Page 7 of Aftermath #1

7

"C ome on, Huntley!" Maybe Angelo looked like a Brazilian underwear model, but he was the devil . "Give me ten more!" He grabbed on to Austin's knees. "Come on!"

"Fuck you," Austin grunted and did another sit-up. His T-shirt and shorts were soaked in sweat, and it had only been half an hour. It was fucking embarrassing. When he got home, maybe he'd even go into Jade's secret ice cream stash at the back of the freezer.

"Not while you're my client." Angelo winked.

Austin collapsed down on the floor and stared up at Angelo with wide eyes.

Seriously?

Perhaps there was a damn sign on Austin's forehead that read, "I may or may not have thought about a cock today that wasn’t my own."

"Jesus," he panted, sweat burning in his eyes. He grabbed the towel near his head and wiped it down his face. "I think I'm done." And not just for today.

Austin was a damn mess, inside and out. His body was aching from the brief workout, and his mind…there were no words. Instead of thinking about what Cam had said this morning, he was just pissed. He grew angry for nothing. Angry for not being able to do twenty-five sit-ups without gasping for air, angry for his physical reaction to Cam earlier, angry at Jade for not understanding him, angry at himself for the same reason, angry at his boss for telling him not to come back yet, and angry for…basically everything and everyone—not counting his daughter.

That was probably the only aspect of his life that hadn't changed. Being a father came naturally to him, and he had slipped right back into the daddy role when returning home. Maybe because Riley was easygoing and didn’t demand much. She loved to swim, loved to watch movies, loved to draw, and loved to eat.

Today they'd just hung out by the pool, Austin throwing her around or doing laps, and when Riley had wanted to paint, they'd gone up and settled on the terrace. Austin had read some more about Asperger's on his laptop; he'd also started four books, none of which had captured his attention. Meanwhile, Riley had been happily drawing and coloring at the table, and then they'd gone out for Mexican for lunch. Easy. So damn easy . But the rest of his life? No.

The newest thing was his odd fixation on Cam, but he was aware now that it was only his realization that was new. After all, they'd leaned on each other for months, and Austin had no problem admitting that he wanted to be close to Cam. It still felt weird not to wake up in the same room with him. Perhaps they argued heatedly—sometimes over nothing—but given the circumstances, it would be weird if they'd become all buddy-buddy right away in that metal cage. They'd had more important things to worry about—like staying alive.

Nevertheless, the thrill that had shot through Austin when he'd originally thought about Cam getting off to gay porn had now been identified.

It was excitement. Pure fucking excitement. Something that made him feel alive.

He should probably worry about that.

"Are your shoulders okay?" Angelo asked, yanking Austin back to now. "Any pain?"

"Everything's a pain," he grumbled and sat up. "When's our next session?"

"Oh, this isn't over yet, Huntley." Angelo smirked. "You say you're done; I say you're not." He pointed to the four exercise bikes by the mirrored wall. "Twenty minutes to work those thighs. Come on."

Austin bitched under his breath, grabbed his towel and water bottle, and followed the devil over to the bikes.

It all came down to control—again. Not being able to reach the goals set for him made him feel weak.

It had happened before.

"Damn it!" Austin yelled, pushing himself off the floor. The fatigue was getting to him, and it made him furious. No matter how much he worked out or how many times he pushed his own limits, he was getting weaker. Not stronger.

"Easy," Cam cautioned, still on the floor doing his sit-ups. "Take five then get back to it."

Before Austin could reply, the familiar sound of Psycho's arrival halted them. As he announced it was dinner time, Cam and Austin were quick to get rid of their clothes. Since the water was about to be changed and refilled, they used these brief moments to soak their underwear and T-shirts in the bucket, roughly scrubbing them with the bar of soap.

The days had long since started to blur together, and 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, the 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 teenager, you've 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. "Na?ve. My sister-in-law was na?ve. 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, but eventually he found his words. "I'm sure there are more fitting words for your sister-in-law. But this disorder… 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 gather his jumbled thoughts "—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."

"Uh." Austin cleared his throat, and it looked like he felt the need to tread carefully. "I've heard of Autism, but…" He released some air. "Does this Asperger syndrome cause your breathing problem?"

"No." Cam shook his head, slowing his rocking. "No. That’s my anxiety disorder. It's what fucks me up." He tapped his temple. "I gotta be in control of my life. If I lose control, I panic. I don’t fucking like it."

Austin didn’t reply, appearing stunned.

"I'm not a fucking retard," Cam spat out defensively. "Before this, I hadn't had an attack in years. I don't like small spaces, I can't handle many people at the same time, I'm antisocial, I gotta have routines…but I ain't dumb." Cam's glare dared Austin to defy his words.

"Did I say you were dumb?" Austin arched a brow.

"I'm highly functioning." Cam went on as if Austin hadn't said a word. "I was behind when I was a kid, but that’s fucking it. So what if I didn’t speak 'til I was four?" He scowled at the floor. "And so what if I don’t like people?"

Again, Austin failed to respond.

"Don’t treat me any different just 'cause you know now," Cam finished in a mutter.

"I won't," Austin murmured.

When Cam began to hyperventilate, he called Landon instead. He was sick of Austin seeing him this way.