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…

that gives

against right-handers.

Fast. Teeth bared.

through, but I grab him by the arm. We grapple.

I

Sweat. Sour.

sour scent

Not excitement.

Fear.

away, dancing back from me and suddenly I'm overreaching…

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

forward,

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

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

he swerves away from my right hand, my left hand is

rib cage

Got you, you bastard…

her. The Indian

out of nowhere, pelting for the exit, apparently blind to me and Baxter, she charges

my foot skids on

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

arms

I go down...

on top

…

his blade slices

The rasp

metallic tang

Whose?

Mine…

hovers, enjoying his moment, the knife poised at my

reaches into

My Glock?

aiming for my forehead, he

not use

got the

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

There are none.

I’m staring straight up the barrel of my own fucking gun and to Baxter’s crocodile

Is this it?

all this time… this is how I

I could have died

something I

Live by the sword…

works at these moments. The

think I’m

of the gun looms close and huge. The rest

My throat tightens…

sultry, smooth, and drips honey and contempt in equal measure… “A hero with a gun and a

I know that

swing to its

boots set her close to six feet in the spiked heels. The matching skirt

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

“Mitch?”

admit it.

So does Baxter.

been full of women

never seen her dressed like this, not even in

little curved to strike a pose. And

tag dangles, an open silver loop. She hooks a finger into the loop and tooth by tooth, slides the

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