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 used…

Left-handed…

Thinks that gives

against right-handers. I've

stabs out. Hard. Fast. Teeth

and he follows through, but I grab him by the arm. We grapple. His blade to my throat.

close, I smell

Sweat. Sour.

scent of

Not excitement.

Fear.

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

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

on my advantage, I bully forward, reaching for his blade, slashing out with

hand and he twists away, still grinning manically, but he

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

As he swerves away from my right hand,

the rib cage

Got you, you bastard…

it’s her.

to me and Baxter, she charges between us

back, my foot skids on

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

arms wind-milling for

I go down...

Baxter’s on

…

his blade slices

The rasp of

metallic tang

Whose?

Mine…

grinning maniacally, he hovers, enjoying his

he reaches into his jacket, he takes

My Glock?

and aiming for my forehead, he backs

not use the

the balls for

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

There are none.

of my own fucking gun and to Baxter’s

Is this it?

this is how

the ways I could have died over the years,

I

Live by the sword…

works at these moments. The brain does odd

don’t think

The rest of the

My throat tightens…

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

I know

to its

thigh boots 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

gloriously over smooth white shoulders and frames a face made up with emerald eyes painted Goth-dark and

“Mitch?”

admit it. I

So does Baxter.

It might have been full of women offering

dressed like this, not

curved to strike a pose.

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

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