“Surprised to see you in here. Nothing better to do tonight or are you trying to make me fund your new Mustang by putting in all these hours?” Duke asked, on his way to his own office.

I haven’t even got the damn thing yet.

“It’s after midnight, Brian. Go home.” Duke turned off the light and closed his door. His boss looked around at the quiet office. The wide-open space was easier for them to work in and communicate with each other as they broke down cases. Each of them had an executive-style chair and large desk, with both a laptop and desktop computer and enough space to accommodate a big man. They had lots of cool devices and toys to play with, thanks to his brother and his retired military connections. It was the best Brian could ask for in his condition. Even with all his skills, background and Annapolis education, his mutism didn’t exactly make him employment marketable, so he was grateful for Duke.

When Duke left the office, Brian sat staring at his computer screen attempting to get a jump on their next case. His boss probably wouldn’t go after their new skip for a couple of weeks, but what else did he have to do? The car dealer had called to let him know his brand new 2018 Mustang was ready to be picked up, but he’d yet to make his way over there. Sure, he’d love to take it for a spin, but going by himself wasn’t exactly fun.

Brian leaned back as far as his chair would go and put his big boots up on the end of his desk. He pulled out his phone to see if he had any missed messages.

Nope.

Dammit. What’s up with him? Brian couldn’t stop his mind from returning to the night he’d accepted an invitation to a seedy sex club where he’d met a man so exceptional and extraordinary that if it weren’t for the stains on his black pants, he would’ve sworn he never existed. But he did. Sway had existed. He’d made Brian hope again after only being in his company for an hour. In his own amazing way, he’d smoothed his way past Brian’s many defenses and seen what he really wanted. To communicate. A deep desire he thought he’d terminated.

Sway was his co-worker Dana’s best friend—or a more accurate description would be, assumed baby brother. They’d grown up together. And, just when Brian had given up on ever seeing him again, there he was… in Dana’s home, looking and feeling just as good as he had in that club. Brian had been so shocked to see him that it had taken him a minute to compose himself.

Now, the urge was there again. He needed to see Sway. There’d been something there. He knew it. But, it’d been a few weeks since he’d serendipitously ran into him at his brother’s and Dana’s home. Since then, it’d been a vicious game of message tag and Brian had had enough. He pulled up Sway’s thread and typed a new message, even though this morning’s hadn’t been answered yet.

Brian: Hey. I have to pick up something in Roswell tomorrow. It’s about an hour ride. Interested?

Brian tossed his phone onto his desk as if he could’ve cared less if Sway answered this time or not, but when he heard it buzz on the smooth surface, he lunged to grab it so fast he fumbled it a couple of times before gathering himself. He pushed the notification and held his breath waiting for a…

Sway: ‘Damn wish I could. I got work. Sorry.’

Brian reread the sentence a third time, wondering how long it had taken for Sway to send that. Five seconds? Did he even think about it first before he responded right back with a no? Did he even stop to think if maybe he could shuffle a few things around? Couldn’t he have offered up another time to meet? Brian breathed deeply at the rush of disappointment.

He’d been interested in seeing me again. You can’t fake that shit. Why’s he blowing me off?

Brian didn’t reply. He had his answer. Fuck. He wasn’t sure if asking what Sway was doing this weekend would make him sound as pathetic as he felt so, instead of begging like James Brown, he shut down his laptop and locked his desk. He yanked his coat off the hook on the wall—almost taking the hook with it—and slung it over his shoulder. With his keys in his hand he headed towards the front door when he realized he hadn’t turned off the lights in the break room.

Sighing softly, he turned around and walked to the back of the office. He pushed the heavy door open and stepped inside. He hurriedly swiped his hand over all three switches at once. He did it so fast that the snap, and angry pop of the halogen bulb in the tall lamp exploding didn’t register until the door slammed him inside… in the silence… in the darkness… and that was all it took to trigger one of them—a flashback. A flick of a switch and a sound. Déjà vu.

The memory jolted Brian so hard he fell against the door, slamming his hands over his ears at the sound of nothing. Crushing his eyes closed, he shook his head, fighting it. No! No! He screamed at his mind. I’m in control! No dammit! Brian opened his mouth and unsuccessfully yelled that negative into existence. No wonder it didn’t work. Brian cracked one trembling eyelid and sure enough, there he was… back in that fucking cave.

Acrid scents of sulfur and gun powder filled his nostrils and threatened to gag him. He braced his hand on the wall behind him, expecting to feel the smooth drywall of their break room, instead his fingertips dug into baked mud and jagged stone. Brian desperately tried to inhale, he needed fresh air to clear his mind but there was nothing but foul human waste, dying souls and putrid desperation.

