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...

maybe eight inches. Well

Well used…

Left-handed…

Thinks that gives

against right-handers. I've done

Fast. Teeth

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

close, I smell

Sweat. Sour.

scent

Not excitement.

Fear.

me and suddenly I'm overreaching…

lash for his neck but

I bully forward, reaching for his blade, slashing out

my right hand and he twists away, still

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

As he swerves away from my

rib

Got you, you bastard…

it’s her. The Indian

nowhere, pelting for the exit, apparently blind to me and Baxter, she charges between us and I twist away to

back, my foot

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

my arms

I go down...

on top

…

My gasp as his blade slices across

rasp of shredding

The metallic tang

Whose?

Mine…

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

the vein, he reaches into his jacket,

My Glock?

and aiming for my forehead, he

not use the

the

elbows I swing round wildly, one way or the other, searching

There are none.

up, I’m staring straight up the barrel of my

Is this it?

this time… this

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

for something I didn’t actually

Live by the sword…

these moments. The brain does odd things under

don’t think I’m

close and huge. The rest of the world vanishes around

My throat tightens…

just 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 an unarmed man.

I know

eyes swing to its owner. So do

heels. The matching skirt just clears the crotch and the

frames a face made up with emerald eyes painted Goth-dark

“Mitch?”

admit it. I

So does Baxter.

been full of women

seen her dressed like this, not even

tall, chin lifted, one leg a little curved to strike a pose. And

hooks a finger into the loop and tooth by tooth,

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