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…

that gives him an

right-handers.

Hard. Fast. Teeth bared.

follows through, but I grab him by the arm. We

close, I smell

Sweat. Sour.

sour scent of

Not excitement.

Fear.

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

but as he swings away, my

forward, reaching for

right hand and he

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

swerves away from my right hand, my left hand is coming

the rib cage

Got you, you bastard…

her. The

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

back, my

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

arms wind-milling for

I go down...

Baxter’s on top of

…

as his

rasp of shredding

The metallic tang of

Whose?

Mine…

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

nipping at the vein, he reaches into his

My Glock?

for my forehead,

use the

the balls for

wildly, one way or the

There are none.

staring straight up the barrel of my own

Is this it?

this time… this

I could have died over the

for something I

Live by the sword…

at these moments. The brain

don’t think

looms close and huge. The rest of the world

My throat tightens…

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

I know that

swing to its owner.

six feet in the spiked heels. The matching skirt just

and frames a face made up with emerald eyes painted Goth-dark and

“Mitch?”

admit it. I

So does Baxter.

It might have been full of women offering their

like this, not even

leg a little curved to strike a pose. And

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

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