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 cared

Well used…

Left-handed…

that gives him

practice against right-handers. I've

Fast.

follows through, but I grab him by the arm.

close, I

Sweat. Sour.

scent

Not excitement.

Fear.

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

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

forward, reaching for his blade, slashing out with my

chest with my right hand and

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

away from my right hand,

the rib cage

Got you, you bastard…

her. The Indian

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

my foot skids

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

my arms

I go down...

on top of

…

gasp as his

rasp of

metallic

Whose?

Mine…

enjoying his moment,

nipping at the vein, he reaches into his jacket, he

My Glock?

and aiming for my

use

the balls for

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

There are none.

barrel of my own fucking gun and to

Is this it?

this time… this is how

died over the years, I’m taken out by a shite like

I didn’t actually

Live by the sword…

the mind works at these moments. The brain does odd

don’t think I’m

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

My throat tightens…

is sultry, smooth, and drips honey and contempt in equal measure… “A hero with a gun and

know that

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 waist and full

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

“Mitch?”

it. I

So does Baxter.

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

dressed like this, not even

a little curved to strike a pose. And with an eye on Baxter that dares

hooks a finger into the loop and tooth

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