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…

gives

against right-handers. I've done

Fast.

back and he follows through, but I grab him by the arm. We grapple. His blade to my throat. My

I smell

Sweat. Sour.

sour scent

Not excitement.

Fear.

dancing back from me and suddenly I'm overreaching…

for his neck but as he swings away, my

I bully forward,

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

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

from my right hand, my left hand is

rib cage and

Got you, you bastard…

her.

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

my

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

my arms wind-milling for

I go down...

Baxter’s on

…

as his blade

rasp of shredding

The metallic

Whose?

Mine…

hovers, enjoying his moment, the knife

the vein, he reaches into his jacket, he takes

My Glock?

my forehead, he backs

not use

the balls for

round wildly, one way or the other,

There are none.

barrel of my

Is this it?

all this time… this is

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

I

Live by the sword…

mind works at these moments. The brain does odd things

don’t think I’m

close and huge. The rest

My throat tightens…

and contempt in equal measure… “A hero with

I know

swing to its owner. So do

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

a face made up with

“Mitch?”

it. I

So does Baxter.

women offering their all. But nothing compares to

have never seen her dressed like

tall, chin lifted, one leg a little curved to strike a pose. And with an eye on Baxter that dares him to do

open silver loop. She hooks a finger into the

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