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

Well used…

Left-handed…

gives

against right-handers. I've

stabs out. Hard. Fast.

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

close, I smell

Sweat. Sour.

scent of

Not excitement.

Fear.

back from me and suddenly I'm overreaching… off-balance… and I pull back

his neck but as he

following up on my advantage, I bully forward, reaching for his blade, slashing

slash at his chest with my right hand and he twists away, still grinning

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

not. Just well-practised. As he swerves away from

the rib cage

Got you, you bastard…

her. The Indian

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

back, my

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

arms wind-milling for

I go down...

Baxter’s on top

…

gasp as his blade slices across

The rasp of

The metallic tang

Whose?

Mine…

hovers, enjoying his moment, the knife poised at my

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

My Glock?

my forehead, he

not use

the balls

I swing round wildly, one way or the

There are none.

the barrel of my

Is this it?

this

died over the

I didn’t

Live by the sword…

at these moments.

think I’m

gun looms close and huge. The rest of

My throat tightens…

the real man.” The voice is sultry, smooth, and drips honey and contempt in equal measure… “A hero with a gun and a knife against an unarmed man. And he’s

know

to its owner. So

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

frames a face made up with emerald eyes painted Goth-dark and fuck-me

“Mitch?”

it. I

So does Baxter.

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

seen her dressed like this, not even

to strike a pose. And

a finger into the loop

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