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…

that gives him

right-handers.

out. Hard. Fast. Teeth bared.

arm. We grapple. His

close, I smell

Sweat. Sour.

scent of

Not excitement.

Fear.

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

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

advantage, I bully forward, reaching for his

chest with my right hand 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 is

the rib

Got you, you bastard…

it’s her. The

Baxter, she charges between us and I twist

my foot skids on

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

my arms wind-milling for

I go down...

on

…

My gasp as his blade

The rasp of

The metallic tang

Whose?

Mine…

he hovers, enjoying his moment, the knife poised at

reaches into his

My Glock?

aiming for my forehead, he backs

use

the

wildly, one way

There are none.

the barrel of

Is this it?

this is how I

wars with irritation. Of all the ways I could have died over the years,

something I didn’t actually

Live by the sword…

works at these moments. The brain does odd things under

think I’m

close and huge. The rest of

My throat tightens…

just the real man.” The voice is sultry, smooth, and drips honey and contempt in equal measure… “A hero with

know that

eyes swing to its owner.

the spiked heels. The matching skirt just clears the crotch

a face made up with emerald eyes

“Mitch?”

it.

So does Baxter.

been full of women offering their all. But

seen her dressed like

tall, chin lifted, one leg a little curved to strike a pose. And with an eye on Baxter that dares him to do

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

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