Aftermath (8 page)

As the days started to blur together, the men began to feel more like cattle than humans. Or wild animals. Unkempt, always hungry, restless, on edge, scared, caged, and weaker with each day that passed. Like moths, they were drawn to the poor light, and when the light was out, they moved around silently in the darkness.

There was little to no pride left, and there was no room for embarrassment or privacy. Everything happened with one man watching. Whether it was taking a shit or keeping emotions bottled up as they all missed their families, it all happened in front of a cellmate.

It was a psychological breakdown. Bit by bit, the madman in charge of their lives was stripping the guys of dignity, strength, and willpower.

It had been a while now since James had killed himself. Cam's bruises had yellowed and faded, and Chris, who'd been the last man to see the inside of the tiled interrogation room, was slowly recovering from his own battle wounds.

To Mr. Whoever-the-hell, Chris was named Thomas, and he'd apparently been their kidnapper's old boss. In comparison, Cam had been treated nicely. Pete, who shared a cell with Chris, had told the others that Chris was completely bruised. From head to toe. He'd also cracked a few ribs, dislocated his shoulder, and broken a finger. It had taken days before Chris could even stand up.

Boredom and fear were a dangerous combination, and it was exactly what their captor pushed on to them. He left the ten—nine…the nine men to their own devices for days, only appearing to deliver food. Then he'd shake them up with torture and mind games. Sometimes he came down to announce a new name or wish them a happy Easter or "remember that it's Memorial Day," and he loved to play with the light switch. He said good morning when some men were sure it was closer to evening, and he said goodnight when a few others had just woken up.

The food remained the same. Chicken soup, stale bread, lukewarm milk, and new water for their buckets. Approximately once a week, a new roll of that sandpapery toilet paper was also tossed inside each cell.

Those who refused to carry out his commands, such as returning medical kits or putting on the cuffs again, had to go without food and water. In other words, it never took long for the men to admit defeat.

One day, Kidnapper was feeling nice. He gave the men toothbrushes and toothpaste.

It was a relief for the guys to clean their teeth with something other than soaped-up fingers or the sleeves of their shirts, but it hurt, too. Their gums were sore, some inflamed, and a couple men cursed about cracked fillings and cavities.

Not knowing exactly how long they'd been here made Austin go nuts. He was thinking about how quickly they were all deteriorating and wondered, realistically, how fast it could happen. The only thing each man was in agreement on was that it'd been more than two months now. Cam and Austin believed it had been more than three, too, but they couldn’t be sure. Lance and Victor thought they were approaching four months, but no others could imagine that to be true.

*

Fueled by anger, Austin pushed himself to the limits on the bike. He needed routine back in his life, but that was pretty fucking hard to achieve when you didn’t know what you wanted. Going back to work would be easy, but he reluctantly admitted to himself he wasn’t ready to put in all those hours. So, what else was there? Because when he thought about it, there wasn’t a whole lot more. Sure, there were the laps in the pool he did on weekends and a few weeknights; maybe he could make that a daily thing. Same went for waking up at the same hour every day and getting back to his morning routine—shower, shave, etcetera.

Then what?

There were a few things he did with Jade, but those felt stifling these days. He had no patience to sit down and watch a movie with her, because unlike Riley, who didn’t really care if he was watching—as long as he sat next to her—Jade wanted his full attention on the movie so they could discuss it afterward. Dinner parties with their neighbors didn’t appeal to him, either, nor did he feel like taking his wife to plays and musicals. Actually, Austin had
never
enjoyed those things, but he'd never spoken up about it. They hadn't bothered him that much in the past. Content to be content—that was Austin. Until it wasn’t anymore.

What was so wrong with just going to a bar to grab a beer? No, it had to be restaurants, wine, and a
fucking
show. Peanuts weren’t enough; it had to be tiny appetizers with French names. God forbid if he wanted to stay home and catch a game. And he didn’t have his old buddies left. Well, they were there, but there was no such thing as a guys' night. Everyone was paired up, and those who didn’t live behind a picket fence had gates. You couldn’t call up a friend and do something spontaneous, because the wife had to have a say, and babysitters had to be brought in.

