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 cared

Well used…

Left-handed…

gives him

right-handers. I've done

Fast. Teeth bared. Pupils

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

close, I

Sweat. Sour.

sour scent

Not excitement.

Fear.

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

but as he swings away, my fist lands

forward,

and he twists away, still grinning manically, but he doesn't

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

away from

rib cage and

Got you, you bastard…

her. The

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

back, my foot

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

my arms

I go down...

Baxter’s on

…

as his blade

The rasp of shredding

metallic

Whose?

Mine…

he hovers, enjoying his

at the vein, he reaches into his jacket,

My Glock?

for my forehead, he

not use

got the balls for

round wildly, one way or

There are none.

barrel of my own

Is this it?

this time… this is how

all the ways I could have died over the years, I’m taken out by a shite

something I didn’t actually

Live by the sword…

how the mind works at these moments. The brain does odd things

don’t think

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 an unarmed man.

I know that

eyes swing to its owner. So do

matching skirt just clears the

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

“Mitch?”

it. I

So does Baxter.

women

never seen her dressed like this, not even

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

loop. She hooks a finger into the loop and tooth by

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