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

Well used…

Left-handed…

Thinks that gives him an

against right-handers. I've

out. Hard. Fast. Teeth

arm. We

close, I smell

Sweat. Sour.

scent

Not excitement.

Fear.

suddenly I'm overreaching… off-balance…

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

on my advantage, I bully forward, reaching for

with my right hand and he twists away, still

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

Just well-practised. As he swerves away from

the rib cage

Got you, you bastard…

her.

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

my foot

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

my arms wind-milling for

I go down...

Baxter’s on top of

…

gasp as his

The rasp of

The metallic tang of

Whose?

Mine…

enjoying his moment,

at the vein, he reaches into his

My Glock?

and aiming for my forehead,

use the

the

elbows I swing round wildly, one way or

There are none.

of my own fucking gun and to Baxter’s

Is this it?

all this time… this

irritation. Of all the ways I could have died over the years, I’m taken out by

I

Live by the sword…

moments. The brain does odd things under extreme

think I’m

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

My throat tightens…

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

I know

to its owner. So do

spiked heels. The matching skirt just clears the crotch and the zip-front leather vest hugs a

tumbles gloriously over smooth white shoulders and frames a face made up with emerald eyes painted Goth-dark and

“Mitch?”

admit it.

So does Baxter.

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

like

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

tag dangles, an open silver loop. She hooks a finger into the loop and tooth by

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