He was bitter, but he didn’t know if he had the right to be. There had been at least a hundred opportunities for him to speak up, yet he hadn't. Okay, he had suggested several things he'd wanted to do, and Jade had shut him down, but if he wanted it enough, perhaps he shouldn’t have caved.

How had he allowed himself to become a doormat?

He had been that crazy bastard's torture toy, so maybe that was why he couldn’t deal with not having the option to decide for himself anymore.

That was a lot of maybes. A lot to think about.

But right now, he wanted to get wasted. He wanted to go to a bar and just fucking drink.

Could he cancel dinner with the family just this once? He was expected to be home at seven—as always—but if he called Jade and said he just needed one night to himself, surely she'd understand
that
. He never denied Jade when she wanted to go to LA with her girlfriends for a day of shopping and spa treatments.

"Okay, Huntley. Let's walk it off on the treadmill."

Austin got off the bike, panting, and chugged down half a bottle of water.

He wondered if Angelo pushed Cam this hard. Or harder?

"Do you know any good bars in the area?" Austin stepped onto the treadmill, his legs feeling like jelly, but at least the hard part was over. Now he just had to walk for a bit, and then he had a half-hour massage.

"In Bakersfield?" Angelo gave him a dubious look and walked on the treadmill next to Austin's. "I suggest you go to LA for the weekend instead."

It had been a long time since Austin had gone to a bar, but come on. There were obviously plenty of places to go.

"There are a couple, but…" Angelo shrugged. "I don’t know. I can text you the addresses."

"Huh." Austin decided to check more online once he was done here.

*

Across town, Cam squatted down and brushed his fingers over James's gravestone.

He had nothing to say. It wasn’t a man he'd known; hell, he had never even seen the man's face, unless you counted the news articles with his photo. But it didn’t really matter. There was a sense of camaraderie.

Pete's grave was also somewhere around here.

*

"Mail call!"

Cam and Austin exchanged a look in the faint light and slowly stood up to see what the crazy motherfucker was up to this time.

It had been a quiet few days, and it felt like the calm before the storm.

When the hatch slid open, two envelopes were thrown inside before it closed again. The sound of more hatches opening echoed in the basement, and then silence. But…the douchebag hadn't left yet. They hadn't heard the footsteps on the stairs or the heavy door opening and closing.

Cam picked up his goddamn envelope and tried to keep his fingers from trembling. If weakness showed, he became angry. It caused his breathing to pick up, his mood to sour, and his thoughts to take a turn for the worse. First, his own reassurances would morph into worst-case scenarios, and then panic would settle.

Austin had seen it a few times now.

"What does it say in yours?" Austin asked, scanning his letter.

Cam scowled and read the three lines on the piece of paper. Three lines that told him the "company" was keeping him on board. "'Evan is a hard worker, but it's only a matter of time before he cracks,'" Cam muttered. "'For now, though, we're happy to have him with us.'"

Austin shook his head and dragged a hand over his scruffy jaw. It was itchy and irritating his skin. "Mine says almost the same," he sighed, then read a line to Cam. "'Sam has yet to show his potential, but we think he will. His position is safe for now.'"

They were quiet for a while before Psycho broke the silence.

"Dad!" he bellowed. "Read your letter for me!"

No answer.

"He's fuckin' crazy," Cam whispered, then took a deep breath to remain calm. If he lost it now, it wouldn’t be pretty.

"Bill Stahl! Answer!"

Cam frowned, thinking about their characters. He had been referred to as their captor's cousin. Chris was his old boss. Now he was calling someone Dad…Bill Stahl.

"I'm—I'm Bill." Someone spoke up, his voice cracking. Cam was fairly positive it was Pete. He shared a cell with Chris.

"What does it say in your review?" Psycho asked impatiently.

Pete cleared his throat, the sound muffled by the layers of steel between them. "It says…it says, 'You are fired.'"

"That’s right." Crazy laughed. "You're useless! And I'm sick—damn sick!—of how you've treated me, Dad! No goddamn respect!" A door was pushed open. "Ever since I was a kid, you've always favored Fred! Even Remy, that little queer!"

