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 cared

Well used…

Left-handed…

Thinks that gives him an

practice against right-handers. I've

Hard. Fast. Teeth

I grab him by the arm. We grapple. His blade

I

Sweat. Sour.

scent of

Not excitement.

Fear.

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

his neck but as he

up on my advantage, I bully forward,

my right hand and he twists away, still grinning

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

not. Just well-practised. As he swerves away from my right hand, my

rib cage

Got you, you bastard…

her.

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

staggering back, my

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

my arms wind-milling for

I go down...

Baxter’s on top

…

My gasp as his blade

rasp of shredding

metallic tang

Whose?

Mine…

enjoying his moment, the knife poised at my

reaches into his jacket, he takes out a

My Glock?

and aiming for my forehead, he

use the

the

round wildly,

There are none.

barrel of my own fucking

Is this it?

all this time… this is how I

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

I

Live by the sword…

these moments. The brain

think I’m

huge. The rest of the world vanishes around me. My peripheral vision grows

My throat tightens…

contempt in equal measure… “A hero with a gun and a knife against an

know

to its

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

over smooth white shoulders and frames a face made

“Mitch?”

admit it. I

So does Baxter.

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

dressed like this, not even

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

dangles, an open silver loop. She hooks a finger

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