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 used…

Left-handed…

that gives him

right-handers.

Fast. Teeth bared. Pupils

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

I smell

Sweat. Sour.

sour scent

Not excitement.

Fear.

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

grins, then grunts as I lash for his neck but

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

his chest with my right hand and he twists away, still grinning

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

away from my right

rib cage

Got you, you bastard…

it’s her. The

to me and Baxter, she charges between us and I twist away to avoid

staggering back, my foot skids on

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

my arms

I go down...

Baxter’s on top

…

his blade slices

The rasp

metallic tang

Whose?

Mine…

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

at the vein, he reaches

My Glock?

aiming for my forehead,

not use the

got the

elbows I swing round wildly, one way or the other, searching for

There are none.

I’m staring straight up the barrel of my own fucking gun and to Baxter’s

Is this it?

this time… this is

I could have died over the years, I’m taken out by a shite like

I didn’t

Live by the sword…

at these moments. The brain does

think

and huge. The rest of the world vanishes around me. My peripheral vision

My throat tightens…

is sultry, smooth, and drips honey and contempt in equal measure… “A hero with a gun and a knife against an unarmed man. And

know that

to its owner. So

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

white shoulders and frames a

“Mitch?”

it.

So does Baxter.

a brothel. It might have been full of women offering their all. But nothing compares to Mitch in

her dressed like

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

She hooks a finger into the loop and

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