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...

eight inches. Well cared

Well used…

Left-handed…

Thinks that gives

against right-handers. I've done

out. Hard. Fast. Teeth bared. Pupils

through, but I grab him by the arm. We grapple. His blade to my throat.

I smell

Sweat. Sour.

scent

Not excitement.

Fear.

I'm overreaching… off-balance… and

neck but as he swings away, my fist lands

my advantage, I bully forward, reaching for his

and he twists away,

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

not. Just well-practised. As he swerves away from

the rib cage and

Got you, you bastard…

it’s her.

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

my foot skids on

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

arms wind-milling for

I go down...

on top

…

his

The rasp of

metallic tang

Whose?

Mine…

his moment, the knife poised at

reaches

My Glock?

and aiming for my forehead, he

not use the

the balls

wildly, one

There are none.

barrel of my own fucking gun and to Baxter’s

Is this it?

all this time… this

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

something I didn’t actually

Live by the sword…

these moments. The brain does odd things

don’t think

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

My throat tightens…

aren't you just the real man.” The voice is sultry, smooth, and drips honey and contempt in equal measure… “A hero with

I know

to its owner. So

skirt just clears the crotch and

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

“Mitch?”

admit it. I

So does Baxter.

have been full of women

dressed like this, not even in

pose. And

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

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