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

practice against right-handers. I've

stabs out. Hard. Fast.

the arm. We

I smell

Sweat. Sour.

scent

Not excitement.

Fear.

from me and suddenly I'm overreaching… off-balance… and I pull

I lash for his neck but

bully forward, reaching

hand and he twists away, still

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

Just well-practised. As he swerves away from my

the rib cage and

Got you, you bastard…

her.

of nowhere, pelting for the exit, apparently blind to me and Baxter, she charges between us and I twist

my foot skids on

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

arms

I go down...

on

…

his blade slices across

rasp of

The metallic

Whose?

Mine…

enjoying his moment, the

reaches into his jacket,

My Glock?

my

use

got the balls for

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

There are none.

the barrel of my

Is this it?

this time… this is

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

for something I didn’t actually

Live by the sword…

at these moments. The brain does

think

muzzle of the gun looms close and huge. The rest of the world vanishes around me. My peripheral vision

My throat tightens…

and contempt in

know that

to its owner.

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

smooth white shoulders and frames a face made up with emerald eyes painted Goth-dark and fuck-me

“Mitch?”

admit it.

So does Baxter.

might have been full of women offering their all. But

like this, not even in her

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

hooks a finger into the loop and tooth by tooth, slides

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