Page 42 of Stolen Faith

No. To do that would doom them all. Right now, they were relying on him to lead them through this.

He needed to…fuck…he needed to try. For them.

If they stood any chance at all of getting out of here alive, they would need to rely on each other, put their faith in each other to work as a team.

Trust, for Rowan, was something that was hard won, something earned over time, but they didn’t have that. Right now, the three of them had to give it freely and without hesitation.

“Iza,” Brennon whispered again. “Baby. Look at us. Please.” Brennon seemed determined to break through whatever self-protective walls she’d built around herself.

Rowan wished he had the ability to offer Izabel the soft words she probably needed to hear right now, but all he could concentrate on was the mission. On getting the three of them the fuck out of here. The game had changed, and now wait-for-rescue was no longer a viable survival option.

He wouldn’t fail them.

“We need to escape,” Rowan said.

They both looked at him.

“Agreed. How?” Brennon asked.

Rowan faced his husband. Brennon was bound with rope rather than chain or zip-ties. “You need to get out of those ropes.”

Brennon looked down. Rowan saw that his wrists were already raw from trying to get free. Brennon gritted his teeth and strained, arm muscles tight under his shirt. He bent his fingers at an odd angle, trying to reach the knot.

“I’ll keep trying, but they’re pretty tight,” Brennon said with a wince. “And I can’t bend my hand back enough to work the knot.”

Rowan debated telling Brennon that he had to get out. That he was their best, and nearly only, hope. “Keep trying. Natural fiber rope has some elasticity.”

“Don’t,” Izabel whispered. “If they think we’re trying to escape, they might… Hurt us more.”

Rowan’s heart clenched. Watching them torture her had driven him near the brink of his own control. If this was one of Brennon’s movies, his rage and fear would have allowed him to snap the chains, but this was real life. He was injured, tired, hungry, and bound in such a way that he had no leverage. If he’d been in Izabel’s position, he probably would have been able to break the zip-ties, but he wouldn’t say that. That wouldn’t help her.

He wanted to say how sorry he was. Wanted to tell her that the minute he got them out of here, he’d get her an appointment with the therapist he’d gone to, a woman who specialized in post-combat mental health counseling. Until this moment, he thought he had been making progress. Now, it felt as if he was back to square one, questioning his ability, his instincts, his training, his…fuck. Everything.

Rowan wanted to tell Izabel how brave she’d been, how even when she broke and cried, she’d been beautiful and poised.

He didn’t know how to say any of those things. Didn’t know if he should. Instead, he said, “This isn’t a kidnapping for ransom, so the situation has changed.”

Izabel’s throat worked, but her chin came up. “Yes, clearly. Thank you so much for pointing out I was wrong.”

“That isn’t what I was doing,” he countered. “I’m stating that the situation has changed, so our response has to, too.”

“Ah yes, all we have to do is change our mind and this will go away.” Izabel jerked in her bonds. “We stayed here because we wanted to?” She jerked again.

Rowan looked at Brennon.

Brennon was watching her with a heartbroken look on his face. “Iza, angel.”

She kept struggling, and her breathing was uneven.

“Hey, hey, Iza, look at me.”

Slowly, she looked at Brennon.

“That’s not what Rowan is saying. Right, Rowan?”

“Correct.” Rowan shifted, his own breath catching. He’d taken a few too many kicks to the ribs and pain lanced through him. “When you’re in hostile territory and you know there’s a CSAR coming—”

Brennon cleared his throat. “CSAR?”