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…

that gives

right-handers. I've

Hard. Fast.

grab him by the arm. We grapple. His blade to

I smell

Sweat. Sour.

sour scent

Not excitement.

Fear.

back from me and suddenly I'm

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

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

hand and he twists away, still grinning manically, but

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

swerves away from my

rib cage and

Got you, you bastard…

her.

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

staggering back, my

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

arms

I go down...

Baxter’s on top

…

as his

rasp

The metallic

Whose?

Mine…

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

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

My Glock?

my forehead, he

not use the

got the balls

on my elbows I swing round wildly,

There are none.

of my own

Is this it?

all this time… this is

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

for something I didn’t actually

Live by the sword…

how the mind works at these moments. The brain does odd things under

don’t think I’m

the muzzle of the gun looms close and huge. The rest of the

My throat tightens…

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

know

swing to its

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

hair tumbles gloriously over smooth white shoulders and frames a face made up with emerald

“Mitch?”

admit it. I

So does Baxter.

might have been full of women offering their

I have never seen her dressed like this,

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

a finger into the loop and tooth by tooth, slides the tag

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