A shot rang out, blasting through the entire basement, and the ear-shattering sound stole Cam's and Austin's breaths.

*

"Fuck," Cam breathed out. He pressed his index finger and thumb to his eyes, as always struggling to remain calm. "Why the hell did I come here?" He was sure as shit starting to regret it. He should just head home to Bourbon instead. The pup shouldn’t be left alone for long anyway.

He wanted to call Austin, but he refrained. He couldn’t rely on him forever. Plus, he'd been thinking about that man too much today already.

Austin was probably at home with his family. It was dinnertime, and Cam could picture it. The all-American family. They probably had a nice house, perfect dinners together, movie nights, and played board games with Riley. Cam could definitely see that. Mr. MBA, the flawless father and husband. Jade certainly fit the role of a perfect wife with her statuesque figure, brilliant smile, blond hair, and blue eyes.

Lighting up a smoke, Cam sat down on the marble bench that looked new and just stared at the grave. If he wasn’t so lazy, he'd look up Pete's spot. His death had hit him harder, mainly 'cause Pete hadn’t chosen it.

"Motherfucker," he groaned as his heart began to race. No, he shouldn’t have fucking come here.

*

Cam sat on his cot, arms wrapped around his drawn-up legs, and rocked back and forth. To keep sane, he tapped his thumb to his other fingers rapidly. Index, middle, ring, pinky. Pinky, ring, middle, index. Repeat. Pete was dead. Index, middle, ring, pinky. Repeat. That insane motherfucker had shot Pete in the head. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

No words were spoken in the basement, but it was far from quiet. Someone was vomiting, another one was crying without shame, Chris was banging on the walls of the cell he now shared with a dead man, Cam's fucking cuffs clanked together each time the pad of his thumb tapped a finger, and someone else was kicking things around.

"Breathe," Cam whispered to himself, close to hyperventilating. "Steady. Calm." He squeezed his eyes shut, angry at himself and his weakness—his flaws, his damaged brain. "Can't lose control. Can't lose control."

If his brother's wife heard him say shit like that, she would kick his ass. In truth, Cam knew his brain wasn’t damaged, but goddamn…whatever. It sure as fuck felt like damage now.

"Cam."

Cam ignored his cellmate's voice and presence.

Austin sat down next to him. "Anything I can do?"

Fuck. He didn’t even ask if something was wrong, 'cause a blind person would see that
everything
was wrong with Cam.

"We—we're outta c-control," Cam said between shallow breaths. "No control, no control. Fuck." His chest felt fucking tight. Another attack was on its way. "Nothing we can—nothing we can do. Nothing." Deserting his finger tapping, he fisted his hair and kept rocking.

Unbeknownst to him, Austin was worried sick. This kind of behavior wasn’t…normal. "Hey, stop that." He tried to loosen Cam's hold on his dark, nearly black, hair. "Talk to me."

Cam responded as if Austin's request had been a command he had to obey, and he spoke words without really knowing what he was talking about. "My sister-in-law used to tell me that any disorder on the spectrum gives a person character. It's the shit that usually comes with Asperger's or whatever that makes it a challenge." Cam nodded. "Naïve. My sister-in-law was naïve. Still is, I guess. 'Cause she still says it sometimes. But I haven't seen her in…um, I don’t know. I don’t fucking know." He groaned.

Austin was speechless after Cam's verbal vomit, and he knew too little about whatever disorder he'd mentioned to answer. But he was willing to bet there were more fitting words for Cam's sister-in-law. Perhaps protective, accepting, and loyal. Regardless, Austin had a feeling the woman had been the opposite of uncaring when those words had been spoken. He didn’t say that, though.

Instead he went with, "Asperg—uh, what was it?"

Cam sucked in a breath, slowly releasing his hair. "Asperger syndrome." He nodded again. "I used to say it was a lesser stupid than autism, but my mom whacked me on the head for saying that. She—she—" he swallowed dryly and tried to find his words "—she said I was stupid if I spoke stupid. She told me it made me come off as an idiot if I said shit that wasn’t true."