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

Well used…

Left-handed…

that gives him

against right-handers. I've done

Hard. Fast. Teeth bared. Pupils

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

I smell

Sweat. Sour.

sour scent of

Not excitement.

Fear.

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

neck but as he swings away, my fist lands in

following up on my advantage, I bully forward, reaching for his blade, slashing out with my

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

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

he swerves away from

rib

Got you, you bastard…

her. The Indian

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

staggering back, my

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

my arms wind-milling

I go down...

on

…

as his blade slices across

rasp of shredding

metallic

Whose?

Mine…

maniacally, he hovers, enjoying his moment, the knife

the vein, he reaches into his jacket, he takes out a

My Glock?

aiming for my forehead,

use the

the balls for

swing round wildly, one way or the other,

There are none.

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

Is this it?

all this time… this is how

ways I could have died

something I didn’t

Live by the sword…

mind works at these moments. The

think

huge. The rest of the

My throat tightens…

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

I know

swing to its

The matching skirt just clears the crotch and the zip-front leather vest hugs a narrow

white shoulders and frames a

“Mitch?”

it.

So does Baxter.

brothel. It might have been full of women offering their all. But nothing compares

dressed like this,

one leg a little curved to strike a pose. And with an eye on Baxter that dares him to do his

a finger into the loop and

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