Virginia had been taking drink and food orders.
When she came back around to George Reynolds, he ordered "her" in vulgar terms. And her mind went to the defenseless girls she'd seen at his mansion. Her heart didn't really break. She wasn't sure if it could break. It had been broken to nothing, a million billion pieces that couldn't be put back together in a million trillion years. No, when she came across people like George Reynolds, the only thing her heart did was race blood to the part of her brain that made her want to kill.
She kept her cool.
She'd been trained for this.
She asked him again for his order.
He said, "I already told you."
"I'm only a stewardess."
Then she walked to the back of the plane, past the bathroom, to where the refrigerators and pantry bins were to get the men's drink orders.
She wasn't surprised when Reynolds showed up behind her and held a knife to her back. Virginia played into it, taking the threat as if it were her first time. He guided her to the bathroom. He closed the door. That's when she implemented her extensive training—took the knife out of his hand—but he had had some training as well. She wasn't expecting him to, without hesitation, draw a gun from his side. She knew from the look in his eye that he was going to shoot.
She knew what kind of a man he was.
He wasn't a good man, but he was an accomplished man, working with and for and employing some of the cruelest, most vicious and powerful people in the world. You don't get to where George Reynolds gets if you hesitate to pull the trigger.
That's why she'd stabbed him in the neck.