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 cared

Well used…

Left-handed…

that gives

against right-handers. I've

Hard. Fast. Teeth bared. Pupils

him by the arm. We

close, I

Sweat. Sour.

sour scent of

Not excitement.

Fear.

I'm overreaching… off-balance… and I pull back recovering my

his neck but as he swings away, my

bully forward, reaching for his blade, slashing out

hand and he twists away,

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

he swerves away from my right hand, my left hand is coming

the rib cage and

Got you, you bastard…

her. The Indian

for the exit, apparently blind to me and Baxter, she charges between us and I twist away to avoid slicing the

staggering back, my foot

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

my arms wind-milling for

I go down...

Baxter’s on

…

as his blade slices across

The rasp of shredding

The metallic tang of

Whose?

Mine…

grinning maniacally, he hovers, enjoying his moment, the knife poised at my

point nipping at the vein, he reaches into his jacket, he takes

My Glock?

for my forehead,

not use

the balls for

my elbows I swing round wildly,

There are none.

the barrel of my own fucking gun and

Is this it?

this time… this is how

the ways I could have died over the

something I didn’t

Live by the sword…

the mind works at these moments. The

don’t think

close and huge. The rest of the world vanishes around

My throat tightens…

in equal measure… “A hero with a

I know that

to its owner.

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

smooth white shoulders and frames a face

“Mitch?”

it.

So does Baxter.

might have been full of women offering their

have never seen her dressed like this, not even

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

a finger into the loop and tooth by tooth, slides the tag

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