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...

inches.

Well used…

Left-handed…

Thinks that gives him an

against right-handers.

out. Hard. Fast. Teeth bared. Pupils

arm. We

close, I smell

Sweat. Sour.

scent

Not excitement.

Fear.

dancing back from me and suddenly I'm overreaching… off-balance… and I

I lash for his neck but as he

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

and

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

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

rib

Got you, you bastard…

her. The Indian

out of nowhere, pelting for the exit, apparently blind to me and Baxter, she charges between us and I twist away to avoid slicing the silly

staggering back, my foot skids

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

my arms

I go down...

Baxter’s on

…

as his blade slices

rasp of shredding

metallic

Whose?

Mine…

his moment, the knife poised at

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

My Glock?

and aiming for my

use

the balls for

swing round wildly, one way

There are none.

I’m staring straight up the barrel of my own fucking

Is this it?

this time… this

I could have died over

something I didn’t actually

Live by the sword…

moments. The brain does

think I’m

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

My throat tightens…

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

know that

eyes swing to its owner. So

the spiked heels. The matching skirt just

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

“Mitch?”

it. I

So does Baxter.

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

I have never seen her dressed like this, not even in her

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

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

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