Page 50 of Aftermath

"For guns and keys," Tim snapped, clearly pissed he had missed the lighter Psycho must've had in one of his back pockets. And that goddamn lighter was functioning, the fairly large flame proof of that. An even bigger problem was that the gasoline Psycho had poured in the hallway outside the cells had slowly but surely seeped inside.

All it would take for this entire basement to go boom was dropping that lighter where he stood.

"You suicidal?" Cam asked him. He pointed at the wet floor. "If you drop that fucking lighter, you'll die, too. Not just us."

Psycho smiled. "By killing you, I will still do the world a favor. I will make a noble sacrifice." His smile became both wider and creepier. "Maybe this is how it was supposed to be all along. I'll go down as the hero who has taken out ten mediocre nobodies." Standing behind him, Austin placed a hand on Cam's hip, gently tugging him back from the doorway. Just a few inches, enough for Cam's back to touch Austin's chest. It was a silent request that said he didn’t want Cam too close to the danger. Psycho went on with, "My father will finally be proud."

He looked so fucking pleased with himself that Cam shuddered. 'Cause this scumbag wasn’t just insane—he was fucking delusional. Which had already been established, but now it reminded all the men that they were far from safe. Despite being restrained, Psycho held the power.

Victor tried to inch closer, but he didn’t get far.

"Uh-uh-uh. One more step…" Psycho's warning was clear. He was fully prepared to drop that lighter and send them all to their deaths. "In fact, why prolong this? I have nothing more to say."

Before anyone could react, the lighter slipped from his hand.

16

Austin parked next to Cam's Camaro at the end of the parking row, killed the engine, unbuckled his seat belt, but didn’t get out. Instead he grabbed his bottle of water and reached for the painkillers in the glove box, downed two, and sat back with a heavy sigh.

Taking off his sunglasses, he rubbed his tired eyes then slid the glasses up his nose again.

It was only Tuesday and this week was already killing him.

He'd gotten a lot done, but he understood Gale's reason for telling him to relax even more now. While it felt good to keep himself occupied, it made his mind spin. He suffered from furious headaches, and now he was in desperate need of a physical outlet to help with his anger issues.

Control was slowly making its return to Austin's life, though, so he was thankful for that. Because there was no other way to describe it. It was control. He'd taken control of his life. There was a plan, an agenda, things to do. He'd applied for all the papers needed, he'd talked to Angelo—his physical therapist—about what he could do to let off some steam, he'd found an apartment—as of twenty minutes ago—and he had started the process for Riley to change schools. But now, he was beyond beat. And he still had one more thing to do today: a session with Gale.

He already knew what it was about, which didn’t make anything easier. At first, he didn’t really think it was a big deal to miss one single group session, but when Gale told him what today's topic was going to be, he'd reluctantly made an individual appointment.

The last thing he wanted to do was to talk about how they broke free from that basement.

Time slowed, making every millisecond painfully clear. Austin didn’t miss a single thing. He watched with horror in his widening eyes how the lighter was dropped and ignited the floor in a sea of fire.

Grabbing hold of Cam's arm, Austin ripped them backward. Someone shouted, "No!" Another one shouted, "Run!" In what felt like slow motion, Austin and Cam ran toward the stairs, quickly followed by the rest of the men.

Behind them, flames consumed the floor and began to lick the walls. Their kidnapper's evil laughs were replaced by ear-shattering screams. Everything was engulfed by the fire except for the concrete staircase. Hopefully, that would buy them a few seconds, because they still faced the problem of the door.

"Get ready to ram that door down!" Tim yelled.

They reached the small vestibule—much too small for seven men—and while someone closed the basement door behind them, Austin, Cam, Victor, and Chase charged for the door that led to freedom.

Pain ripped through Austin's body as his bad arm, shoulder; hell, his badsidemade impact. But the door budged, so pain was pushed down. Beyond desperate, they all slammed their bodies toward the door, some of the guys getting mangled in the process. But Austin didn’t give a shit, and he was one of the guys nearest the door. In his mind, he saw Riley. It made him fight harder. He had to see his baby girl again.

As smoke and heat rose, slithering into the vestibule under the basement's door, time and force became everything. The men didn’t think about the future, although they were fueled by the thought of having one, and they didn’t think about where they hurt.

Adrenaline surged through seven men, and two sayings became one. The first stated, "No man left behind," and the other stated, "Every man for himself." They contradicted each other, but it worked. While they shoved and used all the strength they could muster, not caring about who got smashed in the middle, they were still bound to one another. No one had any intention of leaving somebody else behind, but the main priority ensured they didn’t give a rat's ass about bruises and broken bones.

Austin thought briefly about those two sayings and how the words he'd exchanged with Cam a few times summed it all up. Gun or no gun. Regardless of whether they got hurt, they would do their best to get free. But maybe it went a little further than that. Because to Austin, Cam was just a bit more important to get out than the others.

Blood, sweat, and tears mingled with the smoke that slowly filled the small space, but their efforts paid off. Just as Lance started saying something about choking from the smoke, the hinges on the door gave away.

"Yes!" Victor shouted hoarsely.

"Come on!" Chase barked out.

Gasping for air, Austin and Cam grabbed at each other, much like the others did, and ran for their lives, making sure they were all included. Blindly, they headed toward light. Freedom was the only thing on their minds, but they did register the wooden structure that surrounded them, much like the torture room. This place was about to go up in flames. The house was old, really damn old, and everything looked aged and about to crumble.

Passing closed rooms, heavily draped windows, and a filthy kitchen, at last they reached what had to be the door leading outside.

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