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

Well used…

Left-handed…

gives

right-handers. I've done

stabs out. Hard. Fast. Teeth bared.

grab him by the arm. We grapple.

close, I

Sweat. Sour.

sour scent of

Not excitement.

Fear.

me and suddenly I'm overreaching…

but as he swings away, my

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

chest with my right hand and he twists away, still grinning manically, but he doesn't

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

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

rib

Got you, you bastard…

her. The

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

back, my foot

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

my arms

I go down...

on top of

…

gasp as his blade

rasp of shredding

The metallic tang of

Whose?

Mine…

enjoying his moment, the knife poised

the vein, he reaches into his

My Glock?

my forehead, he

not use the

the

wildly, one

There are none.

up, I’m staring straight up the barrel of my own fucking gun and to Baxter’s crocodile

Is this it?

time… this is

wars with irritation. Of all the ways I could have died over the years, I’m taken out by a shite like

for something I

Live by the sword…

works at these moments. The brain does odd things under extreme

don’t think I’m

huge. The rest of the world vanishes around me. My peripheral vision grows

My throat tightens…

drips honey and contempt in equal measure… “A hero with a gun and a knife against an

know

to its owner. So

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

shoulders and frames a face made up with emerald

“Mitch?”

it.

So does Baxter.

It might have been full of women offering their all. But nothing compares to Mitch in all her

have never seen her dressed like this, not even in her

leg a little curved to strike a pose. And with an eye on Baxter that

She hooks a finger into the loop and tooth by tooth,

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