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…

that gives

practice against right-handers. I've done

Hard. Fast.

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

close, I smell

Sweat. Sour.

scent

Not excitement.

Fear.

and suddenly I'm

lash for his neck but as he swings away,

forward, reaching for his blade, slashing out

his chest with my right hand and he twists away, still grinning manically,

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

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

rib cage

Got you, you bastard…

her. The

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

staggering back, my foot skids on

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

arms wind-milling

I go down...

Baxter’s on top

…

as his blade slices

The rasp of shredding

The metallic tang

Whose?

Mine…

grinning maniacally, he hovers, enjoying his moment, the

at the vein, he reaches into his jacket, he takes out a

My Glock?

for my

not use

got the balls

wildly, one way or the

There are none.

of my own fucking gun

Is this it?

time… this is

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

something I

Live by the sword…

works at these moments. The brain does

don’t think I’m

the gun looms close and huge. The rest

My throat tightens…

contempt in equal measure…

know

eyes swing to its owner.

heels. The matching skirt just clears the

smooth white shoulders and frames a face made up with emerald eyes painted Goth-dark and fuck-me

“Mitch?”

admit it.

So does Baxter.

been full of women offering their all.

like this, not even in

pose.

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

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