Page 108 of Stolen Faith

“Why tell your daughter it was the Trinity Masters?”

“She started asking about her mother a few years ago, said that idiot Barry had a cousin who’s a cop, and he’d get the case reopened. Then she heard someone mention her mother’s affair. Too many people knew what my whore wife had done.

“I told TiffaniGrace that her mother had been seduced by your kind. That though the rumors about the affair were true, she wasn’t at fault, and when my wife tried to expose your evil society, she was murdered for it. I couldn’t let her think her mother was a whore.”

That was oddly compassionate, if fucked up.

“Make no mistake. I plan to expose you. I will announce your existence to the world when I need to. I will tell my flock what I told TiffaniGrace.”

“When you need to,” Izabel murmured. “You mean when your influence fades. When your followers start thinking for themselves and you need something to rally them.”

Juliette turned off the recording. “You confessed to three murders.”

“Fuck you, you bitch!” Jonah snarled. “It’s too late for you. Everyone will know who you are, about your corrupt cabal!”

Izabel’s blood ran cold as she realized…Jonah was right. Too many people were a part of this mess. The mercenaries, Barry’s accomplices, the owners of that first mansion and the hunting cabins… Some, maybe all of them would have heard Barry’s lectures on the secret society. Heard the name the Trinity Masters.

She looked at Juliette. What were they going to do?

“They lie,” TiffaniGrace said slowly. “The devil lies and makes you believe the lies.”

Izabel stared at her. “You’re fucking joking, right? You just heard your father confess to murdering your mother.”

“Satan lies!”

Izabel opened her mouth, but Rowan put a hand on her arm. “You can’t fix willful stupidity.”

“There are none so blind as those who will not see…or in this case, listen,” Brennon added.

“Sir, ma’am.” The mercenary leader was looking at Devon and Juliette. “What are your orders?”

Juliette turned and looked at Izabel. A moment of understanding passed between them. They were safe, but this was far from over. Izabel squared her shoulders. Whatever the Grand Master needed, she would do.

Reaching out, she took her fiancés’ hands. They’d survived everything up until now; they’d survive whatever came next.

Juliette’s expression softened, and then she looked at the leader. “First, I need you to sneak the three of them out of here.”

“Grand Master—” Rowan started.

Juliette shook her head. “No. You’ve suffered enough. You’re going home.”

Izabel could have cried with relief. Instead, she inclined her head once.

“Wait,” TiffaniGrace said. “She’s the Grand Master?”

It would have been so nice to wave a magic wand and be home. Or maybe have everything happen in a minute or less, a montage of scenes like in one of Brennon’s movies that allowed activities and travel to happen in the blink of an eye.

Sadly, there was neither magic nor montage. But there was a very nice private hospital, which was their first stop.

Izabel had finally gotten out of her dress. What remained of the gown, including the sash—which Juliette had unwound and handed back so there wouldn’t be any questions—was in a trash bag at her feet as Izabel sat on the edge of a firm, if plush, hospital bed. The hospital room itself looked more like an expensive hotel suite. Izabel had grown up going to posh private-practice doctors, but the few times she’d needed an E.R., she’d gone to the local hospital. She didn’t know places like this existed, and apparently, they wouldn’t have gotten in if the two mercenaries acting as their escorts hadn’t flashed their credentials. Access to this place was about more than just money.

Rowan was in the middle bed. Brennon was in the far bed, flat on his back, one arm over his eyes. They were all in high-quality hospital gowns that felt more like thin robes.

They’d taken Rowan for X-rays, and both she and Brennon had exams, but no scans. There was bruising on her shoulders and abrasions on her wrists and near her elbows. They gave her pain meds and ice for the shoulders and bandaged the places where the zip-ties cut.

She hadn’t realized how much her shoulders hurt, or how tense she was, until the nice shot of painkiller muted those feelings.

A petite woman in a suit and doctor’s coat walked in carrying a tablet. “Mr. Greene.”