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...

maybe eight inches.

Well used…

Left-handed…

Thinks that gives him an

right-handers.

stabs out. Hard. Fast. Teeth

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

close, I smell

Sweat. Sour.

sour scent of

Not excitement.

Fear.

from me and suddenly I'm overreaching…

lash for his neck but

I bully forward,

and he twists

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

he swerves away from my right hand, my

the rib cage

Got you, you bastard…

it’s her.

pelting for the exit, apparently blind to me and Baxter, she charges between us and I

back, my

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

arms wind-milling

I go down...

on top

…

his blade

rasp

metallic tang of

Whose?

Mine…

enjoying his moment, the knife poised at

he reaches into

My Glock?

aiming for my forehead,

not use the

got the

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

There are none.

barrel of my own fucking gun and to Baxter’s

Is this it?

this

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

for something I

Live by the sword…

works at these moments. The brain does odd things under

think I’m

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

My throat tightens…

you just the real man.” The voice is sultry, smooth, and drips honey and contempt in equal measure… “A hero with a gun and a knife against an

know

to its owner. So

spiked heels. The matching skirt just clears the crotch and the zip-front leather vest hugs a narrow waist and

gloriously over smooth white shoulders and frames a face made up with emerald eyes painted Goth-dark and fuck-me

“Mitch?”

admit it.

So does Baxter.

might be a brothel. It might have been full of women offering their all. But nothing compares

I have never seen her dressed like this, not even in her ‘professional’

lifted, one leg a little curved to strike a pose. And with an eye

a finger into the loop and tooth

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