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

Well used…

Left-handed…

that gives

against right-handers. I've

stabs out. Hard. Fast. Teeth bared. Pupils

through, but I grab him by the arm. We grapple.

I

Sweat. Sour.

scent of

Not excitement.

Fear.

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

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

forward, reaching for

slash at his chest with my right hand and he

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

he swerves away from my right hand, my left

rib cage

Got you, you bastard…

it’s her.

for the exit, apparently blind to me and Baxter, she charges between us

back, my foot

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

my arms

I go down...

Baxter’s on top of

…

his

The rasp

The metallic tang

Whose?

Mine…

hovers, enjoying his moment, the

reaches into his jacket, he takes

My Glock?

for my forehead,

use

got the balls

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

There are none.

barrel of my own fucking gun and to Baxter’s

Is this it?

all this time… this is

ways I could have died over the years, I’m taken out by

something I

Live by the sword…

works at these moments. The brain

think I’m

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

My throat tightens…

and contempt in equal measure… “A hero with a gun and a knife against an unarmed man. And

I know that

eyes swing 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 waist and full

over smooth white shoulders and frames a face made up with

“Mitch?”

admit it.

So does Baxter.

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

never seen her dressed like this, not

to strike a pose. And with

loop. She hooks a finger into the loop and

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