Novel Name : Hot Revenge Box Set 2

Chapter 9

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She wails, straining against me, but at least now she’s warm. She’s lost that deadly chill, the
clamminess to her flesh she had when we first found her.

And I think hope has eased the pain for her. She still screams as her body spasms, but now she
sounds more like ‘my Charlotte’. The screams are of defiance and determination, not of hopelessness
and fear.

And she’s mad…

Angry as hell…

I sit, leaning back against the wall, Charlotte cradled in my arms. She, lying between my knees, is
supported against my chest. Her rib cage pressed to mine, her heartbeat thumps through me. And the
breath in her saturated lungs rattles as she breathes.

When it really comes down to it, what can I do to help her? Other than keep her warm? Help her feel
safe? While she gets on with doing what women have done as long as there have been women;
delivering our children.

She relaxes back against me, panting as her most recent contraction eases.

I curve around, kiss her cheek. “How do you feel now?”

Klempner glances back.

She struggles to turn, head twisting round as far as she can towards mine. “Feel?” she screeches.
“How the fuck do you think I feel? It’s like someone's trying to scoop out my fucking vagina with a
fucking soup ladle!”

Klempner chuckles and turns away. “That’s my girl.”


Klempner stirs. “Michael, time's up.” He jerks his chin up to where the indicator on the camera is
blinking red.


“Got my hands full here. You're just going to have to hold them off.”

“Wonderful.” He leans cautiously out, then yanks back as from outside, the sound of a shot ricochets
along the corridor.

He exchanges glances with Charlotte. “Jenny, this is a good time to keep doing what you’re doing.”

I squeeze her in my arms, whisper close by her. “Babe, push. Push as hard as you can.”

“I am fucking pushing…”



At the clinic, Elizabeth receives the red-carpet treatment. And the doctor is comforting in his brisk
efficiency, taking away the need to think.

“I understand your concern, Mr Haswell, but be assured, your wife is in the best possible hands. We
will try first to control the contractions; to see if we can halt the premature labour…”

“But what…?”

He cuts in, shuts me up. “At this stage, even a few days delay in delivery can make life more
comfortable for the baby. But…” He brandishes a forefinger… “If that proves impossible, the baby still
has a very good chance indeed. Babies born preterm at this age have a 95% survival rate…”


In her room, in dressing gown and slippers, Elizabeth sits in an armchair, gulping down a glass of water
as a nurse stands over her.

“Drink it down, Mrs Haswell. The Nifedipine should reduce the contractions. If we’re lucky, it will stop
them altogether. In any case, drink plenty of water.



Limping heavily, painfully, I arrive at my destination.

A parking lot: half-occupied at one end with trucks and wagons camping overnight; the other end with
cars and a couple of skinny cats squabbling over something they’re trying to peel from the tarmac.

It’s not a bad place; in the normal scheme of things; a simple facility for shoppers and visitors to the
local restaurants, bowling alley and cinemas. It could use a little maintenance on a couple of potholes,
but that’s all.

But right now, it’s almost silent save for the distant rumble of traffic, my footsteps echo into the gloom.
In the iced night, my breath blows blue clouds. The temperature’s still falling…

Are you cold, Jade-Eyes?

They’re coming for you…

And Cara…

And I’m buying them time to get to you…

I pace, searching for my next instructions. Almost immediately, I think I’ve found it; a slip of paper
tucked under the wiper of the nearest car.

Want to sell your car? We pay $$$$

Disgusted, I screw it up, tossing it away. Then I scan the rank; a dozen or fifteen cars, and every
fucking windscreen has a note.

Cursing, I hobble along, working my way through them, looking for the one intended for me…

I lose count. twenty, thirty, forty of the friggin’ things…

Pain spears through my thigh, combining forces with the bruises at knee and hip and I whistle in air…

And it comes to me…

… I’m not alone.

It’s the gang again. My back turned, they’re all around, encircling me.

Tall-Boy steps forward, his grin back in place. The knife too. And as I reach for the gun, two of them are
behind me, gripping my arms. One grabs my damaged wrist, twisting and sending sparks flying behind
my eyes.

“Get the bag off him...”

A million is snatched from my hand…

“… Let’s see what’s so interesting…”

The bag is dumped down. Tall-Boy stoops and unzips… Then leans forward, staring. “Fuck me…”

From two ranks away, tires squeal and headlights swing. A gunshot sounds, then another. One round
impacts the car I was checking, holing the wheel arch and the gang scatter, yelling and diving for cover.
The next punches through the windscreen, a spider’s web of crazed glass.

And as I’m spinning, ducking for cover, a third shot fires and a rhino charges me, smashing into my
ribs. I drop, my back to the car, gasping for air

Tall-Boy grabs the bag, starts running, but the headlights swing again, squaring onto him.

And he reacts the way every panicking, unthinking animal does but which for humans, it should be
screamingly obvious is the fatal move…

He tries to outrun the headlights…

The car screeches up behind him, engine revving…

Cupping hands around my mouth, I yell out, “Drop the bag. It’s the bag they want.” Then I clutch my

Fuck, that hurts…

But either he doesn’t hear me, or he simply ignores me…

He runs, head twisting back to see, his fear naked…

… and he’s still looking as the car ploughs over him.

I jerk my head away as he goes under, a screaming, twisted thing. The vehicle rides over him, then
screeches through a U-turn and stops, pinning me in the beam.

A figure gets out, picks up the bag and dumps it in the car. Then silhouetted, the light a bright corona
around him, the figure approaches me. Then two more, heavily-set, beside him.

“Hello, James.” And I know that voice. Finchby. “Get him in. Don’t be gentle.”


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