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.

Fast.

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

I

Sweat. Sour.

sour scent

Not excitement.

Fear.

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

neck but

forward, reaching for his blade, slashing out with

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

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

As he swerves away from

the rib cage and

Got you, you bastard…

her. The Indian

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

back, my foot skids on

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

my arms wind-milling

I go down...

on

…

gasp as his blade slices across

rasp of shredding

metallic tang of

Whose?

Mine…

hovers, enjoying his moment,

nipping at the vein, he reaches

My Glock?

aiming for my

use

the balls

wildly, one way or the other, searching

There are none.

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

Is this it?

time… this is how I

ways I could have died over the

for something I didn’t actually

Live by the sword…

at these moments. The brain does odd things under

think I’m

gun looms close and huge. The rest of the

My throat tightens…

contempt in equal measure… “A hero

know

to its

spiked heels. The matching skirt just

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

“Mitch?”

admit it. I

So does Baxter.

women

seen her dressed like this, not even in

stands tall, chin lifted, one leg a little curved to strike a pose. And with an eye on

She hooks a finger into

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