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 used…

Left-handed…

Thinks that gives

against right-handers. I've done

Hard. Fast. Teeth bared. Pupils

through, but I grab him by the arm. We grapple. His blade to my throat. My hand

I smell

Sweat. Sour.

scent of

Not excitement.

Fear.

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

for his neck but as he swings away, my fist lands in his

following up on my advantage, I bully forward, reaching

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

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

swerves away from my right hand,

rib cage and

Got you, you bastard…

her. The Indian

me and Baxter, she charges

staggering back, my foot skids on

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

arms wind-milling for

I go down...

Baxter’s on top of

…

My gasp as his blade slices

The rasp of

metallic tang of

Whose?

Mine…

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

the vein, he reaches into

My Glock?

for my forehead, he

use the

got the

swing round wildly, one way

There are none.

up the barrel of my own fucking

Is this it?

time… this is

Of all the ways I could have died over the years, I’m taken out by

for something I didn’t

Live by the sword…

how the mind works at these moments. The brain does odd

think I’m

close and huge. The rest of the world

My throat tightens…

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

know

to its owner. So

in the spiked heels. The matching skirt just clears the crotch and the zip-front leather vest hugs a narrow waist and full

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

“Mitch?”

admit it.

So does Baxter.

might be a brothel. It might have been full of women offering their all. But

have never seen her dressed like this,

leg a little curved to strike a pose.

open silver loop. She hooks a finger into the loop and tooth by

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