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...

inches. Well cared

Well used…

Left-handed…

gives

against right-handers.

Hard. Fast. Teeth

arm.

I smell

Sweat. Sour.

scent of

Not excitement.

Fear.

away, dancing back from me and suddenly I'm overreaching… off-balance… and I pull back recovering my

but as he swings away, my fist lands

forward, reaching for his blade, slashing out with

chest with my right hand and he twists away, still grinning manically, but he doesn't

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

he swerves away from my right hand,

the rib

Got you, you bastard…

it’s her.

me and Baxter, she charges between us

back, my foot

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

my arms

I go down...

Baxter’s on

…

My gasp as his blade slices across

rasp of

The metallic

Whose?

Mine…

enjoying his moment, the knife poised at my

he reaches into

My Glock?

aiming for my forehead, he backs

not use the

got the balls for

up on my elbows I swing round wildly, one way or

There are none.

up the barrel of my own fucking gun and to

Is this it?

all this time… this

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

I didn’t actually

Live by the sword…

these moments. The brain does odd things

think

close and huge. The rest of the world vanishes around me.

My throat tightens…

contempt in equal measure… “A hero with a gun and a knife against an unarmed man. And he’s

I know that

swing to its owner. So

set her close to six feet in the spiked heels. The matching skirt

tumbles gloriously over smooth white shoulders and frames a face made

“Mitch?”

it. I

So does Baxter.

full of women offering their all. But nothing compares to Mitch

dressed like this, not even in her ‘professional’

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

tag dangles, an open silver loop. She hooks a finger into the

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