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

Well used…

Left-handed…

gives

right-handers. I've done

Hard. Fast. Teeth

grab him by the arm. We grapple. His blade

I

Sweat. Sour.

sour scent of

Not excitement.

Fear.

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

grunts as I lash for his neck but as he swings away,

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

at his chest with my right hand and

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

I’m not. Just well-practised. As he swerves away from my right hand, my left hand

rib cage and

Got you, you bastard…

her.

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

my foot

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

my arms wind-milling

I go down...

Baxter’s on

…

gasp as his blade slices across

The rasp

The metallic tang

Whose?

Mine…

his moment, the

nipping at the vein, he reaches into his

My Glock?

aiming for my

use the

got the balls for

swing round wildly, one way

There are none.

barrel of my own fucking gun and

Is this it?

this is how

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

for something I didn’t actually

Live by the sword…

mind works at these moments. The brain does odd things under extreme

don’t think I’m

close and huge. The

My throat tightens…

voice is sultry, smooth, and drips honey and contempt in equal

know

its

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

frames a face

“Mitch?”

it. I

So does Baxter.

might be a brothel. It might have been full of women

dressed like

a little curved to strike a pose. And with an eye on Baxter

dangles, an open silver loop. She hooks a finger into the loop and tooth by tooth, slides the

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