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 used…

Left-handed…

gives him

practice against right-handers. I've done

out. Hard. Fast. Teeth

the arm.

close, I smell

Sweat. Sour.

scent of

Not excitement.

Fear.

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

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

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

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

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

well-practised. As he swerves away from my right hand, my

rib cage

Got you, you bastard…

it’s her.

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

back, my foot skids

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

my arms wind-milling

I go down...

Baxter’s on top

…

his blade

The rasp

The metallic tang

Whose?

Mine…

grinning maniacally, he hovers, enjoying his moment,

nipping at the vein, he reaches into his

My Glock?

my

not use the

the balls for

I swing round wildly, one way or the other, searching for

There are none.

the barrel of my

Is this it?

this time… this

ways I could have died over the years, I’m taken out by a

for something I

Live by the sword…

works at these moments. The brain does odd

don’t think

The rest of the world vanishes around me. My peripheral vision

My throat tightens…

you just the real man.” The voice is sultry, smooth, and drips honey and contempt in equal

know

swing to its owner.

The matching skirt just clears the crotch and the zip-front leather vest hugs a narrow waist and

white shoulders and frames a face made up with

“Mitch?”

admit it.

So does Baxter.

women offering their

dressed like this, not even in her

to strike a pose. And

She hooks a finger into the loop and tooth by tooth, slides the

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