Page 68 of Stolen Faith
The two mercenaries switched targets, grasping Izabel’s arms. She didn’t fight. She wanted to say it was bravery, but it wasn’t. She was oddly numb. The mercenaries weren’t rough with her. One took her by the shoulder, pushing her out into the hall.
Another four mercenaries were waiting there. Three of them ducked in, and there was the sound of a scuffle.
“No,” she said. “Don’t hurt them!”
“They’re not,” the mercenary holding her said in a low voice. “Just prepping for transport.”
“Transport? Where? Why?”
Rowan and Brennon were pushed out into the hall. Rowan was tied up once again, this time with rope. Izabel took a step toward them, but the guard pulled her back. Izabel watched, heart in her throat, as her fiancés were led down the hall.
Don’t leave me.
It wasn’t a fair thought—they weren’t leaving her—but she couldn’t help it. Couldn’t stop the rising panic. That panic faded when the guards stopped at a door at the far end of the long hall. She watched Barry open the door, saying something she was too far away to hear.
Then Izabel’s mercenary turned her in the opposite direction, leading her away from Rowan and Brennon.
Brennon looked back in time to see a black-clad mercenary marching Izabel toward the far end of the hall. Where were they going? What the fuck had Barry meant about her being a nurse?
He forced his attention back to his own situation, at the door Barry had just unlocked. Another concrete box of a room with no windows or furniture greeted him.
Rowan made a surprised noise, and Brennon leaned forward, peering inside, shocked to see a shirtless, injured man sitting with his back propped up against the wall, eyes closed.
Before Brennon could ask any questions—and he had a lot of them—he was pushed into the new cell. They put a gun to Rowan’s head, untied his arms, then shoved him in too.
Barry grinned at them and pointed at the cell’s occupant, as if the sight of the injured man was some big reveal, something he couldn’t wait to show them.
“See? I told you we know everything about your Trinity Masters,” he said with a wild look in his eye. “We even have your Grand Master.”
Chapter Fifteen
Brennon watched as the heavy door clanged shut. Like the first one, this door looked wooden but it sounded like metal, and the heavy, metallic thunk of the lock was ominous. Only this time, they were locked in without Izabel, and with a stranger.
Brennon looked at Rowan, who was eyeing the room’s other occupant. A man in his late thirties or early forties sat on the floor against the back wall. He sat with his legs stretched out, ankles crossed, hands casually clasped on his stomach.
If it wasn’t for the fact that he was shirtless and sporting a massive, dirty, blood-stained bandage on his chest, the man would have looked like he was relaxing on the deck of a yacht somewhere.
“Hello,” the stranger said mildly.
“Hi.” Clearly Rowan was back to silent and dangerous mode, so Brennon would be doing the talking.
The man started to sit forward and grimaced, gingerly relaxing back.
“Maybe you shouldn’t move,” Brennon said, his mind working quickly. The Grand Master. Barry had called this man the Grand Master. But he couldn’t be…
“Possibly not,” the man agreed.
“What happened to you?”
“I was shot in the chest.”
Brennon blinked. “Holy crap, really?”
“Yes, with pellets of some kind, not a bullet, but it was at close range.”
“You should be in a hospital.”
“Strangely, our kidnappers didn’t seem inclined to drop me off at an E.R.”