Page 97 of Stolen Faith

“Or how they knew one of you was the Grand Master. They got it wrong, but not by much,” Izabel said quietly, making certain the reverend and his daughter couldn’t overhear.

“Was Jonah invited to be a member?” Brennon asked. Everyone looked at him. “Yeah, okay, stupid question.”

“Even if he had been, he wouldn’t know my identity,” Juliette said. “It’s one thing to have information about us, but they know things even members don’t know.”

“And what does this have to do with the mother?” Izabel looked frustrated with the lack of answers.

“Time to ask?” Devon said.

“Yes.”

Juliette rose. Devon started to get up, but she put a hand on his shoulder. He needed to rest. Sitting for too long hurt for her because it made her ass and thighs throb.

“You told your daughter that the Trinity Masters murdered your wife, but who told you about the Trinity Masters, Reverend?” Juliette positioned herself so he had to look up at her.

Jonah puffed up his chest. “The good Lord led me to discover—”

“No.” Juliette cut him off. “She may believe her own bullshit, but I don’t think you do. You’re in it for the money and power. I’ll ask again. Who told you about the Trinity Masters?”

Jonah narrowed his gaze on her, but then switched it to Devon. “You’re an unnatural creature—”

Juliette needed, wanted, Jonah to be afraid, and he wasn’t. Her fault because they’d spent too long talking. She could get the gun, threaten to shoot him, but that was too easy.

She’d remind him to fear her. Not the gun, but her.

“Take TiffaniGrace into the bathroom,” Juliette ordered. “Hold her head under the water until her father answers my question.”

TiffaniGrace screamed as Rowan rose from his chair and walked toward her. There was real fear in that scream. Juliette didn’t care. Her patience was gone, and her rage was in the driver’s seat.

“You wouldn’t dare!” Jonah shouted, but he looked unsure.

“I would,” Juliette countered.

“Why are you letting her do this?” Jonah demanded, looking at Devon.

Devon raised his brows but said nothing.

Rowan untaped TiffaniGrace from the chair but fastened her hands behind her back. He grabbed her bound wrists, forcing them up, until she bent at the waist, body at a nearly ninety-degree angle, arms locked straight and raised. Rowan’s hand was braced on her back, her bound wrists against his shoulder.

“I saw this in a documentary!” Brennon said. “They use that kind of posture or hold in Russian prisons in Siberia.”

“Daddy!” TiffaniGrace yelled.

Rowan started marching her to the bathroom door.

“Daddy!” she cried out again.

“They aren’t going to kill you,” Jonah said.

“Daddy?”

Juliette winced in sympathy for the woman. It was rough when you realized your father valued you more as a pawn than a person.

Izabel rose, following Rowan and TiffaniGrace into the bathroom.

Juliette looked at Jonah, who was pale, his previously florid face set with a stubborn expression.

Come on. Don’t make us do this. Don’t make me force my people to torture her. It will haunt them, no matter what Izabel said, I know it will hurt her.

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