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

practice against right-handers.

Fast. Teeth bared. Pupils

he follows through, but I grab him by the arm.

I

Sweat. Sour.

scent

Not excitement.

Fear.

suddenly I'm overreaching… off-balance…

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

my advantage, I bully forward,

and he twists away,

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

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

the rib

Got you, you bastard…

her. The Indian

nowhere, pelting for the exit, apparently blind to me and Baxter, she charges between us and I

back, my foot

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

arms

I go down...

on top of

…

as his

rasp of

metallic tang of

Whose?

Mine…

he hovers, enjoying his moment, the knife poised at

nipping at the vein, he reaches into his jacket,

My Glock?

my forehead, he

not use the

got the balls

up on my elbows I swing round wildly, one way

There are none.

the barrel of my own fucking gun and to Baxter’s crocodile

Is this it?

this time… this is how

I could have died over

I

Live by the sword…

moments. The

think

but the muzzle of the gun looms close and huge. The rest of the

My throat tightens…

sultry, smooth, and drips honey and contempt in

I know

its owner. So do

thigh boots 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 up

“Mitch?”

admit it.

So does Baxter.

might be a brothel. It might have been full of women offering

I have never seen her dressed like this, not even

chin lifted, one leg a little curved to strike a pose. And with an eye on Baxter that dares him

a finger into the loop

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