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

against right-handers. I've

Fast. Teeth bared.

by the arm.

close, I smell

Sweat. Sour.

scent of

Not excitement.

Fear.

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

as I lash for his neck but as he

on my advantage, I bully forward, reaching for his blade, slashing out with

chest with my right hand and he twists

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

well-practised. As he swerves away from my right hand, my

rib

Got you, you bastard…

her. The Indian

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

staggering back, my

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

my arms wind-milling for

I go down...

on top

…

My gasp as his blade slices

The rasp

metallic tang

Whose?

Mine…

his moment, the knife poised

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

My Glock?

and aiming for my forehead,

not use

the balls

round wildly, one way

There are none.

staring straight up the barrel of my own fucking gun and to Baxter’s crocodile

Is this it?

all this time… this is how I

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

I didn’t

Live by the sword…

these moments.

think I’m

but the muzzle of the gun looms close and huge. The rest of the world vanishes around me. My peripheral vision

My throat tightens…

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

know

eyes swing to its

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

frames a face made up with emerald eyes painted

“Mitch?”

admit it. I

So does Baxter.

been full of women offering their all.

never seen her dressed like this, not even in

to strike a pose.

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

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