The air grew thick with lethal intent as Lyle's roar filled the living room.
Tyrus regarded Lyle with indifference, dismissing his rage as the desperate outcry of a weakling, not worth any pity at all.
He held the machete and thrust it through the bars of the cage, resting it against Abigail's neck. He chuckled, "Tell me, sir, can your daughter's pretty little head bring some sense to your thick one?"
Tyrus's face bore a smile, yet his words dripped with cruelty.
"No! Don't hurt my daughter!" Yvette shouted.
Tyrus didn't even glance at her, his cold eyes fixed on Lyle, "Sir, you wouldn't want to lose your daughter, would you? So, do you know what to do next?"
Lyle fell silent, rage swirling in his eyes. The blade pressed against Abigail's skin forced him to remain calm. He knew that
