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 him

against right-handers. I've

Hard. Fast. Teeth bared.

him by the arm. We grapple. His blade

close, I smell

Sweat. Sour.

scent of

Not excitement.

Fear.

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

neck but as he swings away, my fist lands

up on my advantage, I bully forward, reaching for

his chest with my right hand and he

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

I’m not. Just well-practised. As he swerves away from my right hand, my left hand is coming

the rib cage

Got you, you bastard…

her.

for the exit, apparently blind to me and Baxter, she charges between us and I

back, my foot skids

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

my arms wind-milling for

I go down...

on top

…

My gasp as his blade

rasp of

The metallic

Whose?

Mine…

his moment,

at the vein, he reaches into

My Glock?

and aiming for my

use the

got the

round wildly, one way or the other, searching for

There are none.

the barrel of my

Is this it?

this is how

irritation. Of all the ways I could have died

something I

Live by the sword…

these moments. The brain does odd things under extreme

think I’m

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

My throat tightens…

contempt in equal measure… “A hero with a

I know that

swing to its owner. So do

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

shoulders and frames a face made up with emerald eyes

“Mitch?”

admit it.

So does Baxter.

It might have been full of women

never seen her dressed like

one leg a little curved to strike a pose. And

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

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