Page 57 of Stolen Faith

The woman was seriously unhinged.

“Pray with me, Barry.”

Barry was still behind her chair. He reached out and took TiffaniGrace’s hands, the two of them caging Izabel between them as TiffaniGrace prayed…loudly and for a long time.

Izabel tuned her out when she asked for help in revealing them for the monsters they were, then started spouting something about a child trafficking ring.

Izabel glanced toward Rowan, the man’s face as impassive as always. She made a mental note to never play poker with him if—no, when—they got out of here.

Then she tilted her head to look at Brennon. He was the man she could best in a game of cards. His mouth hung open and he looked truly aghast, his face matching her own feelings. Izabel fought hard not to grin when he mouthed the words “What. The. Fuck?” to her.

Finally, TiffaniGrace wrapped up her prayer, she and Barry both saying, “Amen.”

TiffaniGrace turned her attention to Rowan and Brennon, though she remained too close to Izabel.

“And who are these two?”

“She got her grips in ’em. We caught the three of them in the act. All three of them fornicating. The men touch each other too. It’s disgusting.”

“Fornicating. Wow. Big word, Barry.” Rowan was purposely baiting them, trying to draw their attention from Izabel. She appreciated it as much as she wanted to shake him for it. The man was seriously hurt, and she feared what else Barry might do if provoked.

Barry, true to form, took a step toward Rowan, but TiffaniGrace put her hand out, grasping him by the cast.

“He knows not what he says. He’s under the influence of Satan,” TiffaniGrace declared.

Brennon snorted. “Damn, Rowan. Satan. That’s some heavy shit there.”

Barry walked over to Brennon and backhanded him. Brennon, to his credit, shook it off, then gave Barry his most Rowan-like dead-eye stare.

They were stronger together.

Barry, a true bully, didn’t like that Brennon wasn’t scared or crying for mercy, so he raised his hand again.

“Enough!” TiffaniGrace called out. “We need to take them to Daddy. They are his to deal with, to punish. He’s…” She started to cry, real tears streaming down her cheeks. Izabel had to hand it to the woman. She was a pretty crier. It was almost like she’d practiced. “He’s suffered so much for so long, Barry.”

“Amen,” Barry intoned.

TiffaniGrace wiped her eyes, her waterproof mascara holding up beautifully. Not a single streak. “He’s worked so hard so that we could open everyone’s eyes to the truth. The time is at hand.”

Barry fell for the tears, rushing to comfort TiffaniGrace, who, in true dramatic fashion, clung to him as if he was her only lifeline. Then he became all business, pulling out his phone as he said, “The vans are gassed up and ready outside.”

He must have texted the rest of his…people…because six men filed into the cabin, all armed to the teeth. Izabel recalled Rowan’s belief that some of the men were mercenaries. She studied the group, now able to see the difference. Tweedledee and Tweedledum were there, as well as another soldier wannabe. The other three men, dressed head to toe in black, were not playing pretend. There was a deadly intensity to them that told her they were getting into those vans.

Tweedledee opened his hunting knife, cutting her free from the chair before gripping her upper arm and dragging her upright. Her legs were wobbly after sitting so long, her muscles cramping. She started to take a step away, but Dee grabbed her from behind and cuffed her hands behind her back. He reached around, arm across her front, hand groping her.

“We’ll handle this,” one of the black-clad men said.

Tweedledee released Izabel. A heavy hand settled on her shoulder, and the new man behind her placed the sharp knife at her neck. She felt the slightest prick and panic set in. She’d thought they were all being moved, but…what if she wasn’t making the trip? What if the crazy woman planned to leave her—and Satan—here?

Izabel sought out Rowan, watched as two of the mercenaries lifted Rowan from the floor roughly. One of them gripped the back of Rowan’s head, forcing his attention to her, to the knife at her throat.

“We’re going to remove the chains,” one mercenary said. “You move wrong, we cut her. You breathe wrong, we cut her.”

“Cut her now to show you mean it,” Barry demanded.

The mercenaries ignored him, two of them working on Rowan.

Rowan held still as they unwound the chains, replacing them with cuffs, hands still behind his back. They added ankle cuffs as well, the same ones he’d had on before, with enough chain between so Rowan could walk.

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