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 used…

Left-handed…

Thinks that gives him an

against right-handers. I've

Hard. Fast. Teeth bared. Pupils

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

I

Sweat. Sour.

sour scent

Not excitement.

Fear.

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

for his neck but as he swings away, my fist lands in his

I bully forward,

with my right hand and he twists away, still grinning

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

Just well-practised. As he swerves away from my right

rib cage and

Got you, you bastard…

her. The Indian

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

my foot skids

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

arms wind-milling

I go down...

Baxter’s on top

…

gasp as his blade slices

rasp of

The metallic tang

Whose?

Mine…

me, grinning maniacally, he hovers, enjoying his

he reaches into his jacket, he takes

My Glock?

aiming for my forehead,

use the

got the

elbows I swing round wildly, one way

There are none.

the barrel of my

Is this it?

this time… this is how I

Of all the ways I could have died over the years, I’m taken out by

for something I didn’t

Live by the sword…

works at these moments. The brain does odd things under

don’t think I’m

the gun looms close and huge. The

My throat tightens…

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

know

to its owner. So

in the spiked heels. The matching skirt just clears the crotch and the zip-front leather

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

“Mitch?”

admit it. I

So does Baxter.

full of women

her dressed like this, not

pose. And with an eye on Baxter that dares him to do his

She hooks a finger

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