Page 52 of Stolen Faith

Brennon hated the meek way he followed the men’s commands, allowing them to rebind his ankles as well.

“Your turn, whore,” Tweedledum said.

Brennon noticed they’d taken the time to replace the heavy chains around Rowan’s legs. The assholes might talk a big game, but they were seriously intimidated by Rowan. That thought had Brennon swelling with pride.

A pride that morphed immediately to alarm when Tweedledee whipped out a large hunting knife as he turned toward Izabel. She managed not to flinch as the man approached her, but Brennon watched all the color bleed from her face.

He bent to cut the zip-ties at her ankles, and Izabel shifted her legs to one side. Tweedledee shot her a derisive scowl. “You spread those legs quick enough for your fag boyfriends, don’t you?”

Izabel remained quiet. She was fighting like the devil to put on a brave face, but Brennon knew it was an act.

Tweedledee sliced through the zip-ties on her wrists and elbows, then roughly jerked her out of the chair, pushing her toward the bathroom.

Tweedledum followed.

Brennon’s stomach lurched when both men followed her into the bathroom, the door slamming shut behind them.

“Fuck,” Rowan cursed, glancing around the room. “We need to act fast. I can’t…” Rowan began thrashing on the floor, trying to move. “Make noise.”

Brennon froze as his gaze returned to the closed bathroom door. He heard one of the men chuckle.

“Brennon,” Rowan said loudly, drawing his attention. “Fucking make noise. A big disruption. Now!”

Brennon glanced around. He could maybe reach the crooked coffee table. Scooting quickly, he stretched out, then lifted his legs and kicked it. It slid but didn’t make enough noise.

Scooching farther, until his wrists burned as he pulled hard against the ropes, he repeated the kick, shoving the table up against the couch. With it held in place, he unleashed, kicking it over and over, harder and harder, until the wood splintered, cracking loudly.

The bathroom door flew open as the two rednecks dragged Izabel back into the cabin. The skirt to her dress was torn, the corset mangled, boning sticking out, most of the material around her waist. Her breasts were exposed, one nipple bright red. Had they pinched it?

“The fuck you doing, boy?” Tweedledee grabbed a handful of Brennon’s hair, using it to drag him several painful inches away from the coffee table that was now only useful as kindling; then he backhanded him. Brennon tasted blood from a split lip and the entire right side of his face stung.

Tweedledum shoved Izabel back into the chair, quickly binding her wrists with new zip-ties. Then he turned to join Dee.

Brennon braced himself for the beating, tried to prepare for the pain. He sought to recall the ways Rowan had shifted and moved, finding ways to mitigate the damage done. Instead, he found himself curling into a ball, attempting to make himself smaller, to protect as much of his body as he could.

The first kick caught him in the ass, and while it hurt, it wasn’t unbearable. The second landed on his shoulder. He was vaguely aware of Izabel screaming at them to stop, and he thought he heard Rowan’s chains rattling.

The third and fourth on his thighs as the men flanked him, kicking.

He tried to recall Rowan’s words. He started saying his name and rank in his head.

Brennon Reyes, shitty surfer.

Brennon Reyes, knows all the words to “Mr. Brightside.”

Brennon Reyes…

The fifth was aimed for his back, but his bound arms took the brunt of it. All of it hurt, but none of it did damage.

Footsteps on the porch distracted him and the Tweedles.

Great. Another set of boots, here to join the party.

Barry appeared in the doorway. “What the fuck are you two doing? You were just supposed to take them to the bathroom. She’s gonna be here soon. Flying in on the private jet. Shake a leg.”

Tweedledee and Tweedledum sighed like kids who’d just had their favorite toys taken away. One of the assholes headed for the door, the other toward Izabel. The zipping sound of those thick plastic ties told him that even in the heat of the moment, they hadn’t forgotten to retie her ankles to the chair.

He braced himself for more abuse, but the man merely walked around him, sneering. “Pussy,” he all but spat at Brennon. Then, all three men left.

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