Page 59 of Stolen Faith

“This might be the last chance for escape, and you are going to take it.” Rowan used that voice that told her arguing would be pointless.

Besides, what if he was right? Wouldn’t it be better for her and Brennon to escape so that they could alert the authorities and get Rowan out?

Her hands were still tied behind her back, but she could run like that.

Before they could say anything else, the back doors to the van opened, and Izabel realized no one was running. The same six men, plus Barry, were there, guns pointed at them. One of the mercenaries unhooked them, then grabbed her in a grip she’d never be able to break. Not that she planned to try when he pointed a gun at her head.

“Time to move,” another mercenary said, dragging Rowan from the van.

They’d parked the vehicle right next to the door of a stairwell, so it was only ten steps before they were out of the garage and being herded down two flights of steps. At the bottom of the stairwell, they were shoved into a tight, dark hallway. They traversed through what felt like a maze of concrete corridors lined with rooms with windowless doors.

She and the mercenary were in the lead, the barrel of the gun pushing her forward until they stopped in front of one of the rooms. Barry unlocked the door, revealing what could only be called a prison cell.

“Don’t worry. You won’t be here long.” Barry chuckled.

Izabel stiffened when someone grabbed her from behind, but then the cuffs were released and a big hand between her shoulder blades shoved her into the concrete box of a room. She stumbled and then nearly fell when someone bumped into her. She recognized Brennon’s arms as they came around her from behind, steadying both of them.

There was thud, and a whoosh of air. She turned in time to see Barry had punched Rowan in the gut.

“Pathetic coward,” Izabel spat. “Does it make you feel like a big man to hit him when he can’t hit you back?”

Barry’s gaze whipped to her, and Brennon stepped in front of her, shielding her with his body.

“Maybe you should bring me the whore,” Barry said slowly. “There’s time to—”

“Bar, Bar!” Someone was running down the hall. Barry whipped around, and though the narrow doorway meant Izabel couldn’t see the speaker, she could hear him.

“The reverend isn’t here.”

“What?” Barry stiffened.

“He’s at one of them parties down in Savannah.”

“When will he be back?”

“Tomorrow night.”

Barry made a face. “I better go talk to TiffaniGrace.” He turned to the mercenary. “Put him in the cell.”

“Sir, we’d like to recommend you split up the prisoners, as—”

“Put him in! I gotta go.”

The mercenary holding Rowan released his cuffs and pushed him into the room. Just before the door closed, one mercenary said, “We’ll be back with food and water.”

Then the door closed, locking them up once again.

Chapter Thirteen

Izabel examined Rowan and Brennon. Rowan was hunched forward a little, his arms hanging oddly at his sides. Both his and Brennon’s faces were marked with bruises.

In contrast, she was fine. There were some raw spots on her arms—just below her elbows and her wrists—and the tops of her shoulders were sore. But nothing compared to the injuries her boys had suffered.

At least not physically.

Izabel looked at the only thing in the room, studying it. A combination toilet and sink, made of stainless steel. A prison toilet-sink combo, where the water from the sink filled the tank of the toilet. She recognized it from the plethora of true crime documentaries she’d watched over her lifetime.

Feeling like an actress in a historical drama, she grabbed the hem of her skirts. Finding one of the relatively clear layers of lining, she ripped a strip off—it was torn enough to make that easy—and walked over to the toilet. After washing her hands, she wetted the cloth and went to Brennon. Rowan was circling the perimeter of the room, looking for something. There was nothing—no air vent, no loose bricks. This was a smooth concrete cube. The door didn’t even have a hatch in it for their captors to slide a tray through.

---