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Once again, it reminded him of Gale's question about whether or not he felt like Cam was his responsibility, and he had finally come up with his answer. No, he didn’t see Cam as a responsibility. Not at all. He was only protective.

Austin cared about him. A lot.

"Remember when I got sick?" Austin murmured after a while. Cam nodded with a dip of his chin. "You made sure I ate."

A week later, at least they guessed it had been a week, the entire basement reeked more than it ever had. Pete's body was rotting in Chris's cell, and several of the guys were taking turns puking their guts out in the toilets.

Austin's stomach churned as he dropped to the floor next to the toilet. He was completely empty, weak, and on the verge of breaking down. Slick with cold sweat, he tried to regain his breath.

At this point, he could barely lift his arm to grab the cup of water next to him.

Mr. Cruel, as he now wanted to be called, was as unaffected as ever when he delivered meals and water. Too weak to get it himself, Austin let Cam grab their food. At least Cam had become a bit nicer since their fight last week.

"Eat." Cam sat down on the floor next to Austin and held up a bowl of soup and a spoon.

While Cam flushed the toilet, Austin forced himself up to a sitting position, rinsed his mouth with water and some toothpaste, then accepted the bowl. The chicken broth made him want to gag, but he needed the sustenance. Even more, he needed water. The only thing that held back his tears was that he needed to contain whatever fluids he had left in his system. Extreme survival instincts had kicked in, but that didn’t mean his mind was strong enough to fend off the feeling of hopelessness.

No matter how long they waited, none of the men ever saw an opportunity to overpower their kidnapper and get back to freedom. Not even a couple days ago when another man—Victor—had been "called to an interview" upstairs.

Victor, named Fred by the madman, had the character of an older brother, and he had been pushed down the stairs after a beating. Cuffed behind his back. Gagged. Shot in the thigh. Numerous fractures. The man was in agony, but there was nothing anybody could do.

"Jesus." Cam leaned toward the toilet, not sure if he was about to throw up or not. But the man look nauseated, Austin could tell. "I could kill for fresh air and a couple cheeseburgers."

Austin groaned, his gut tightening. "Prime rib, man. Cold beer, some damn sunshine, baked potatoes, and a dip in the pool."

"Oh, yeah. Pizza."

"Fried chicken…"

"A fuckin' burrito."

"Tacos."

"We're masochists, Austin."

"Clearly."

The melancholy that fell over them was heavier than usual.

Austin had always been one of those who suffered in silence, but he didn’t really see it as suffering. He never had high demands. As long as he had a roof over his head, some comfort, food on the table, and was able to keep his daughter happy, everything was all right. Sure, he'd been stuck in a rut with his wife for a few years now, but he didn’t complain. You couldn’t have everything in life. But in this moment, there were things Austin would actually take a life to have. Basic stuff, like fresh air, safety, good food, a shower—oh God, he wanted a shower. He wanted to soak in water for days. For the first time in his life, he wanted something so badly that it physically hurt.

Another thing that physically hurt was how much he missed his baby girl. No one could comfort Austin the way Riley could. And he craved that to the point of desperation—comfort. Closeness. The thought of a simple hug from Riley made him ache.

"Listen up!" boomed a voice from outside. "After you're done eating, it's time I have a little chat with Sam."

Austin's head snapped up, his wide eyes meeting Cam's equally wide ones.

Sam was the name of Austin's character.

"Now we can eat whatever we want, and we're suffering through this bullshit." Cam pushed away his plate. "I'm ordering a fucking pizza. You want?"

Austin was leaning his elbows on the table, his fingers massaging his temples. He shook his head no in answer, but that was all he could muster. It wasn’t often flashbacks sucked him in like this one had; he could remember without feeling the need to vomit afterward. There were no anxiety attacks, just hatred toward that fucking bastard who had kidnapped them. But now…fuck. He felt raw and vulnerable.

Before he knew it, another flashback pulled him under.

"Wait," Cam rushed in a whisper. He put his cuffed hands on Austin's shoulder and pulled him back from the door. "We should try."

"Try?" Austin arched a brow. "What are you talking about?"