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…

gives

practice against right-handers. I've done

out. Hard. Fast. Teeth

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

close, I smell

Sweat. Sour.

sour scent

Not excitement.

Fear.

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

his neck but as he swings away, my fist lands

bully forward, reaching for his

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

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

As he swerves away from my right hand, my

the rib

Got you, you bastard…

her. The Indian

to me and Baxter, she charges between us and I twist away to

my foot skids on

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

my arms wind-milling

I go down...

on

…

his blade slices across

The rasp of

metallic tang of

Whose?

Mine…

he hovers, enjoying his moment, the

the vein, he reaches into

My Glock?

and aiming for my forehead, he

use

the balls for

up on my elbows I swing round wildly,

There are none.

staring straight up the barrel of my own fucking gun and

Is this it?

this is how

irritation. Of all the ways I could have died over

for something I didn’t actually

Live by the sword…

how the mind works at these moments. The brain

don’t think I’m

looms close and huge. The rest of the world vanishes around me.

My throat tightens…

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

know that

its owner.

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

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

“Mitch?”

it.

So does Baxter.

It might have been full of women offering their all. But nothing

seen her dressed like

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

a finger into

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