Free Aftermath by Cara Dee Page A

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.