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 used…

Left-handed…

that gives him an

right-handers. I've done

Fast. Teeth

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

I smell

Sweat. Sour.

sour scent

Not excitement.

Fear.

me and suddenly I'm

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

up on my advantage, I bully forward, reaching

with my right hand and he twists away, still grinning manically, but he doesn't

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

As he swerves away from my

rib cage and

Got you, you bastard…

her. The Indian

out of nowhere, pelting for the exit, apparently blind to me and Baxter,

back, my foot skids

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

arms wind-milling

I go down...

on

…

gasp as his blade

The rasp

The metallic tang of

Whose?

Mine…

maniacally, he hovers, enjoying his moment, the knife poised at

point nipping at the vein, he reaches into

My Glock?

and aiming for my forehead, he backs

use

got the balls

elbows I swing round wildly, one way or the other,

There are none.

barrel of my own fucking gun and to

Is this it?

time… this

Of all the ways I could have died over

I

Live by the sword…

how the mind works at these moments. The brain

don’t think

the gun looms close and huge. The rest of the

My throat tightens…

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

know that

to its

thigh boots set her close to six feet in the spiked heels. The matching skirt just clears

hair tumbles gloriously over smooth white shoulders and frames a face made up

“Mitch?”

admit it.

So does Baxter.

might have been full of women offering their all.

dressed like

lifted, one leg a little curved to strike a pose. And with

open silver loop. She hooks a finger into the loop and tooth by tooth, slides

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