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 used…

Left-handed…

that gives him an

practice against right-handers. I've

Hard. Fast. Teeth bared.

grab him by the arm. We

I

Sweat. Sour.

sour scent

Not excitement.

Fear.

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

I 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?

Just well-practised. As he swerves away from my

the rib cage and

Got you, you bastard…

her. The

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

back, my foot skids

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

my arms wind-milling for

I go down...

on

…

as his blade slices across

rasp of shredding

metallic tang

Whose?

Mine…

his

vein, he reaches into his jacket, he

My Glock?

for my

not use

the balls for

elbows I swing round wildly, one

There are none.

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

Is this it?

time… this is how

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

something I

Live by the sword…

moments. The

think I’m

looms close and huge. The rest of

My throat tightens…

sultry, smooth, and drips honey and contempt in equal measure… “A hero with a gun and a knife against an unarmed man. And

know that

to its owner.

thigh boots set her close to six feet in the spiked heels. The matching skirt just clears the crotch and the zip-front leather vest hugs a narrow

over smooth white shoulders and frames a face made up

“Mitch?”

it.

So does Baxter.

have been full of women offering their all. But nothing compares to

have never seen her dressed like this, not

curved to strike a pose. And with an eye

finger into the loop and tooth by tooth, slides

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