Page 132 of Heartless Sinner

He smartly didn’t.

I liked Philip. Trusted him with my life.

But neither of those things meant I’d listen to him.

His thin mouth twisted into a snarl as he gave Daphne one final look before returning to his seat.

Philip had been a Night Son before joining the Secret Service. Most of my detail had been, actually. He understood what it meant when a Son claimed a Fawn.

He also knew I was full of shit.

Sons didn’t drag their Fawns around like emotional-support animals. Most barely took them outside Saint Vale unless they married them later.

Philip was pretty loyal to me, but there was a good chance that he’d tattle like a little bitch to my father when we landed.

I didn’t give a fuck.

Daphne was my Fawn now. If I wanted her somewhere, that was the excuse I’d use.

Daphne turned in her seat to make sure Philip wasn’t holding a gun pointed at her head before looking at me and crossing her arms. “This is absolutely insane, Brooks. I’m not stepping foot into the White House.”

She must’ve been suitcase snooping on my conversation during the drive here.

I leaned back like we were discussing the weather. “Yes, you are.”

She lifted a shoulder. “It’s your grave then.”

I dropped my hand and shifted toward her. “Actually, it’s yours. I’d behave if I were you.”

“What happens when we land then? I’m supposed to exit the plane and just waltz right into the White House?”

“No.” I nudged the luggage with my shoe. “You’ll go back in there.”

She kicked the luggage away from us. “I don’t think so.”

“Either in the luggage or I throw you out of the emergency exit before we land. Your pick.”

She closed one eye, then the other, as if thinking deeply. “I’ll decide when we land.”

“You try to play any games, and I’ll tell them you snuck on here with the intention of killing me.”

“Your threats are getting so boring.” She faked a yawn.

“I think I’ve gone through with plenty that weren’t, my Fawn.”

“First, you drugged me.” She slumped deeper into the seat and gestured dramatically around the cabin. “Now, this.”

“I could’ve done worse.”

She scoffed.

“I could’ve actually killed your father.”

Her stare turned murderous. “And fuck you for that mental image you replayed in that room over and over.”

I adjusted my collar. “It was what needed to be done.”

“Mentally torturing me needed to be done?”