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 used…

Left-handed…

gives him

against right-handers.

Fast. Teeth bared.

grab him by the arm. We grapple. His blade to my throat. My hand locked

close, I

Sweat. Sour.

sour scent

Not excitement.

Fear.

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

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

forward, reaching

slash at his chest with my right hand and he twists away,

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

he swerves away from my right hand, my left hand

the rib cage

Got you, you bastard…

her. The Indian

and Baxter, she charges between us and I twist away to

staggering back, my foot skids on

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

my arms wind-milling

I go down...

on top

…

gasp as his blade

rasp of

The metallic

Whose?

Mine…

grinning maniacally, he hovers, enjoying his moment,

reaches into his jacket,

My Glock?

for my forehead, he

use

got the balls for

swing round wildly, one way or the other, searching for

There are none.

up the barrel of my own

Is this it?

time… this

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

I didn’t

Live by the sword…

works at these moments. The brain does odd things

think I’m

the gun looms close and huge. The

My throat tightens…

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

know that

eyes swing to its

close to six feet in the spiked heels. The matching skirt just clears the

tumbles gloriously over smooth white shoulders and frames a

“Mitch?”

admit it.

So does Baxter.

of women offering their all. But nothing compares

I have never seen her dressed like this,

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

finger into the loop and tooth by

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