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 used…

Left-handed…

that gives

practice against right-handers. I've

stabs out. Hard. Fast. Teeth bared. Pupils

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

close, I smell

Sweat. Sour.

sour scent

Not excitement.

Fear.

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

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

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

his chest with my right hand and he twists away,

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

he swerves away from my right hand, my

the rib cage

Got you, you bastard…

her.

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

my foot skids

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

my arms

I go down...

on top of

…

his blade

The rasp of

metallic tang of

Whose?

Mine…

he hovers, enjoying his moment, the knife poised

he reaches into his jacket, he

My Glock?

my forehead,

use

got the

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

There are none.

up, I’m staring straight up the barrel of my own

Is this it?

this time… this

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

for something I didn’t

Live by the sword…

mind works at these moments.

don’t think I’m

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

My throat tightens…

and drips honey and contempt in

know

to its owner. So do

in the spiked heels. The matching skirt just clears the crotch and the zip-front leather vest hugs

over smooth white shoulders and frames a face made up with emerald eyes

“Mitch?”

admit it.

So does Baxter.

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

like this, not even in

a little curved to strike a pose.

finger into the loop

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