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 cared

Well used…

Left-handed…

that gives

right-handers. I've done

stabs out. Hard. Fast.

he follows through, but I grab him by the arm. We grapple. His blade to

close, I smell

Sweat. Sour.

scent of

Not excitement.

Fear.

dancing back from me and suddenly I'm

but as he swings away, my

I bully forward, reaching for his

and he twists away, still grinning manically,

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

he swerves away from my right

the rib cage

Got you, you bastard…

her. The Indian

apparently blind to me and Baxter, she charges between

back, my

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

arms

I go down...

Baxter’s on top of

…

My gasp as his blade

The rasp

metallic tang

Whose?

Mine…

hovers, enjoying his moment, the

vein, he reaches into

My Glock?

my forehead, he backs

use the

got the balls for

my elbows I swing round wildly, one way or the other, searching for

There are none.

barrel of my

Is this it?

all this time… this is how

wars with irritation. Of all the ways I could have died over the years,

something I

Live by the sword…

at these moments. The brain

don’t think

gun looms close and huge. The rest of the world

My throat tightens…

man.” The voice is sultry, smooth, and drips honey and contempt in equal

know

its owner.

feet in the spiked heels. The matching skirt just clears the crotch and the zip-front leather vest hugs a narrow waist and

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

“Mitch?”

admit it.

So does Baxter.

been full of women offering their

like

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

loop. She hooks a finger into the loop

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