Prison Island
36. – Missing Scene, Karl’s POV (Teaser)

-begin

His head was a nest for dark thoughts. Francesco had sensed something, but it wasn’t like Karl could tell him. Any deal struck with his dad, it was his, and he couldn’t get involved anyone else without expecting swift and wicked retribution.

Cesco and the others, they had no idea how easy they got it. How many times already had Karl dealt with some fuckers circling around their camp? Not always directly, but laying traps was effective, and he had seen the trails of blood and even more. Each time he had stood above those sights, the consequences of his actions, he knew it was wrong but still the right thing because it meant that they were alive and well.

Mouse knew more about that, and it had surprised him that the redhead hadn’t run his mouth. Francesco was clearly oblivious, and who else would Mouse tell? Karl wasn’t sure how much he knew, but Mouse was no fool. His hunter instincts had kept him alive all this time, and he must have seen the traps gone off, maybe even watched Karl replacing them. Who knew? Maybe he had stood above a corpse or two, as well, thinking the same thing.

After they had both fucked Cesco in the ass, there had been that talk about he and Mouse being alike. That was how Francesco’s mind was working; he saw two boys around the same age and him and thought he knew them. But he didn’t know anything, not that Karl wanted to pull that veil of ignorance from his eyes.

Yet the worst was yet to come, and only Karl knew it. There was so little time left until they would leave the island, and there was no way in hell they would be left alone. His dad had been clear about it.

“A fucking rite of passage,” he said under his breath. Were all fathers such fucking douchebags? He sometimes wondered. His dad believed in the Spartan way to the extreme. When he had learned in school about Ancient Greece, Karl had wondered whether his own father wouldn’t have considered throwing him off some cliff in case he had been born with a shorter leg or a deformity of some sort. God knew he had the resources to pull it off and make it look like an accident only so that he didn’t have to live the shame of having a handicapped son.

But Karl was whole, no leg shorter than the other or anything like that. And he had grown strong and listened to his dad like he was a fucking god. That until he hadn’t; looking back, doing all that shit had been stupid. But it had landed him here, and he had met Francesco.

Karl felt his cock and gave it a squeeze through the jeans. What would his dad think of Francesco? He’d label him a fucking faggot the moment he saw him, for sure. Anyone who didn’t have thick muscles and didn’t look like a brute was a pussy, a faggot, a sissy, in his dad’s book.

~

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