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 cared

Well used…

Left-handed…

Thinks that gives

practice against right-handers. I've done

Fast. Teeth bared.

I grab him by the arm. We grapple. His blade to

I smell

Sweat. Sour.

sour scent of

Not excitement.

Fear.

suddenly I'm overreaching… off-balance… and I pull

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

forward, reaching for his blade, slashing out with my

and he twists away, still grinning manically, but

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

I’m not. Just well-practised. As he swerves away from my right

the rib cage

Got you, you bastard…

her. The Indian

the exit, apparently blind to me and Baxter, she

staggering back, my foot skids on

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

arms wind-milling for

I go down...

Baxter’s on top of

…

gasp as his blade slices

The rasp

metallic

Whose?

Mine…

maniacally, he hovers, enjoying his moment, the knife

he reaches into

My Glock?

for my

use

got the balls

wildly,

There are none.

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

Is this it?

all this time… this is how I

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

something I didn’t

Live by the sword…

mind works at these moments. The brain does odd things

don’t think I’m

and huge. The rest of the world vanishes

My throat tightens…

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

I know

eyes swing to its

spiked heels. The matching skirt

tumbles gloriously over smooth white shoulders and frames a face made up with

“Mitch?”

admit it.

So does Baxter.

women offering their all. But nothing compares

dressed like this, not

strike a pose. And with an eye on Baxter

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

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