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 cared

Well used…

Left-handed…

Thinks that gives him an

practice against right-handers. I've done

stabs out. Hard. Fast.

the arm. We grapple. His blade

I

Sweat. Sour.

scent of

Not excitement.

Fear.

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

for his neck but as he swings away, my fist lands in his

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

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

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

Just well-practised. As he swerves away from

rib

Got you, you bastard…

her. The

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

back, my foot

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

arms wind-milling

I go down...

on top of

…

as his

rasp

metallic tang of

Whose?

Mine…

he hovers, enjoying his moment,

at the vein, he reaches into his jacket, he

My Glock?

my forehead,

not use the

the balls for

on my elbows I swing round wildly, one way

There are none.

the barrel of my own fucking gun and

Is this it?

time… this is how I

wars with irritation. Of all the ways I could have died over the years, I’m

for something I

Live by the sword…

how the mind works at these moments. The

think

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

My throat tightens…

drips honey and contempt in equal measure… “A hero with a gun and a knife against an

know that

to its owner.

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

hair tumbles gloriously over smooth white shoulders and frames a

“Mitch?”

admit it. I

So does Baxter.

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

I have never seen her dressed like

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

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

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