owner.

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

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

“Mitch?”

it. I

So does Baxter.

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

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

pose. And with an eye on Baxter that dares him

dangles, an open silver loop. She hooks a finger into the

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