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

Well used…

Left-handed…

Thinks that gives

practice against right-handers. I've

Hard. Fast. Teeth

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

I

Sweat. Sour.

sour scent of

Not excitement.

Fear.

I'm overreaching… off-balance… and I

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

up on my advantage, I bully forward, reaching for his

with my right hand and he twists away, still grinning manically, but

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

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

rib cage

Got you, you bastard…

it’s her.

me and Baxter,

staggering back, my foot skids on

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

my arms

I go down...

on

…

gasp as his blade slices

rasp

The metallic

Whose?

Mine…

grinning maniacally, he hovers, enjoying his moment, the knife poised

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

My Glock?

my forehead, he

use

the

elbows I swing round wildly, one way or the other, searching

There are none.

staring straight up the barrel of my own fucking

Is this it?

all this time… this is how

I could have died over the years, I’m

something I didn’t actually

Live by the sword…

mind works at these moments.

think

and huge. The rest of the world vanishes

My throat tightens…

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

I know that

swing to its

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

frames a face made up

“Mitch?”

admit it. I

So does Baxter.

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

dressed like this, not even in her

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

a finger into the loop and

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