Private Service at 30,000 Feet - Chapter 7: Chapter 7
You are reading Private Service at 30,000 Feet, Chapter 7: Chapter 7. Read more chapters of Private Service at 30,000 Feet.
"Annie, if this gets too heavy, I'll take Dominic down myself."
Margaret Windsor clutched my hand, her eyes swimming with tears. "All this time... it was Dominic corrupting my daughter?" Her voice cracked like thin ice.
The worst part? Dominic had been bleeding Margaret dry—siphoning her fortune drop by drop until her accounts were nearly drained.
I wrapped my arms around her shaking shoulders. "We've got this. Endgame's in sight."
My phone buzzed—Dominic's message lighting up the screen. My stomach dropped. Why was he moving the meet-up?
Margaret's grip tightened. "If this goes wrong—"
"We've got his entire playbook. Even if this fails, we've got enough to bury him." I squeezed her hand. "Trust me."
After seeing Margaret off, I headed to Dominic's chosen spot—some shady back-alley rendezvous.
The pocketknife in my bag weighed heavier than it should.
When Dominic finally appeared, he looked like hell—suit rumpled, eyes bloodshot. A far cry from the smooth operator I'd first met.
"You're a real piece of work," he spat. "Setting me up with that little honey trap?"
His grin made my skin crawl. I edged backward. "Where's the money?"
"Right here." He kicked a briefcase toward me. "Now hand over the damn video."
I popped the latches—stacks of bills—then tossed the USB at his feet.
That's when I caught the chemical sting in the air.
The world tilted. Dominic loomed over me, eyes wild.
"Thought you'd won?" He laughed—a sound like breaking glass. "Pathetic."
I fumbled for the knife, but he swatted it away like a toy.
My knees buckled. I hit concrete just as his boot cracked into my ribs.
"The second Vincent got arrested, I knew." He yanked me up by the hair. "You and that washed-up socialite plotting against me?"
His fist connected with my jaw. Stars exploded behind my eyes.
"What—she wants payback?" Spit flew from his lips. "Too late! Every cent's already gone. Vincent took the fall. Nothing ties back to me."
"You slimy—" With numb fingers, I triggered the panic button in my pocket.
Dominic saw. He stomped the device to shards.
"Calling your little cop friends?" He crouched, gripping my chin. "Vincent wasn't the only player in this game, sweetheart." His thumb brushed my cheekbone. "Where you're headed... let's just say you'll earn your keep. Might even let you live—if you're good."
I laughed until it hurt.
"Seriously? You think this ends with you walking away?"
Something flickered behind his eyes—fear?—then vanished. "Stupid cunt!"
His boot drove into my gut. I folded like paper, wheezing.
But the laughter kept coming.
With effort, I lifted my head, fingers clawing at my collar. The tiny camera lens glinted in the dim light.
"Live streamed the whole thing, Dominic. Every confession. Every felony. Straight to the precinct."
I grinned through bloody teeth.
"Enjoy prison."
Margaret Windsor clutched my hand, her eyes swimming with tears. "All this time... it was Dominic corrupting my daughter?" Her voice cracked like thin ice.
The worst part? Dominic had been bleeding Margaret dry—siphoning her fortune drop by drop until her accounts were nearly drained.
I wrapped my arms around her shaking shoulders. "We've got this. Endgame's in sight."
My phone buzzed—Dominic's message lighting up the screen. My stomach dropped. Why was he moving the meet-up?
Margaret's grip tightened. "If this goes wrong—"
"We've got his entire playbook. Even if this fails, we've got enough to bury him." I squeezed her hand. "Trust me."
After seeing Margaret off, I headed to Dominic's chosen spot—some shady back-alley rendezvous.
The pocketknife in my bag weighed heavier than it should.
When Dominic finally appeared, he looked like hell—suit rumpled, eyes bloodshot. A far cry from the smooth operator I'd first met.
"You're a real piece of work," he spat. "Setting me up with that little honey trap?"
His grin made my skin crawl. I edged backward. "Where's the money?"
"Right here." He kicked a briefcase toward me. "Now hand over the damn video."
I popped the latches—stacks of bills—then tossed the USB at his feet.
That's when I caught the chemical sting in the air.
The world tilted. Dominic loomed over me, eyes wild.
"Thought you'd won?" He laughed—a sound like breaking glass. "Pathetic."
I fumbled for the knife, but he swatted it away like a toy.
My knees buckled. I hit concrete just as his boot cracked into my ribs.
"The second Vincent got arrested, I knew." He yanked me up by the hair. "You and that washed-up socialite plotting against me?"
His fist connected with my jaw. Stars exploded behind my eyes.
"What—she wants payback?" Spit flew from his lips. "Too late! Every cent's already gone. Vincent took the fall. Nothing ties back to me."
"You slimy—" With numb fingers, I triggered the panic button in my pocket.
Dominic saw. He stomped the device to shards.
"Calling your little cop friends?" He crouched, gripping my chin. "Vincent wasn't the only player in this game, sweetheart." His thumb brushed my cheekbone. "Where you're headed... let's just say you'll earn your keep. Might even let you live—if you're good."
I laughed until it hurt.
"Seriously? You think this ends with you walking away?"
Something flickered behind his eyes—fear?—then vanished. "Stupid cunt!"
His boot drove into my gut. I folded like paper, wheezing.
But the laughter kept coming.
With effort, I lifted my head, fingers clawing at my collar. The tiny camera lens glinted in the dim light.
"Live streamed the whole thing, Dominic. Every confession. Every felony. Straight to the precinct."
I grinned through bloody teeth.
"Enjoy prison."
End of Private Service at 30,000 Feet Chapter 7. Continue reading Chapter 8 or return to Private Service at 30,000 Feet book page.