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...

eight inches.

Well used…

Left-handed…

that gives him

against right-handers.

Hard. Fast. Teeth bared. Pupils

the arm. We grapple. His blade to my throat. My hand

close, I

Sweat. Sour.

scent of

Not excitement.

Fear.

away, dancing back from me and suddenly I'm overreaching… off-balance… and

grunts as I lash for his neck but as he swings away, my fist lands in

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

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

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

I’m not. Just well-practised. As he swerves away from my right

rib

Got you, you bastard…

it’s her.

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

my

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

arms wind-milling

I go down...

on top

…

gasp as his

rasp of

The metallic tang of

Whose?

Mine…

grinning maniacally, he hovers, enjoying his moment,

reaches into his jacket, he takes out a

My Glock?

and aiming for my forehead,

not use

got the balls for

wildly, one way or the other, searching

There are none.

of my

Is this it?

this time… this is

I could have died over

for something I didn’t actually

Live by the sword…

these moments. The brain

don’t think I’m

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

My throat tightens…

honey and contempt in equal measure… “A hero with a

I know that

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

a face made up with emerald eyes painted Goth-dark and fuck-me

“Mitch?”

it.

So does Baxter.

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

dressed like this, not even

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

a finger into

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