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…

gives him

practice against right-handers. I've

stabs out. Hard. Fast. Teeth bared.

by the arm.

I smell

Sweat. Sour.

scent of

Not excitement.

Fear.

from me and suddenly I'm

but as he swings away, my fist lands in

my advantage, I bully forward, reaching for his blade, slashing

chest with my right hand and he twists away,

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

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

rib cage and

Got you, you bastard…

it’s her. The Indian

for the exit, apparently blind to me and Baxter, she

back, my foot skids on

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

my arms wind-milling for

I go down...

on top of

…

gasp as his blade slices

The rasp

metallic tang

Whose?

Mine…

his

at the vein, he reaches into

My Glock?

for my forehead, he

not use the

the

round wildly, one way or

There are none.

straight up the barrel of my own

Is this it?

this is how

wars with irritation. Of all the ways I could have died over the years, I’m

something I didn’t

Live by the sword…

moments. The brain

think I’m

the gun looms close and huge. The rest of the world

My throat tightens…

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

know that

swing to its

thigh boots set her close to six feet in the spiked heels. The matching skirt just clears the crotch and the

gloriously over smooth white shoulders and frames a face made up

“Mitch?”

it.

So does Baxter.

women offering their

her dressed like this, not even

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

zipper tag dangles, an open silver loop. She hooks a finger into the loop

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