Page 54 of Stolen Faith

Izabel’s forehead creased, confused. “What?”

Rather than reply, he gave one of his. “Brennon Reyes. Star Wars figurine collector.”

Rowan rolled his eyes, while Izabel smiled. “I’m telling you right now, those aren’t going to be displayed in our living room.”

Brennon pretended to be hurt. “What? I have a glass case for them and everything. It’s a conversation starter. Plus…well, I don’t mean to brag, but I’ve got a Jawa—with the vinyl cape, not cloth. It’s not mint in the box because my dad was apparently a mad man at ten and opened the package to play with it, but still…vinyl cape,” he stressed, perfectly aware it would mean nothing to them.

Izabel shook her head as if putting her foot down, but then…she played the game.

“Izabel Serra. Trail runner.”

“Really?” Rowan asked, clearly impressed. “Rowan Greene. Marathon runner.”

Brennon snorted. That figured. “Brennon Reyes. Couch potato.”

They all laughed.

“Izabel Serra. Owner of over a hundred pairs of shoes.”

“And you’re bitching about my figurines?” Brennon asked, aghast.

“Rowan Greene. Owner of six pairs of shoes, three of which are military-issue boots.”

Izabel shuddered, pretending to be appalled.

“Izabel Serra…”

Brennon grinned as the game continued.

Chapter Twelve

Izabel stared out the dirty window, watching the gray sky brighten, dawn giving way to day. She’d only managed a few hours’ sleep, broken up over the course of the night. Her body ached in odd places. Her abs were sore from holding herself so tightly, and the tops of her shoulders felt bruised. Her neck ached from sleeping sitting up. Her wrists and ankles were rubbed raw from the zip-ties. And her back was stiff after so many hours in the hard chair.

Rowan and Brennon were still sleeping, though dozing might be a better word. Rowan, like her, was sitting up, his shoulders leaning against the wall, his hips farther away from it to make room for his arms and the chains. It placed him in a slumped position that looked very uncomfortable. His eyes were closed, but his breathing light. She wondered if the former soldier ever managed a deep sleep or if there was some ingrained part of him that was able to wake up at the slightest sound.

Brennon’s sleep looked like it was as restless as hers had been. He was lying on his side, his neck curved in an unnatural position as his head rested on the floor. Every now and then, he shifted, his sleep just deep enough that he forgot his injuries. His sleepy movements had produced countless moans and hissed intakes of breath, but each time, he settled down again.

Her gaze drifted back to the window. Under different circumstances, she might actually find this place—the area, not this godforsaken cabin—charming. The trees outside were tall and green, the forest they created dense, thick. The ever-brightening sky was slowly shifting from pale yellow to blue. It was clearly going to be a beautiful day.

Which wasn’t right.

The outside world should reflect the inside one. That damn sky should be black with clouds, ripped apart by lightning, and cursing the world with roaring thunder, rain pelting the ground mercilessly, while strong winds forced the trees to bend to its force.

Because that’s sure as hell how she felt inside.

Like she was being pummeled by a hurricane.

She, Rowan, and Brennon had talked well into the night, but they’d kept their conversation simple, using the name and rank game as a distraction from the nightmare they were living. If they’d asked her how she was feeling or to talk about what had happened in detail last night, there was no way she wouldn’t have fallen apart completely.

God, if she lost control now, she wasn’t sure she could pull herself back together. She’d lose herself in the fear, the panic, the pain, the helplessness.

Izabel squeezed her eyes together tightly, fighting to push those feelings deeper. She couldn’t—

“Izabel.” Rowan whispered her name.

Her eyelids lifted. His gaze on her face.

She hadn’t been shielding her emotions.

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