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…

that gives him an

practice against right-handers. I've done

out. Hard. Fast. Teeth

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

I smell

Sweat. Sour.

sour scent

Not excitement.

Fear.

back from me and suddenly I'm overreaching…

his neck but as he swings away, my fist

advantage, I bully forward, reaching for his blade, slashing out with my

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

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

away from my right hand, my left hand

the rib cage

Got you, you bastard…

it’s her. The Indian

for the exit, apparently blind to me and Baxter, she charges between us and I twist away to avoid slicing the

back, my foot

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

arms wind-milling for

I go down...

on top

…

as his blade slices

rasp of

The metallic

Whose?

Mine…

maniacally, he hovers, enjoying his moment, the knife

point nipping at the vein, he reaches into his jacket,

My Glock?

and aiming for my forehead,

not use

got the balls for

round wildly, one way

There are none.

up, I’m staring straight up the barrel of

Is this it?

this time… this is

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

I didn’t actually

Live by the sword…

the mind works at these moments. The brain does

don’t think

huge. The rest of the world vanishes around me. My

My throat tightens…

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

I know

its owner. So do

in the spiked heels. The matching skirt just clears the crotch

frames a face made

“Mitch?”

admit it. I

So does Baxter.

women offering their all. But nothing compares to

seen her dressed like

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

finger into the

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