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

Well used…

Left-handed…

that gives him an

right-handers. I've done

Fast.

follows through, but I grab him by the arm. We grapple. His blade to my throat.

I

Sweat. Sour.

sour scent of

Not excitement.

Fear.

suddenly I'm

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

following up on my advantage, I bully forward, reaching

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

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

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

the rib

Got you, you bastard…

it’s her. The Indian

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

my foot skids

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

my arms

I go down...

Baxter’s on

…

My gasp as his blade slices

The rasp of shredding

The metallic

Whose?

Mine…

maniacally, he hovers, enjoying his moment, the knife

nipping at the vein, he reaches into his jacket,

My Glock?

for my forehead,

use

the balls

wildly,

There are none.

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

Is this it?

this

irritation. Of all the ways I could have died over the years, I’m taken out by a shite like

I didn’t actually

Live by the sword…

these moments.

think

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

My throat tightens…

man.” The voice is sultry, smooth, and drips honey and contempt in equal measure… “A hero with a gun and a knife

know

its

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

frames a face made

“Mitch?”

it. I

So does Baxter.

of women offering their

dressed like this, not even in her ‘professional’

curved to strike a pose. And with an eye on Baxter that

hooks a finger into the loop and tooth by tooth,

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