Page 53 of Stolen Faith

It took Brennon a second or two longer to realize it was over. Not that he moved. He lay there, still, mentally trying to assess the damage.

Physically, there wasn’t much. In truth, it felt like his pride had taken more of a beating. He’d curled into a ball, had lain there and just taken it.

“Can you sit up?” Rowan asked at the same time Izabel simply called his name, the two syllables laced with concern. “Brennon?”

He blew out a long, slow, not-at-all steady breath.

“I’m okay,” he announced. His back was to the two of them, his gaze locked on the front door, just as it had been the first time he’d woken up in this cabin of horrors.

“You handled it well,” Rowan said.

Brennon snorted, aware it was a lie, but grateful for it just the same. It was what Brennon needed to hear to give him a figurative kick in the pants. Rowan had taken a hell of a lot worse from these assholes and he was sitting up, not lying on the ground like a beaten puppy.

He dragged himself up and forced himself to face them. In his mind, he’d always imagined if faced with danger, he’d be like one of the tough guys in the movies, but the truth of it was, he’d whimpered a couple times when their boots landed on him.

Izabel’s gaze was on his, so many emotions reflected in her eyes, he could barely take it all in.

Fear.

Concern.

Resignation.

She was fighting to hide it, but he recognized the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of her chest for what it was. Their indomitable wife was trying to pull herself together. Her dress was torn, the skirt ripped, a long, thin piece of the boning in the corset sticking out of the right side. The corset had been beneath her breasts when she came out of the bathroom, but she must have managed to pull it up a little before she was tied to the chair again. Now, it covered the bottom half of her breasts, the top half of her areolas visible.

“Iza,” Brennon said hoarsely. In comparison to what she’d suffered, the few kicks he’d taken were nothing. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she insisted, her voice so strong he almost took her at her word.

Almost.

But he’d seen her when the men had dragged her back in here, her dress torn, her face pale, that split second where he’d seen that look of sheer helplessness in her eyes.

None of that was present now. She’d found a way to put it away. In some ways, he wished he had that ability.

Brennon was sitting in between two of the strongest people he’d ever met. He admired them, wished in so many ways he could be like them, but he wasn’t.

He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry.”

She looked at him. “None of this is your fault.”

He shrugged. He was a writer. Words were his thing, but now, they failed him completely. “I’m still sorry.”

Izabel blinked quickly, fighting back tears. She looked away from them, tried to hide her pain. “I’m sorry too,” she whispered after a few minutes. “I’m so scared.”

Her admission stirred Rowan to action. He shifted as though he wanted to go to her, hold her. That was what Brennon wanted to do, but he couldn’t.

All Brennon had to offer her now were his words. “We’re going to get out of here. Because we have each other. I know I’m not strong enough, not brave enough, but I swear I’ll protect you with my life.”

His words seemed to punch a hole in the dam because more tears fell down Izabel’s face, quiet ones, no sobs, no cries. Just those tears that broke his heart.

Rowan looked between them, swallowing hard as he cleared his throat. “I would die for both of you,” he said, the words spoken so low, but with an intense fervor that shook Brennon as hard as Izabel’s tears.

They sat there for several tense minutes, getting lost in too many emotions.

It was time to regroup. While it was true, he wasn’t strong or brave, when all else failed, Brennon had his words.

“Name and rank,” Brennon said.

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