Page 75 of Stolen Faith

It didn’t help that they were the walking wounded.

Brennon was helping Devon, the man weak from his injuries.

Juliette was moving under her own steam, but slowly, every step taken gingerly, her eyes and mouth lined with pain. Devon said she’d been tortured. She was moving, but not well.

Whatever plan he came up with to get them all out of here, Rowan would need to take into account the fact that neither Juliette nor Devon looked capable of actually running. Their best chance of escaping successfully would need to be done with stealth, not speed.

He’d memorized the twists and turns they’d taken when they were brought in yesterday. He was hoping he could get them back to the vans. Of course, the chances of using them to escape were slim to none.

Hotwiring cars was a thing of the past, thanks to modern systems, and the vans used to transport them had been new, no more than a year or two old. There was no way the mercenary who’d driven them in had left the keys in the ignition. Shit like that only happened in Brennon’s action movies.

He’d gotten a glimpse of the city streets as they drove in. The area hadn’t appeared to be a busy one, so they weren’t in the city center of Atlanta. More likely they were on the outskirts, in a less populated area. But if that was true, why the parking garage? And clearly the building they were in was massive. Maybe a warehouse? But a warehouse with a basement didn’t make sense.

“We need to figure out what this place is,” Rowan said, looking at Devon. “Did you see anything when they brought us in?”

“Not enough to help. They drove us in from a back street. The parking garage blocked the view of wherever this is. We’re one floor under street level, and given the size of this basement, I’d say the building is quite large, or perhaps it runs under several smaller buildings.”

That all lined up with what Rowan was thinking.

“What kind of place has prison cells like this underneath it?” Brennon asked.

It was a question Rowan had been tossing around in his mind as well. The size said warehouse, but a basement would limit the weight capacity of a warehouse’s main floor, so that didn’t track. Devon’s suggestion that the underground space connected multiple buildings also made sense, but if that was true, Rowan really didn’t like it. Prisons sometimes had underground corridors and storage areas that connected separate above-ground buildings. So did military bases.

Barry and his homegrown militia men felt like the type of sovereign citizen conspiracists who lived in buried silos in the Midwest. They were out of place this close to a large city. But the mercenaries they employed meant they had money, so they weren’t completely off the grid.

Still, everything about them screamed that they enjoyed playing soldier, so it was possible they were either being held on an abandoned base, or Barry had a compound set up like a military installation.

Though he knew they wouldn’t be able to take one of the cars, the garage still felt like their best bet for escape. Primarily because they knew how to get there without wandering around blindly and because garages usually had two points of entry—the vehicle doors, and the people doors, assuming the garage connected to a building. “I’ll retrace our steps to the parking garage, see if that looks like a viable exit point.”

Devon nodded. “We’ll wait here.”

“Be careful,” Izabel said, taking his hand in hers and giving it a quick squeeze.

“I’ll be right back,” he reassured her.

Following the same path down the long hallway to the stairwell, he quietly climbed up until he reached the landing. There was a small square window in the center of the heavy metal door. Cautiously, he peered out, jerking back quickly when he spotted several men standing near the vans. Chancing another look, he recognized Tweedledee and Tweedledum as well as two of the mercenaries. The rednecks were smoking cigarettes, strutting around with AR-15s strapped to their backs, attempting to draw the mercenaries into conversation.

The mercenaries stood still, their eyes constantly scanning the garage. Like the rednecks, they were armed, but their pistols were in holsters at their waists.

The garage was too heavily guarded. Maybe if it had been just him, he’d risk it, but not with all five of them.

Rowan leaned against the wall and glanced up at the stairs, which kept going. They could try going up, but in order to make that climb to the next floor, they’d be visible through the window in the garage door. It was too risky. There was no way the mercenaries wouldn’t catch a glimpse of five injured people hobbling their way up the stairs.

So…the only thing to do was to go back down and search for another way out. Rowan headed down the stairs quickly, aware that the longer he remained in the stairwell, the better his chance of being caught.

Traversing back to the cells, he saw that they’d pushed the door to what had been his, Devon, and Brennon’s cell almost closed. If anyone came down to check on them, the door appeared to still be locked. He paused but kept going. His heart was hammering, and he was waiting for any sound. If someone did come, he’d have to dive into one of the cells. Hopefully an unoccupied one. The thought that there might be other people behind some of these doors was grim, but he couldn’t focus on that. He had a mission—get the five of them out—and that was his singular priority.

Rowan made it to the far end of the hall, did a quick recon, then retraced his steps to their cell.

Gingerly, he pushed open the door. He became concerned for a moment, spotting only Brennon and Devon. Stepping in, he realized the women had positioned themselves against the wall so they couldn’t be seen unless someone entered.

“The garage is a no go,” he reported.

“Why?” Devon said.

“Four guards, two are a viable threat.”

“Did you see any other routes?” Devon asked.

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