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…

that gives him

right-handers.

stabs out. Hard. Fast.

but I grab him by the arm.

close, I smell

Sweat. Sour.

sour scent

Not excitement.

Fear.

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

grins, then grunts as I lash for his neck but as he swings

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

his chest with my right hand and he twists away,

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

from

the rib cage

Got you, you bastard…

it’s her. The

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

staggering back, my foot skids on

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

arms wind-milling for

I go down...

on top

…

his

rasp

metallic tang

Whose?

Mine…

me, grinning maniacally, he hovers, enjoying his

the vein, he reaches into his jacket,

My Glock?

for my forehead,

not use

the

round wildly, one way or the

There are none.

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

Is this it?

all this time… this is

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

something I

Live by the sword…

how the mind works at these moments. The brain

think I’m

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

My throat tightens…

aren't you just the real man.” The voice is sultry, smooth, and drips honey and contempt in equal measure… “A hero

know that

swing to its owner. So

six feet in the spiked heels. The matching skirt

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

“Mitch?”

admit it. I

So does Baxter.

of women offering their all. But nothing

dressed like this, not even in her ‘professional’

curved to strike a pose. And with an

loop. She hooks a finger into the loop and tooth by tooth,

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