Brian shook uncontrollably at the bitter winds that came through the cracks and holes of the cave he and his lieutenant had been mercilessly dragged to after their convoy had been ambushed. His team had been under the ploy of transporting a general but something had gone very wrong and their twenty had been found. Eight of Brian’s men—SEALS—had been pushed down to their knees and executed right there on that desolate dirt road in Kandahar. Men of valor put to death like animals. Their bodies wouldn’t be sent home to their loved ones, so they could lay them to rest in the Arlington National Cemetery where they’d receive their final salute from the Honor Guard. Granted their glory. Instead, their remains would be left there for the vultures to pick at. Brian’s heart bled, his mind screamed.

He was on his knees with his hands locked firmly behind his head. His chest rose and fell so fast he thought he’d pass out before the king of terror, the man acting as God, passing judgment and taking life, got to him. He wouldn’t die like that; face down in the dirt, begging his enemy for mercy. Brian was a disciplined man, his father and brother had seen to it. He wanted to hold his head high and his spine steel-straight when that piece of shit fired that weapon into the back of his skull. He’d go down with integrity.

He was seventh in the row, next to his LT. Lined up by rank. As soon as the single round from the 9mm handgun exploded through the forehead of the man kneeling beside him—his best friend, First Class Jones—Brian couldn’t do anything but hate those terrorist bastards and pray his brother wouldn’t mourn him long. He cut his eyes over to Jenkins and saw him taking the same defiant stance.

Come on you fuckers! Get it over with, Brian screamed in his mind. He felt the hot muzzle of the gun pressed against the base of his skull. It burned like fuck, but he didn’t give those bastards the satisfaction of making a sound. Do it! He needed death to be quick. Anticipation of death was far worse than death itself. Shoot!

The shot never came.

Instead came something much worse than death.

Torture.

He and Jenkins weren’t sure how long they’d been in that small hollowed out mountain by that point, but he’d thought it’d been at least two months. With no way to see daylight it was hard to gauge.

“M-my b-b-brother will find us. He’ll f-find us,” Brian stuttered, his teeth chattering so hard he was sure most of them had chipped. He hoped his LT could hear him, could understand him. He’d been quietly mumbling those same words over and over for days. It was all he had. Ford was all he had. His brother was everything to him and vice versa. Ford wouldn’t stop. His team of SEALS were notorious for their rescue missions, his big brother leading them into every single one.

“D-d-don’t talk, King. J-just don’t talk and we’ll g-get out of here. A-a-and I f-fuckin swear to you, we’ll piss on their g-graves w-when we are,” Jenkins said behind him, his body wrapped tightly around Brian’s almost naked form while they battled through a winter in the mountains, with nothing more than torn clothes wrapped around their genitals.

The Special Forces had trained him for survival, resistance and escape, but there was no simulation designed to prepare a man for this. For what they did to them daily trying to get them to break. He was unbreakable. Brian was a spy—an intelligence officer—and so was Jenkins. They had highly classified information that the Taliban was relentlessly trying to retrieve. Their methods were barbaric and medieval. Still, he held on to his brother’s voice in the front of his mind the entire time and his Lieutenant and mentor in the back.

Brian heard footsteps, then the sounds of men’s voices speaking angry Dari. They were coming. It was time again. Time to start all over. Brian stiffened in Jenkins’ hold. He knew what those sounds meant now. He could no longer even mumble to Jenkins, no longer chant his brother’s name. Only silence now. He hated this long stretch of time, but the silence was all that was keeping him alive.

“T-they can’t b-break us, King.” Jenkins let Brian go like he did every time, having to separate before their captors came in and saw them together. Saw them taking comfort in each other. Brian missed the body heat immediately, his raw-beaten skin protesting at the coolness now able to seep through to the fresh wounds and the old ones. He hissed and groaned inside at the ache, holding on to the fact that Jenkins would be there to take the chill away when he returned. And Brian would be there to tend to Jenkins the best he could when he returned. Brian always thought when… not if they returned. He and Jenkins were in this together and they were coming out of it together. Brian still believed the only reason they hadn’t been separated was because this was the only area within the hideout that had a makeshift stone door and chains to secure them. Outside their confinement, there was only enough room to shove and push them down a narrow stone path to a ten-by-twelve clearing. Brian had seen no other paths, doors, or spaces. He’d looked at every inch of what he had access to and there was no easy escape unless he was the damn Hulk. The ground was dust and hard dirt that ate into the soles of Brian’s feet when he walked. This was where the daily “interrogation” happened. After one was done, he was dragged back to the room and then it was the other’s turn. Every damn day… or night.

“The only easy day was yesterday, sailor,” Jenkins whispered roughly before sealing his mouth closed. The door opened, and at least eight or nine men draped in dark dresses and darker shaals with automatic assault rifles motioned for Brian to come first this time.

He ceased all communication.