A minute of Victory

Chapter Sixteen

Asli buttoned the last button on her shirt before stepping out. She didn't have a show this weekend but for a change, she wanted to wear a white shirt.

Maybe it was to rejoice over hijacking her enemy's trailer. She hadn't opened it yet. Knowing him, it was probably some guns or adult toys. He only got one chance to blackmail her and all he could use that card for was to make her seduce him through a dance.

Did she look like a stripper to him? Did he even see her past her being a woman? Did he think of her as a Leader? Massive… the total disrespect. To think she had not even an inch of sleep, cursing herself for letting his abdominal fingers touch her.

She couldn't deal with him now. She hoped the man she ruined would give her message to him. Thank goodness she wrote the words on paper. She didn't trust the man to say it to him. A wicked smile formed on her lips. She wasn't done yet.

She hopped out of the SUV after the driver parked. The breeze seemed calm and it soothed her skin. They moved to where their Jet was. It was a good day to fly this giant today. She didn't remember when she last flew it by herself.

She stood tall, her eyes fixed on the sleek Jet before her. She had a few chats with the attendant and it was clear to everyone she was going to pilot it. They had recruited a new member from the minor family, Walter, who didn't know she had the license so he shifted uncomfortably beside her.

"You're… flying this yourself?" Walter asked, his voice tinged with surprise.

Asli's gaze narrowed. "Why did you ask?"

His expression faltered. "I just… didn't think you'd be piloting it personally."

Two of the men's faces fell, their lips parting in dismay. The other's eyes snapped to their boss, his expression grim.

Her eyes locked onto him, searching for the underlying reason. "Why's that?" She was sure, by now, every Mafia had tabs on her. Even her last kill was usually documented. How come he didn't know she could fly a plane?

The young man's smile was misplaced. "Well, you know what they say, a woman's place is on the ground, not in the cockpit.'" His chuckle died quickly when he realized nobody laughed alongside him.

Behind him, the man's eyes widened, their eyebrows shooting up in warning. Two subtly shook their head, their hand hovering near their mouths as if to suppress a warning.

One, leaning against the hangar wall, jerked his chin toward him, his eyes flashing a silent "shut up."

But they all knew this was the first and last: the only time he would get to see her… or anyone for that matter.

Asli's expression turned glacial. Without a word, she drew her pistol and aimed.

His eyes widened. "Wait—"

A single shot echoed through the hangar. Did he think he could make a joke like that and walk away freely?

Walter crumpled to the ground, a bullet hole in his forehead.

Also holstered her gun, her voice icy. "Sexism's a fatal flaw." Regardless, she smiled. Everyone could tell she was in a good mood. She just killed a man by shooting him once for speaking against her or trying to remind her of societal judgments. The other guy who did that got buried alive after taking six bullets, cutting his fingers off, and already bleeding to death.

She turned to her remaining team members as if nothing happened. "Let's move. We have a schedule." The attendant was already making a call, probably to have someone clean up the mess.

The team sprang into action, exchanging relief glances. They weren't going to suffer from Walter's unnecessary joke. Whatever reason he thought that was a thing to say, he better not do it again if he were reborn.

"Oh, come on. He ruined my shirt!" She exclaimed and everyone's attention drew to her. She didn't blame them for not noticing. No one had ever watched her for more than ten seconds. "Get me a new white shirt." She snapped her fingers.

After a short while, the shirt was brought and she changed right there, over Walter's body, while the other men turned to give her privacy.

In the next minutes, they were in the Jet and Asli's hands moved with practice ease over the controls, the Jet's instruments humming to life beneath her touch. She settled into the worn leather seat, her eyes scanning the familiar layout.

"Clearance, this is Zenith-5. Requesting departure clearance," she spoke into the comms device.

The voice on the other end crackled, "Zenith-5, cleared for departure. Runway 27L."

Her gaze flicked to the fuel gauge, then the navigation display. Satisfied, she advanced the throttle.

The jet's engines roared, pressing her into the seat as the aircraft hurtled down the runway. Her hands danced across the controls, smooth and precise.

At rotation speed, she eased back on the yoke, and the jet lifted into the night sky.

"Zenith-5, passing 1,000 feet," she reported.

The controller's voice faded into the background as she banked the jet, turning toward her destination.

After some good minutes, they were landing and moving on business. They were entering one of their clubs through the secret door.

Just then, her phone rang and she picked up as soon as she saw who the caller was.

"Hello, sir," she spoke. Everyone knew who it was and immediately, all walking stopped.

"I received an anonymous letter today."