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I look up at Daniel. “Am I expected to have an audience, or can I enjoy her elsewhere?” I ask, looking at the girl with anticipation.

He will think I'm anticipating all the ways I'm going to hurt her, but in reality, I'm picturing little Sarah being carried away by Ruby while I poise his head over a knife.

Dan’s mouth quirks at the look on my face, his expression softening back into ease once more.

I’m a damn good actor. I’d never survive in this field of work otherwise.

“We would love to watch,” Dan says smoothly, leaning back in his own chair, while one hand snakes under the table. I can’t see what he’s doing from my angle, but I don’t need to in order to know that he’s squeezing himself.

I’m going to enjoy killing him.

“P-please take me home,” Sarah cries, the dam bursting as tears spill over her lashes and down her cherub cheeks.

I wipe the tears from her cheeks, silently praising her for flinching away from my touch, even though it makes me feel like my insides are in a dumpster fire.

“Don’t cry, sweetie,” I coo aloud. She cries harder, and my heart blisters from the fury.

Dan licks his lips with unrestrained hunger, reaching over to do what—I don’t know. My hand that’s wrapped around her neck whips out, grabbing his hand with a firmness that has him instantly freezing.

“I don’t share,” I growl, letting some of the pent-up anger loose. Dan jerks his hand away, raising them in the air in surrender.

“Possessive,” he chuckles, glancing at the guests. Embarrassment flashes in his eyes, but it’s gone before it can truly settle. That just might come back to bite me in the ass—Dan also isn’t the type of man that takes well to public humiliation.

Not that I’m truly concerned with the backlash. He’ll be dead soon anyways.

While Dan’s eyes cast over the dinner table, I slyly press the button on my watch, keeping my hands under the table. By the time his eyes are drifting back to me, my hands return to their previous position.

“Please, proceed… brother,” he tacks on at the end, the word said with an inflection of challenge.

I flash a feral grin, not holding back in the slightest. His eyes heat at the sight, likely assuming that he’s about to get a show of a lifetime.

Before either of us can move, a loud banging on the front door startles us both. A muffled, indiscernible shout follows. Dan’s eyes look towards the front of the house, brow furrowing in confusion.

“Who the hell would dare…?” he mutters under his breath, aghast that someone is nearly breaking down his front door.

Panicked, hushed whispers rise from the group, the guests turning to each other with fearful gazes.

“Daniel,” I snap, catching his attention. “I don’t want to wait much longer.”

“Of course, I’ll be sure to hurry,” he placates, appearing more flustered as others from the table continue to speak their concern and discomfort. Another loud crash startles the group, and then seconds later, a booming crash sounds, causing the guests to jump. Some even rise from their seats, ready to bolt.

And then, “FBI! GET DOWN ON THE GROUND NOW!”

The rest of the guests jump up now, myself included. Gently, I set Sarah down beside me but hold onto her arm firmly as the room breaks out into chaos. The dinner guests scatter like ants, screams and shouts bouncing around the room.

The door to the dining room crashes open, eliciting more screams. Several FBI agents storm the room, shouting out demands for everybody to get down.

“Let’s go,” I whisper to the girl, attempting to guide her towards the kitchen door.

She struggles and screams for one of the agents, that dormant fire in her finally erupting.

I’m so fucking proud of her.

I pick her up and whisper in her ear. “Those FBI agents are with me. I’m going to take you back home, but I need you to work with me.”

The second the word home leaves my mouth, her struggling ceases. She looks at me, her brown eyes full of tears.

“You could be lying,” she sniffles, distrust in her eyes. Another surge of pride overtakes me as I stuff my hand in my pocket and pull out a fake FBI badge, flashing it to her discreetly—the first lie I’ve truly told her. She reluctantly concedes, nodding her head. I bolt towards the kitchen door, not wasting another second.