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 an

practice against right-handers.

Hard. Fast. Teeth bared. Pupils

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

close, I

Sweat. Sour.

sour scent of

Not excitement.

Fear.

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

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

I bully forward, reaching for his

my right hand and he twists away, still

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

from my right hand, my left hand

rib

Got you, you bastard…

it’s her. The

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

my foot

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

my arms wind-milling for

I go down...

on top

…

his

rasp of shredding

The metallic tang of

Whose?

Mine…

maniacally, he hovers, enjoying his moment, the knife

the vein, he reaches into his jacket, he takes out

My Glock?

aiming for my forehead, he

not use the

the balls for

up on my elbows I swing round wildly, one way or

There are none.

barrel of my

Is this it?

this time… this is how I

died over the years, I’m

for something I didn’t actually

Live by the sword…

at these moments. The brain does odd

don’t think I’m

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

My throat tightens…

drips honey and contempt in equal

I know

swing to its owner. So do

to six feet in the spiked heels. The matching skirt just clears the crotch and the zip-front

gloriously over smooth white shoulders and frames a face made

“Mitch?”

admit it.

So does Baxter.

been full of women offering their all. But nothing compares to Mitch in all her

her dressed like this, not even in her ‘professional’

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

zipper tag dangles, an open silver loop. She hooks a finger into

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