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...

inches. Well cared

Well used…

Left-handed…

that gives him an

against right-handers.

out. Hard. Fast.

I grab him by the arm. We grapple. His blade to my throat. My hand locked to his

close, I

Sweat. Sour.

scent of

Not excitement.

Fear.

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

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

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

with my right hand and he twists away, still grinning manically, but he doesn't

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

from my right hand,

the rib cage

Got you, you bastard…

her. The Indian

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

my foot skids

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

my arms

I go down...

on

…

My gasp as his blade slices across

The rasp of

metallic tang of

Whose?

Mine…

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

point nipping at the vein, he reaches into his jacket, he takes out

My Glock?

for my forehead, he backs

use the

the balls

I swing round wildly, one way or

There are none.

of my own fucking gun and

Is this it?

time… this is how I

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

I

Live by the sword…

how the mind works at these moments. The brain does

think I’m

huge. The rest

My throat tightens…

drips honey and contempt in equal measure… “A hero

know that

its owner.

set her close to six feet in the spiked heels. The matching skirt just clears the crotch and the

tumbles gloriously over smooth white shoulders and frames a face made

“Mitch?”

admit it. I

So does Baxter.

brothel. It might have been full of women offering their all. But nothing compares to Mitch in

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

strike a pose. And with an eye on Baxter that dares

silver loop. She hooks a finger into the loop and tooth by tooth,

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