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…

Thinks that gives him

practice against right-handers.

Fast. Teeth

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

I smell

Sweat. Sour.

scent of

Not excitement.

Fear.

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

lash for his neck but

bully forward, reaching for his blade, slashing

hand and he twists away, still grinning

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

well-practised. As he swerves away from my right

rib

Got you, you bastard…

it’s her. The Indian

blind to me and Baxter, she charges

my

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

arms wind-milling

I go down...

on top

…

gasp as his blade slices

The rasp of

The metallic

Whose?

Mine…

he hovers, enjoying his moment, the knife

point nipping at the vein, he reaches into

My Glock?

and aiming for my forehead,

not use the

the balls for

up on my elbows I swing round wildly, one way or the other,

There are none.

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

Is this it?

time… this is how

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

something I

Live by the sword…

mind works at these moments.

don’t think I’m

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

My throat tightens…

just the real man.” The voice is sultry, smooth, and drips honey and contempt in equal measure… “A hero with a gun and a

know

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

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

“Mitch?”

admit it. I

So does Baxter.

women offering their all. But nothing compares to Mitch

her dressed like

leg a little curved to strike a pose. And with an eye on Baxter

finger into the loop and tooth by tooth, slides the

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