Page 38 of Meet Me In The Dark

“Broken, huh?” Chris asked. “You may both think you’re strong and tough Navy SEALs, or hitmen, or vigilantes, or whatever you’ve decided you are. But at the end of the day, you’re just little boys playing dress up. I’ll break you both, in ways you can’t even begin to imagine.”

He turned to his minions. “His left arm, first.”

Luke strained at his restraint again, desperate to reach Conor, only to realize that Christopher was talking about him. They grabbed his free arm, twisted it, and then there was a pop and pain so sharp, a weaker man would’ve blacked out.

Luke was not a weaker man.

“Don’t fucking hurt him.” There was desperation in Conor’s voice, and suddenly Luke understood.

The point of the torture wasn’t to break Luke.

It was to break Conor.

“You see,” Christopher started again, reaching out to stroke Conor’s face. Conor snapped his teeth, and Christopher jumped back. “You see,” he repeated, trying to regain control, “I am not at fault here, Mr. O’Connell. You are. I am merely the conduit for the consequences of your actions. Mr. James here is also not at fault, but he’s going to suffer for what you did.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Luke said, as he inhaled deeply to distance himself from the pain. “No one’s at fault but him. Stay with me, boss. Don’t fall for his shit.”

“Luke,” was all Conor said. It seemed like it was all he could say.

It was enough. The words carried so much weight. And as fucked up and morbid as it was, seeing Conor suffer from observing Luke’s pain fortified him. For so long, Luke had questioned his place in their threesome-turned-foursome, convinced that if he was gone, they wouldn’t care. Especially Conor. They fought so much, wouldn’t it be a relief?

This proved otherwise. And even though Luke desperately wanted to close his eyes so he could float above the hell they were putting his body through, he was all that Conor had, and he refused to leave him, there. So he caught his partner’s—lover’s—eyes, and held them.

And Conor, who was suffering so much guilt and so much emotional pain, stared straight back. They remained that way, as Luke’s physical pain grew worse and Conor’s anguish matched it. But although Luke wished Conor wasn’t here, wasn’t suffering, the fact that they were together brought back the lessons from his past. Reminded him of the man his grandma had wanted him to be. The man Kara wanted him to be.

He was not a hero.

He was more.

They held each other’s gazes. They held fast, and they held strong.

Until they couldn’t anymore.

10

Luke hadn’t moved in hours.

He was breathing. Conor reminded himself of that, over and over, watching Luke’s chest raise and lower. They hadn’t killed him. For a time, it looked like they were close to it, and every time Luke, who had been trained the same as Conor to withstand brutal pain, made a sound, something had broken in Conor. Something he wasn’t sure would ever mend.

Conor’s wrists were covered in dried blood from how hard he’d fought to escape his shackles and save his lover. His throat stung from how yelling, first threats, then pleas, as Luke became bloodier and bloodier and less and less responsive.

Finally, the professor had grown bored and they’d dropped Luke on the floor, popped the shackle back around his good arm so he couldn’t escape, and left.

Conor never cried. Not on his father’s death anniversary, not when they’d found out they’d orphaned those little boys. It had taken seeing Luke in pain, and being helpless against it, to get those floodgates to open.

“Baby,” Conor murmured, tears in his eyes, his throat. “Baby, baby, baby…”

Come back to me. Please, come back to me.

Finally, Luke coughed, struggling to open his left eye, which was dried shut with blood. Conor wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to open it again. He’d love him anyway, eyeless or sightless, beaten or broken. He’d love him, because he loved him. God, why hadn’t he said it more, when he’d had a chance?

As if Luke read his mind, he rasped, “Please don’t be maudlin right now. I’m in too much pain to beat the sentiment out of you.”

Conor laughed with something like relief, still tinged with sadness. Luke was conscious, but how much longer did they have?

“I love you, you asshole. You know that, right?” he asked.

Luke tried to laugh. “Of course you do, you dumbass. Just like I love your dumb ass.”

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