Page 23 of Stolen Faith
The needle pierced Rowan’s arm, the contents burning as they shot into his muscle.
If he’d thought they were drugging him and Brennon so they could hurt Izabel, he would have fought, and fuck the bad odds. But the mercenary said this was prep for transport, and Rowan trusted that statement.
Izabel made an irritated noise, looking at her guard with an expression of derision. Rowan’s lips twitched. She was fucking fearless.
His last thought as his vision went fuzzy for the second time was that maybe being fearless wasn’t such a good thing.
They let her ride in the ambulance with Devon. When they took the hood off and Juliette realized what type of vehicle they were in, the relief had nearly taken her to her knees. Were they going to a hospital?
Someone had lifted her in, and she’d struggled, terrified the moment she felt her feet leave the floor. They’d slammed her down onto a hard seat and ripped the hood off in time for her to see Devon being loaded into the ambulance with her. They’d transferred Devon to a gurney, the IV lines in his arms, restraints on his wrists. They must have given him something because his eyes kept closing.
A man in all black with a gun on his hip and a bright red medical duffel bag slung over his shoulder followed Devon in, then took the backward-facing seat at the head of the gurney.
No, they weren’t going to a hospital. Their kidnappers were moving them to a new location, and for whatever reason, they were being very careful with Devon, ensuring he got the medical care he needed.
She wanted to scream at them to just let him go. Please, please, take him to a hospital. Drop Devon off and they could keep her. She’d be their willing captive if it meant Devon got to see a real doctor.
But Juliette didn’t say anything. She couldn’t. She was sitting on a hard shelf bench near Devon’s knees, the gag still in place. When they’d freed her from the chair, they’d put cuffs on her wrists and ankles, the chain between her ankles long enough to allow her to take shuffling steps. It had also clinked across the floor when she was led, hooded, out of the makeshift hospital room. The ambulance was parked in a large garage.
The garage was full of vehicles—mostly dark-colored SUVs and a few white panel vans—and people. Men in black-and-gray camo milled around, holding automatic weapons across their chests. A few men in all black stood near the walls. Someone shouted, and a man opened the back of one of the white vans. She only caught a glimpse, but it looked like there were blankets lining the floor.
Another man in black-and-gray camo print came up to the ambulance, stood on the back bumper, and grabbed her wrists. He jerked her arms up, hard, and zip-tied the cuffs to a handle in the row of cabinets above her head. Juliette’s shoulders started to protest almost immediately. She looked at the man who’d bound her, stomach sinking when he smiled.
He grabbed her by the neck and leaned in. “I can’t wait to use you to make him talk.”
The back door of the ambulance closed. The windows were solid black, so she couldn’t see out. The man near Devon’s head, the medic, came over and crouched beside her.
“We have a long drive.” He grabbed her thigh.
Juliette jerked to the side, wrenching away from him. Her shoulder joints burned.
The man grabbed her leg, pinching hard, and plunged a needle in. Medicine burned, and Juliette bit down on the fabric between her teeth, trying to fight the effects. The ambulance started to move, and the guard/medic returned to his seat. The pain in her shoulders faded, and Juliette’s head drooped.
Her last coherent thought was that she didn’t know why they were being moved, or what these men wanted, but unless help came soon, they might not survive.
Chapter Six
Brennon winced, slowly turning his head to work out the kinks. He must’ve had too much to drink last night because he’d fallen asleep at a dumbass angle. His eyelids were heavy, too fucking heavy, his head pounding and his mouth bone dry. The bright stream of sunlight shining directly in his face wasn’t helping matters. If he didn’t feel like such utter dog shit, he’d get up and close the blinds.
For a moment, he considered just saying fuck it and sleeping it off a little bit longer, vowing never to drink that much again.
Then he tried to recall what the hell he’d been drinking.
Shit. This had nothing to do with alcohol.
All at once, his memories came crashing down on him. This wasn’t a hangover. He’d been kidnapped.
No.
They’d been kidnapped. Him, Rowan, and Izabel.
Slowly, he opened his eyes, trying to piece together everything that had happened since that dart knocked him unconscious in Izabel’s condo.
Brennon had been suffering the lingering effects of the drugs when they’d first woken up, which muted everything he was feeling. He would have expected his horror to kick in as they wore off, but the longer they’d stayed in the empty green bedroom, the less panicked he’d felt. Or maybe his terror over the situation had been held at bay by Izabel, who’d acted as if the three of them being shot with tranquilizer darts and kidnapped, while not exactly normal, wasn’t totally unexpected in her world.
Brennon had grown up in a middle-class family, so, of course, he’d spent a great deal of his childhood longing for more. Izabel’s upbringing had been the polar opposite. She’d eaten off the proverbial silver spoon every day since she was born. And apparently part of that privilege was being raised to understand that someone might—at any point or time—kidnap her for ransom.
Suddenly, the grass wasn’t looking greener on the other side.