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...

maybe eight inches.

Well used…

Left-handed…

gives him

against right-handers.

stabs out. Hard. Fast. Teeth

he follows through, but I grab him by the arm.

I

Sweat. Sour.

scent

Not excitement.

Fear.

from me and suddenly I'm overreaching…

for his neck but as he swings away,

advantage, I bully forward, reaching

and he twists away, still

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

from my right

the rib cage

Got you, you bastard…

her. The Indian

and Baxter, she charges between us and I twist away to avoid slicing

my

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

arms

I go down...

on top

…

My gasp as his blade slices

The rasp

The metallic

Whose?

Mine…

he hovers, enjoying his

at the vein, he reaches into his jacket, he

My Glock?

aiming for my forehead, he

use

got the balls for

elbows I swing round wildly, one way

There are none.

straight up the barrel of my own fucking

Is this it?

all this time… this is

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

something I

Live by the sword…

mind works at these moments. The brain

think I’m

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

My throat tightens…

you just the real man.” The voice is sultry, smooth, and drips honey and contempt in equal measure…

I know

its

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

white shoulders and frames a face made up

“Mitch?”

it.

So does Baxter.

be a brothel. It might have been full of women offering their

have never seen her dressed like this,

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

She hooks a finger into the loop and

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