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

Well used…

Left-handed…

Thinks that gives him an

practice against right-handers. I've

Fast. Teeth bared.

jerk back and he follows through, but I grab him by the arm. We grapple. His blade

close, I

Sweat. Sour.

sour scent of

Not excitement.

Fear.

back from me and suddenly I'm

but as he swings away, my fist

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

hand and he twists away, still grinning manically, but he doesn't

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

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

rib cage and

Got you, you bastard…

her. The

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

my foot skids

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

my arms wind-milling for

I go down...

on

…

gasp as his blade slices across

The rasp

metallic tang

Whose?

Mine…

grinning maniacally, he hovers, enjoying his moment, the knife

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

My Glock?

and aiming for my forehead,

not use the

the

my elbows I swing round wildly, one

There are none.

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

Is this it?

all this time… this is

ways I could have died over the years,

I didn’t

Live by the sword…

these moments. The brain does odd things under extreme

think I’m

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

My throat tightens…

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

know

swing to its

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

frames a face made up with emerald eyes painted

“Mitch?”

it. I

So does Baxter.

women offering their all. But nothing compares

her dressed like this, not even in her

leg a little curved to strike a pose.

finger into the loop and

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