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 him an

practice against right-handers. I've done

stabs out. Hard. Fast. Teeth

him by the arm. We grapple. His blade to my throat. My hand locked

close, I

Sweat. Sour.

sour scent

Not excitement.

Fear.

breaks away, dancing back from me and suddenly I'm overreaching… off-balance… and I pull back recovering

grins, then grunts as I lash for his neck but as he swings

up on my advantage, I bully forward, reaching

and he twists away, still grinning manically, but he doesn't

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

away from

the rib cage

Got you, you bastard…

her. The Indian

Baxter, she charges between us and

back, my foot skids

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

my arms wind-milling for

I go down...

on

…

My gasp as his

The rasp of

The metallic

Whose?

Mine…

grinning maniacally, he hovers, enjoying his moment,

nipping at the vein, he reaches into his jacket, he

My Glock?

for my forehead, he

not use the

got the balls

swing round wildly, one way or

There are none.

barrel of my own fucking gun and

Is this it?

this is

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

for something I didn’t actually

Live by the sword…

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

think

but the muzzle of the gun looms close and huge. The rest

My throat tightens…

man.” The voice is sultry, smooth, and drips honey and contempt in equal measure… “A hero with a

I know that

eyes swing to its owner.

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 a narrow waist and

and frames a face made up with

“Mitch?”

it.

So does Baxter.

be a brothel. It might have been full of women offering their all. But

her dressed like this, not even in

a pose. And

zipper tag dangles, an open silver loop. She hooks a finger into the loop and tooth

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