Page 69 of Stolen Faith

“So you were kidnapped too?” Brennon asked slowly. If this were a movie, there’d be a voiceover of Rowan telling him to ask questions, get information, get the man talking. As it was, though there was no voiceover, Brennon knew what Rowan wanted him to do.

That was pretty fucking cool. Psychic connection with his fiancé. Nice.

“Yes. It’s a case of mistaken identity,” the man said slowly. “I’m not who they think I am.”

Brennon was impatient with the back-and-forth banality. No more cloak-and-dagger conversation where they were avoiding saying anything real.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure the Grand Master is a woman,” Brennon said.

Rowan sighed.

“Oh, wait, are we pretending we aren’t all members of the Trinity Masters?” Brennon looked at both men. “Tell you what, we can keep being cagey about our names.”

The man on the floor started to laugh, pressing both hands against his chest as he did.

“Don’t pop a stitch.” Brennon sat on the floor, facing the other man. Rowan stood beside him. Brennon casually wrapped a hand around Rowan’s ankle.

When the other man’s laughter died down, he looked at the way Brennon was touching Rowan. “You’re a trinity. Well, two-thirds of it.”

Brennon opened his mouth, but Rowan’s hand on his hair stopped him before any words escaped.

“Is your third here?” the man asked softly.

Rowan nodded. Brennon’s stomach clenched with fear for Izabel, wherever she was.

“Devon,” the man said. “I’m Devon.”

“Brennon Re—”

“Reyes,” Devon finished with him. “That makes you Rowan Greene. Meaning your third is Izabel Serra.”

This Devon guy knew who they were. Knew they were in a trinity together.

So he was the Grand Master. Had to be. No one else would know the names of members, and their trinity was brand new. Only those at the engagement party would know of it, and Devon hadn’t been there.

Brennon would have sworn the Grand Master was a woman, based on the voice he’d heard during their binding ceremony. He eyed Devon. Something wasn’t adding up, but he didn’t know where the lie was. Was it in this cell with them, or had the person in the robe, back in Boston, been the lie?

“Was Izabel taken too?” Devon asked.

Brennon considered the options, then answered, “Yes. She’s here.”

Devon’s expression was grim. “They separated the women.”

Brennon’s writer’s brain flashed up detailed, vivid images of what those fuckers might be doing to his fiancée right now. His muscles bunched with the need to do something, anything.

“Women? So your trinity is here. Your wives?” Brennon asked, forcing the images away and focusing on what Devon had said.

Devon shook his head but looked at Rowan. Then Devon said something in another language. Rowan replied, haltingly, in the same language. To Brennon, it sounded like Arabic, though he was far from an expert.

Rowan stepped away and started circling the room. He checked the corners at the ceiling and the floor, the edges of the door.

Looking for cameras or maybe recording devices. He’d done it in their first cell too. Brennon winced. He hadn’t thought about that before he had started speaking so openly.

Finally, Rowan stopped, then motioned for Brennon to come across to the other wall closer to Devon. They sat side by side, Rowan positioning himself between Devon and Brennon.

Brennon leaned forward to look at them. “Is it safe to talk?”

“Probably not,” Rowan said. “Because there’s equipment that’s so small and easy to hide, I wouldn’t see it.”

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