Page 80 of Meet Me In The Dark

So he said, “You also love getting your ass beat.”

Micah laughed again. “You know I do. Do you forgive me?”

Luke sighed. “I forgive you. It’s hard to argue with how rational you are, sometimes.”

Micah’s voice was rueful. “I’ll tell you what, I don’t feel fucking rational right now.”

“Me neither,” Luke said, glad he wasn’t alone.

Because no matter what happened, live or die, he’d never be alone again.

They were quiet for a bit, waiting—and, on Micah’s end, probably praying—for Conor and Kara to come walking through the door.

Of all the times she’d been taken away from the cell, this had been the worst. Almost ironic, because no one forced her to strip at gunpoint and shower in freezing water while they watched. Instead, she’d been brought into the kitchen, and forced to eat. She wasn’t sure where or how they’d gotten the chargrilled oysters, or the biscuits, or the halibut, but it was so similar to the meal she’d eaten with Micah that she’d wanted to vomit out of fear—no matter how fucking hungry she was.

It was a sign, wasn’t it? They supposedly gave prisoners on death row their favorite foods for a last meal, too.

No one had said a word to her the entire time, but “tick tock” echoed in her head. She remembered her dream, too, from when Luke and Conor had first been taken. She’d thought it was about her fears of being abandoned by them, but maybe it had been something else. Maybe it had been a portent of the end. There were so many ways to leave people, to lose them. And now that she’d finally found where she belonged…

The thought steeled her resolve. She still didn’t know how she’d get them out of this, but she wasn’t giving up.

So she forced down food—she doubted it was poisoned, where would the fun in that be for Chris?—to gather her strength, and then when she was done, ignored the guards behind her and walked back to the cell, head held high.

She heard the clomping of boots coming from the other direction and turned. Conor walked, barefoot and a little unsteady. He looked no worse for the wear, thank god.

When he reached her, she reached her hand out to stroke his face. She was still angry at him, but so relieved to see him upright, alive, she pushed her frustration to the side.

“Stop,” one of the guards barked, and she lowered her hand.

“Are you okay?” she asked Conor quietly.

“Fine,” he said. “Kara…”

She shook her head. “Not here.”

They waited, Conor a heavy presence behind her, as one of the guards walked around her to unlock the door and push it open. Luke and Micah were on their knees, facing each other, their heads twisted toward the door.

“Oh thank fuck,” Micah said, surprising Kara with his tone.

Luke released a heavy breath.

Kara walked back inside, Conor trailing her. The guards chained Conor back to the wall again—this time shackling both his hands.

“See you soon,” one said, before sliding the door shut, leaving their foursome trapped inside.

As she always did, Kara inspected the door, just in case it wasn’t locked this time. And like always, it was.

That done, she turned to face them all. “I’m fine,” she said quickly. “They fed me, they didn’t hurt me.” She swallowed, preparing to tell them the rest. “But they fed me what we got at that restaurant in New Orleans, Micah. It felt like…” she swallowed again, aware of all three men’s eyes on her. “…like a last meal.”

“Fuck,” Luke said this time.

“I don’t know what we do,” Micah said, his voice almost inaudible. “Anyone else have ideas?”

Kara had one, but they weren’t going to like it, or agree with it. So she kept it to herself.

“Not like we can talk through them, anyway,” Luke said, gesturing around the room, implying what they all assumed: there were cameras and mics present.

They lapsed into silence. It was Conor who broke it.

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