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...

inches. Well

Well used…

Left-handed…

gives him

against right-handers.

Hard. Fast. Teeth bared.

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

I smell

Sweat. Sour.

sour scent of

Not excitement.

Fear.

I'm

neck but

on my advantage, I bully forward, reaching for

at his chest with my right hand and he twists away,

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

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

rib cage

Got you, you bastard…

her. The Indian

me and Baxter, she charges between us

staggering back, my foot skids on

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

my arms

I go down...

Baxter’s on top of

…

gasp as his blade

The rasp

The metallic

Whose?

Mine…

maniacally, he hovers, enjoying his moment, the knife poised at my

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

My Glock?

for my forehead,

use the

got the balls for

wildly, one

There are none.

the barrel of my own fucking gun and to

Is this it?

time… this

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

for something I

Live by the sword…

moments. The brain does odd things under

think

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

My throat tightens…

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

know

swing to its

in the spiked heels. The matching skirt just clears the

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

“Mitch?”

it.

So does Baxter.

full of women offering their all. But nothing compares to Mitch in all her

seen her dressed like this, not even in her ‘professional’

tall, chin lifted, one leg a little curved to strike a pose. And with an eye on Baxter

an open silver loop. She hooks a finger into the loop and tooth

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