Page 4 of Aftermath

Austin, the man had said his name was, was only wearing a pair of sweatpants with a local construction company's logo on them and a T-shirt. So, Cam idly guessed Austin worked in construction, which a couple other guys here did, too. There was also a plumber, a bus driver, a bartender, two without jobs, and one mailman. All males. All between thirty-two and forty-four years of age.

Since Cam had been locked up in here, he had spent his time fighting off anxiety attacks, shouting for help, regulating his motherfucking breathing, and learning the names of the other eight fuckers in here. He'd found out that they were all stuck in small cells two by two—Victor and Chase, Lance and James, Tim and Sean, Pete and Chris. And now Cam and Austin.

They were names he'd remember involuntarily, 'cause it was nothing he gave a flying fuck about at this point. All he cared about was the fact that ten seemingly able-bodied men had gotten themselves kidnapped. And as far as they all knew, only one man was responsible. In other words, shit didn’t look good.

He'd read the papers, of course, so he knew that the first dude had been taken about a week before Cam was kidnapped, too. It was big news in the entire state, and now the number was up to ten kidnappings in less than two weeks.

Cam wished he could say he'd fought for his life when he'd been taken, but that would be a lie. After work, he'd stopped to pick up some food on his way home, and the motherfucker had blindsided him. Maybe it was chloroform; it didn’t matter. Cam had dropped in a few seconds, and before that, the shock had worked against him. He'd already been immobile, making it embarrassingly easy for that son of a bitch.

He hoped his precious Camaro was okay. If anything, Landon would immediately know something was wrong, 'cause Cam would never just leave that baby behind.

The sounds of muffled mumbling and muttering from a few others were cut off abruptly when a heavy door slammed open—a noise that was now so familiar that they all knew who it was.

Each time that door opened, Cam vowed to struggle if he got the opportunity. He promised himself to fight, which wasn’t easy wearing cuffs, but fuck if he was gonna surrender that easily. He had failed when Austin had been thrown in here, because the kidnapper, who hid behind a black mask, had drawn a goddamn gun on him.

"Good morning!" Psycho sounded like he'd been drinking too much whiskey during his days. "Now that I've filled every work position, I suppose it's only fair you know who your employer is."

Stunned silence blanketed the entire basement. Based on the lack of windows and how the men sometimes heard footsteps above them, they'd guessed they were being held in a basement. That was all, though.

The crazy motherfucker continued. "You will refer to me as Sir or Mr. Stone. I am your boss, and I will hand out your schedules shortly."

Across the small cage, Cam heard Austin suck in a breath.

"How about letting us outta hea', you sick son of a bitch?!" a man farther away shouted. He had a thick New York accent, and Cam hadn't heard him speak before.

"Silence!" Psycho boomed out.

3

Cam was in purgatory when someone woke him up. Disoriented and ready to fight for his life, he flew out of his chair and pounced on the fucker touching his arm. Vision blurry, he gripped Psycho by the throat and they ended up on the floor—

"Cam!"

What the fuck?

The sound of Austin's voice made Cam slow down his movements.

"Jesus Christ, Cam," Austin growled. And with a force Cam couldn’t compete against, he ended up on his back, his shoulder blades digging into the wooden boards of the patio. Shit. Patio. He was back home. Not hell. Not that metal cage. Austin was here. They were safe.

Cam released a choked breath and tried to relax under Austin's body.

Austin must have noticed. He loosened his grip on Cam but didn’t move away. Now Austin wasn’t holding him down to defend himself, it seemed. It was to comfort. He leaned down and cupped Cam's cheek and rested their foreheads together. It was a contact that had worked for them before.

The next time Austin spoke, it was gentler. "Talk to me, Cam. You're a mess." He brushed his thumb over the shadows under Cam's eyes.

"I'm sorry," he muttered in a strangled voice. "Fuck. I don’t—"I don’t know what's wrong with me.

Well, he had a guess, but he refused to go there. His shrink had told all of them about PTSD, and Cam didn’t want to add another issue to his already-long list. PTSD was a condition that felt so permanent—the last thing he needed in his life. But it had been like this whenever someone startled him awake, so he knew he needed to address the problem.

At the hospital, it had been his brother. Then, a few days after he'd been released, he'd hooked up with one of the chicks who never stopped calling him. He had fallen asleep at her apartment after a mediocre fuck, and when she'd woken him up, she had been on the receiving end of a fist.

He'd felt beyond shitty. Savannah had been understanding—had even tried to comfort Cam while he took her to the emergency room for her split lip, and she'd offered to drive him to his shrink's office afterward. Cam had passed on the offer, apologized a hundred times, and then ended their casual relationship.

He wasn’t gonna take a chance with Kim or Brian, the other two he'd hooked up with from time to time. He'd ended things with them, too. Kim had cried, reminding Cam of how women could get—so much for casual fucking—and Brian had been oddly quiet.

There was also another reason Cam had already planned on never seeing Brian again, and that reason was currently lying on top of him. Being with a guy would cause Cam to think about things other than being friends with Austin, a man he needed in his life.

"Have you spoken to Gale about this?" Austin asked as he slowly removed himself from Cam. They went to the same psychologist—all the surviving guys did. "You should. It could be PTSD."

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