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.
In the chaos, no one will notice me slipping out. But if they do, it won’t hurt my case with Dan. I plan on telling him I did exactly that.
No one is in the lavish kitchen. If anyone were in here before, they probably ran when they heard the FBI breakin.
I slip out of the back sliding door, making my way across the massive porch, and towards the stairs.
The cool air is a balm to my heated skin. This suit is confining. I much prefer my jeans and hoodie to this shit.
“Are you going to take me back to my mommy and daddy?” Sarah asks quietly. Her soft, sweet voice is almost a shock to my system.
Adrenaline has been coursing through my veins steadily since the moment she was brought into that room. The chemical won’t dissipate from my body until she’s off this property.
“I am,” I promise gently.
Her hand lifts, her tiny finger tracing one of the scars on my face.
“Does this hurt?”
“Not anymore,” I say quietly, suppressing the urge to lean away from her touch. I’m not used to anyone touching my scars. When Addie did, it felt like fire lacing across the dead skin. Now, with Sarah, it feels a tad uncomfortable. But not unbearable.
“Did the bad guys that took me do this to you?”
“Not the same bad guys, but bad guys all the same.”
She seems to think that over, digesting my words slowly. She blinks at me and wipes away some snot leaking from her nose.
“Do you know if mommy and daddy are alive?”
I nearly trip over my feet when she asks the question.
Considering I didn’t know the girl’s identity beforehand, I haven’t had a chance to look into her background. I’ve no idea who her parents are, or what kind of home she comes from.
“Is there a reason you think they wouldn’t be?” I ask. I make it to the meet up spot, outside of view of any cameras and the front of the house where Dan is.
Her eyes drop, long lashes fan across her chubby cheeks, still damp from her tears.