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...

maybe eight inches.

Well used…

Left-handed…

gives

right-handers.

Hard. Fast.

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

I

Sweat. Sour.

sour scent

Not excitement.

Fear.

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

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

my advantage, I bully forward, reaching

chest with my right hand and he

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

away from my right hand, my left hand is coming

the rib

Got you, you bastard…

it’s her. The

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

my foot skids

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

arms wind-milling for

I go down...

Baxter’s on top of

…

gasp as his blade slices across

The rasp of

metallic tang of

Whose?

Mine…

maniacally, he hovers, enjoying his moment,

reaches into

My Glock?

my forehead, he backs

use

got the balls for

swing round wildly, one way or the other,

There are none.

I’m staring straight up the barrel of my own fucking gun

Is this it?

this

wars with 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…

at these moments. The brain does odd things under extreme

think I’m

close and huge. The rest of the world

My throat tightens…

The voice is sultry, smooth, and drips honey and contempt in equal measure… “A hero with a gun and a knife against an unarmed

I know

its owner. So

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

and frames a face made up with emerald

“Mitch?”

it.

So does Baxter.

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

dressed like this, not even

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

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

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