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…

Thinks that gives him

practice against right-handers. I've

stabs out. Hard. Fast.

he follows through, but I grab him by the arm. We

close, I smell

Sweat. Sour.

sour scent

Not excitement.

Fear.

I'm overreaching… off-balance… and I pull back recovering my

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

forward,

and he twists away, still grinning manically, but he doesn't

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

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

rib cage

Got you, you bastard…

her. The Indian

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

staggering back, my foot

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

arms

I go down...

on top

…

My gasp as his blade slices

rasp

The metallic tang of

Whose?

Mine…

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

vein, he reaches into his jacket, he takes

My Glock?

aiming for my forehead, he backs

not use the

got the balls

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

There are none.

staring straight up the barrel of

Is this it?

this time… this is how

have died over

for something I didn’t

Live by the sword…

moments. The brain does odd things under

think I’m

close and huge. The rest of the world vanishes around me.

My throat tightens…

you just the real man.” The voice is sultry, smooth, and drips honey and contempt in equal measure… “A hero with a gun

I know

its owner.

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

over smooth white shoulders and frames a face made up with

“Mitch?”

it.

So does Baxter.

brothel. It might have been full of women offering their all.

like

chin lifted, 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 tooth, slides the

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