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

practice against right-handers. I've

Fast. Teeth bared. Pupils

arm. We

I smell

Sweat. Sour.

sour scent of

Not excitement.

Fear.

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

I lash for his neck but as he swings away, my

forward, reaching for his

right hand and he twists away, still grinning

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

swerves away from my right hand, my

the rib cage

Got you, you bastard…

it’s her.

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

staggering back, my foot

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

my arms wind-milling

I go down...

on

…

his blade slices

The rasp of shredding

The metallic tang

Whose?

Mine…

his moment, the knife poised at

point nipping at the vein, he reaches into

My Glock?

aiming for my

use the

the

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

There are none.

of my own fucking gun

Is this it?

all this time… this is how I

died over the years,

I didn’t

Live by the sword…

these moments. The brain does odd things

think I’m

looms close and huge. The

My throat tightens…

voice is sultry, smooth, and drips honey and contempt in equal measure… “A hero with a gun and a knife against an

I know

to its

to six feet in the spiked heels. The matching skirt just clears the crotch and

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

“Mitch?”

admit it. I

So does Baxter.

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

never seen her dressed like this, not even in

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

finger

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