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 cared

Well used…

Left-handed…

gives him an

practice against right-handers.

stabs out. Hard. Fast. Teeth

him by the arm. We grapple. His blade to my throat. My hand

I

Sweat. Sour.

scent of

Not excitement.

Fear.

I'm overreaching… off-balance…

as I lash for his neck but as he swings away, my fist lands in

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

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

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

I’m not. Just well-practised. As he swerves away from my right hand,

the rib cage and

Got you, you bastard…

it’s her. The

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

staggering back, my foot skids on

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

my arms wind-milling for

I go down...

on top of

…

his blade slices across

The rasp of

metallic tang of

Whose?

Mine…

grinning maniacally, he hovers, enjoying his moment, the knife poised at

he reaches into his jacket, he takes

My Glock?

my forehead, he backs

not use

the

I swing round wildly, one way or the

There are none.

the barrel of my own fucking gun and

Is this it?

this time… this is

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

something I

Live by the sword…

mind works at these moments. The brain

think I’m

huge. The rest

My throat tightens…

you just the real man.” The voice is sultry, smooth, and drips honey and contempt in equal measure…

I know

to its

six feet in the spiked heels. The matching skirt just clears the crotch and the zip-front leather vest hugs a narrow waist

a face made up with emerald

“Mitch?”

admit it. I

So does Baxter.

might be a brothel. It might have been full of women offering

her dressed like this, not even

pose. And with an eye on

an open silver loop. She hooks a finger into

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