The Rich Bully Mocked My Cab Ride, But He Had No Idea Who I Became
Previously: Ten years after a cruel reunion snub, a seemingly down-on-her-luck woman returns to face her tormentor. He's about to learn that some debts are paid with power, not money.
The Debt Comes Due
Damian, unused to being ignored, strode towards me, his arrogance undeterred. He jabbed an accusing finger towards my chest, expecting me to flinch, to retreat. But I was done retreating. As his finger neared, my hand shot up, a blur of black leather. My fingers clamped around his wrist with the force of a vise. The sharp crack of bone and leather meeting was shockingly loud in the sudden hush that fell over the tavern. His eyes widened, the smirk replaced by a mask of stunned disbelief and pain.
“Keep your hands to yourself, Damian. Some debts come due tonight.”
His pupils dilated as he realized the strength he was up against. He tried to wrench free, but my grip was absolute. He was trapped, exposed. Just as the tension reached its peak, the tavern was suddenly bathed in the strobing, disorienting glare of red-and-blue emergency lights. The sound of roaring engines cut through the rain's drumming. Three imposing black presidential Suburbans screeched to a halt outside. The heavy oak doors were kicked open, revealing four grim-faced Secret Service agents in tactical gear.
“Director Vance! Secure tactical perimeter established, the White House situation room is patched through!” the lead agent bellowed, his military urgency cutting through the chaos.
Damian’s face went ashen. His knees buckled, and the champagne flute slipped from his suddenly limp fingers, shattering on the floor. He stared at me, then at the agents, his world visibly crumbling. The man who had wielded power like a weapon was now paralyzed by its true source, a source he had underestimated for a decade.
”The man who had wielded power like a weapon was now paralyzed by its true source, a source he had underestimated for a decade.