Lost World - C.J. Bishop
CHAPTER 1
About Last Night
“Is the cowboy all right?” Gunther walked beside the Egyptian. The large guard had informed Gunther that his real name was Cochise. That’s what he was known by, anyway. Gunther doubted it was his given name, with him being Egyptian.
“He will be.” Cochise zipped up his uniform jacket. “When he goes home.”
“But not now?”
“He’ll get the job done. Don’t worry about that.”
The two men fell silent—just the dull echo of their footsteps in the corridor. Gunther watched his own feet, a heaviness pervading his chest. “Maybe if I’d gotten there sooner, the little girl…”
“No,” Cochise mumbled. “It isn’t your fault. It isn’t Clint’s fault. You need to keep your head clear of that shit. We know who’s to blame—and we will deal with them.”
Gunther nodded. “What’re you going to do to them?”
“You don’t want to know.”
He kind of did, but Gunther didn’t press for details. The big man was all “business” this morning—focused and ready to play his part—but there remained a tightness to his face and a stress in his eyes. He’s worried about the cowboy. It hadn’t taken but a moment to register the brotherly bond they shared. The exterior of the Egyptian appeared callous and cold, but there was more going on behind that rigid shell that few—Gunther suspected—ever glimpsed. He felt lucky—honored, even—that the man had revealed a tidbit of his true self to Gunther. The cowboy implied it said a lot about Gunther’s character that the Egyptian put his trust in him. And in that was a revelation of the cowboy’s trust in the Egyptian. Because Cochise believed in Gunther—the cowboy automatically did so as well.
The depth of camaraderie between the two men struck Gunther on a deeply emotional level. He didn’t know why—it just did. Maybe because, for all his time trapped in the wasteland prison, he hadn’t witnessed anything like this. The love and friendship—the brotherhood—they shared was rarely found in hell.
“Does Hallahan ever take you on the runs?” Cochise asked.
“No. I don’t think he trusts me. But I don’t know why. He knows I wouldn’t do anything to endanger my family.”
Cochise grunted. “The warden knows the difference between a wild animal raised in captivity… and caging one that’s been free its whole life. The free animal will adapt.” He looked at Gunther and tapped his fingertip to his temple. “In its head. But not its heart. Pure instinct will make that animal run the first chance it gets. Even humans will often act on instinct first. That’s what the warden is afraid of and why he won’t let you out of your cage. If you escaped or spoke to the wrong person—it could bring chaos to his kingdom. In here… he is God. The outside world doesn’t give a shit about this place or any of the animals caged inside. He’s free to rule as he sees fit.” The Egyptian halted. “But the world does care about the children.” He huffed. “Some of the world. Enough to shut this shithole down and throw his ass in a cage. He will protect his kingdom at all cost. He has a hell of a lot to lose—that makes him dangerous. Don’t ever forget that.”
“I won’t.” Gunther received a daily reminder just how dangerous Sorensen was, and how far his reach extended. He wouldn’t forget any time soon.
●●●
“Are you sure you’re good to go back out there?”
“Meaning?” Clint asked.
Jax swept a hand through his hair and approached the cowboy. “After last night. And knowing John-boy is elbows-deep in all this.”
“What do you think I’m going to do?” Though quiet—soft, even—Clint’s voice strained with a fury frantic to bust loose. “Gut him on sight?”
Raising one eyebrow, Jax queried, “Are you?”
“In a perfect world,” the cowboy mumbled and twisted the stained shiv in his hand before concealing it on his body. He blinked. “But this world is not perfect.”
“Can’t argue with that.” Jax continued to stare at him.
“What?” Axel used to stare at him when he had something on his mind—or when he saw things in Clint’s face, his eyes, that Clint didn’t want him to see. Now—Jax was looking at him the same way.
“That little girl last night…” he murmured. “That wasn’t your fault. You did everything in your power to save her. A man can only do his best. No one can ask more than that.”
“Yeah,” Clint mumbled and instinctively reached for his necklace. Finding it gone, his hand drifted toward the freshly inked tattoo as he absently traced his fingertips along the