Page 22 of Stolen Faith

What that message was and who they were leaving it for, she didn’t know.

She had enemies. The society had enemies. Any one of those enemies could have decided to act.

Sebastian, Rose, the rest of the council, they would look for her. They’d get the keyholders…shit, did Sebastian or Rose know about the keyholders? Price probably did. Harrison did. If they called her brother, he’d help, but…

Juliette stared at Devon, feeling helpless and stupid. She hadn’t done enough to protect her husbands or the society. She should have done more, been better.

“Juliette, baby, don’t cry,” Devon whispered.

A sob shook her shoulders, but she swallowed it down.

“We’re going to—”

Behind Juliette, the door opened.

They slept. The drop after an adrenaline high was almost impossible to fight. Hours had passed and nothing happened. They had a bathroom, which had been stripped like the bedroom, so everyone had been able to relieve themselves—Brennon had to help Rowan since his hands were out of commission—and they were able to drink from the tap.

Eventually they lay down against the far wall, under the boarded-up window. Rowan positioned himself closest to the door.

He stayed awake after he heard their breathing even out—he had experience keeping himself awake when his body was screaming for sleep—but when yet more time passed with no activity, Rowan closed his eyes. If he hadn’t fought back, he’d probably have his hands in simple cuffs too, and he wouldn’t be so damned uncomfortable lying on the floor, either on top of his hands or on one shoulder.

Izabel had to be right. They’d been kidnapped so they could ransom her back to her wealthy parents. Rowan was a little uneasy that the kidnappers might decide he and Brennon were expendable, but if that were the case, surely they’d be dead by now. After having met the Serras, Rowan was fairly sure they’d pay for him and Brennon too.

Rowan rested, but he wasn’t deeply asleep, so when he heard the doorknob turn, he sat up.

“Wake up,” he said softly.

Behind him, Brennon and Izabel stirred.

Four men walked in. One stopped just inside, guarding the door. He wore all black and carried a single weapon on his hip.

The others wore camo and bristled with guns. Rowan eyed the guns. If he were on his own, even with his hands behind his back, he’d make a play for one of the weapons. It would be stupidly easy to pop one out of the holster on the play-soldiers’ hips.

Two of the camo-clad guys dragged him to his feet. Rowan hid a grimace at the pain in his shoulders.

One kept hold of him, while the other pulled Brennon to his feet. Izabel was already up and tugging at the top of her dress with her hands. The man beside her was eyeing her in a way Rowan didn’t like. Rowan stepped back, yanking his arm from his guard’s hold and knocking the other man away from Izabel. Rowan backed up, forcing her to back up too, until she was sandwiched between his body and the wall. Rowan felt Izabel’s hands grip his shoulders from behind.

“Fast is better,” the man at the door said, eyeing Rowan.

Syringes were pulled out of camouflage Velcro pockets. Rowan’s original guard eyed him with a pissed-off look.

“Whoa, what’s that for?” Brennon demanded. He was pulling away from his guard, but the third man had kept hold of his arm.

“Don’t fight,” the man at the door said. He was staring at Rowan. “You have to be out for transport.”

Brennon’s guard pulled the syringe cap with his teeth, then stabbed the needle into Brennon’s arm right through his sleeve.

Rowan’s body tensed with the need to act. To do something. He didn’t want to leave Izabel vulnerable and unprotected.

Brennon’s eyes fluttered.

He didn’t want to leave Brennon unprotected either.

He could fight, but there was no way to win. More than likely, he’d end up getting killed or seriously incapacitated, and then he really wouldn’t be able to help or protect anyone.

“Come the fuck here, you dick.” Rowan’s guard grabbed him, yanking him forward. Rowan’s brain burned with indecision, but in the end, there was nothing he could do. Fighting would just prolong the inevitable.

There were at least ten guards here, and from what he’d seen, it was a large building. That meant the likelihood of going the wrong way was high. He was as likely to stumble into the guard break room as he was to magically find an outside door. If this was one of Brennon’s movies, they’d be able to sneak out, but even if they got out of the building, he had no idea where they were.

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