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 him

against right-handers. I've done

Hard. Fast.

but I grab him by the arm. We grapple. His blade to

I

Sweat. Sour.

sour scent

Not excitement.

Fear.

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

as I lash for his neck but as he

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

and he twists away, still grinning

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

I’m not. Just well-practised. As he swerves away from my right hand, my left hand

the rib cage and

Got you, you bastard…

her. The Indian

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

my

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

arms

I go down...

on top of

…

as his blade slices

The rasp

metallic

Whose?

Mine…

hovers, enjoying his moment, the knife poised

point nipping at the vein, he reaches into

My Glock?

for my forehead,

use

the balls for

elbows I swing round wildly, one way or the

There are none.

of my own fucking gun

Is this it?

this time… this is

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

something I didn’t

Live by the sword…

mind works at these moments. The brain does

don’t think

and huge. The rest of the world vanishes around me. My peripheral vision grows

My throat tightens…

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

know that

swing to its owner. So

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

white shoulders and frames a face made up with emerald eyes painted Goth-dark

“Mitch?”

it. I

So does Baxter.

might be a brothel. It might have been full of women offering their all. But nothing compares

dressed like this,

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

tag dangles, an open silver loop. She hooks a finger

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