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…

that gives

practice against right-handers. I've

out. Hard. Fast.

and he follows through, but I grab him by the arm. We grapple. His

close, I smell

Sweat. Sour.

scent

Not excitement.

Fear.

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

neck but

following up on my advantage, I bully forward, reaching

and

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

Just well-practised. As he swerves away from my

rib cage

Got you, you bastard…

her.

out of nowhere, pelting for the exit, apparently blind to me and Baxter, she

staggering back, my

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

my arms wind-milling

I go down...

on

…

gasp as his blade

The rasp of shredding

metallic tang of

Whose?

Mine…

grinning maniacally, he hovers, enjoying his

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

My Glock?

aiming for my forehead, he backs

use the

the balls

up on my elbows I swing round wildly, one

There are none.

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

Is this it?

time… this

have died over the years, I’m taken out

something I

Live by the sword…

these moments. The brain does odd things under extreme

think I’m

The rest

My throat tightens…

in

I know that

to its owner. So

boots set her close to six feet in the spiked heels. The matching skirt just clears the crotch and the zip-front leather vest hugs

white shoulders and frames a face made up with emerald eyes painted

“Mitch?”

it. I

So does Baxter.

might be a brothel. It might have been full of women offering their all. But nothing compares to

like this, not

curved to strike a pose. And with an eye on

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

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