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

practice against right-handers. I've done

Fast.

he follows through, but I grab him by the arm.

I smell

Sweat. Sour.

sour scent

Not excitement.

Fear.

I'm overreaching… off-balance… and I pull back

his neck but as he

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

hand and he twists away, still

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

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

rib cage

Got you, you bastard…

her.

to me and Baxter, she charges between

my foot

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

arms

I go down...

Baxter’s on top of

…

as his

rasp

The metallic

Whose?

Mine…

enjoying his moment,

vein, he reaches into his jacket, he takes out

My Glock?

aiming for my forehead,

use the

got the balls for

elbows I swing round wildly, one way or

There are none.

straight up the barrel of

Is this it?

time… this

have died over the years,

I didn’t

Live by the sword…

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

think

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

My throat tightens…

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

know that

to its owner. So

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

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 compares

seen her dressed like this, not even in her ‘professional’

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

tag dangles, an open silver loop. She hooks a finger

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