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…

Thinks that gives him an

right-handers. I've done

Hard. Fast.

jerk back and he follows through, but I grab him by the arm. We grapple. His blade to my throat. My hand

close, I

Sweat. Sour.

scent

Not excitement.

Fear.

suddenly I'm

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

bully forward, reaching for his blade, slashing

with my right hand and he

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

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

rib

Got you, you bastard…

her.

pelting for the exit, apparently blind to me and Baxter,

staggering back, my foot skids on

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

my arms

I go down...

on top of

…

My gasp as his

The rasp

metallic tang

Whose?

Mine…

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

at the vein, he reaches into his jacket, he takes out a

My Glock?

for my forehead, he backs

not use

the balls for

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

There are none.

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

Is this it?

this time… this is

the ways I could have died over the

for something I didn’t actually

Live by the sword…

moments. The brain

think I’m

muzzle of the gun looms close and huge. The rest

My throat tightens…

is sultry, smooth, and drips honey and contempt in equal measure… “A hero with a gun and a knife against

know

its

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

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

“Mitch?”

it.

So does Baxter.

have been full of women offering their all. But

her dressed like this,

curved to strike a pose. And with an eye on Baxter that dares him to

an open silver loop. She hooks a finger into the loop

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