The Forest Savage Read online

  Table of Contents

  Love is an Open Road

  The Forest Savage – Information

  Acknowledgements

  Dedication

  The Forest Savage

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Author Bio

  Love is an Open Road

  An M/M Romance series

  THE FOREST SAVAGE

  By Claire Davis & Al Stewart

  Introduction

  The story you are about to read celebrates love, sex and romance between men. It is a product of the Love is an Open Road promotion sponsored by the Goodreads M/M Romance Group and is published as a gift to you.

  What Is Love is an Open Road?

  The Goodreads M/M Romance Group invited members to choose a photo and pen a letter asking for a short M/M romance story inspired by the image; authors from the group were encouraged to select a letter and write an original tale. The result was an outpouring of creativity that shone a spotlight on the special bond between M/M romance writers and the people who love what these authors do.

  A written description of the image that inspired this story is provided along with the original request letter. If you’d like to view the photo, please feel free to join the Goodreads M/M Romance Group and visit the discussion section: Love is an Open Road.

  No matter if you are a long-time devotee to M/M Romance, just new to the genre or fall somewhere in between, you are in for a delicious treat.

  Words of Caution

  This story may contain sexually explicit content and is intended for adult readers. It may contain content that is disagreeable or distressing to some readers. The M/M Romance Group strongly recommends that each reader review the General Information section before each story for story tags as well as for content warnings.

  Each year, a dedicated group of Volunteers from the M/M Romance Group work hard behind the scenes to bring these stories to you. Our Editors, Formatters, Proofreaders, and those working on Quality Assurance, spend many long hours over a course of several months so that each Event is a success. As each and every author also gives freely of their time and talent, it was decided that all edits suggested may be accepted or rejected by the author at any given time. For this reason, some stories will appear to be more tightly edited than others, depending on the choice of the author.

  This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved worldwide.

  This eBook may be distributed freely in its entirety courtesy of the Goodreads M/M Romance Group. This eBook may not be sold, manipulated or reproduced in any format without the express written permission of the author.

  The Forest Savage, Copyright © 2015 Claire Davis & Al Stewart

  Cover Design by Noah Homes

  This ebook is published by the M/M Romance Group and is not directly endorsed by or affiliated with Goodreads Inc.

  M/M Romance Group Publication

  THE FOREST SAVAGE

  By Claire Davis and Al Stewart

  Photo Description

  In the photograph, two young men sit closely together. One is smoking, while the other appears to be talking. Their close proximity to one another suggests friendship and intimacy. Behind them, the surroundings look bleak and drab.

  Story Letter

  Dear Author,

  I want to know their story. They look like best friends, but is there something more between them? Maybe one of them is head over heels and the other one a bit clueless? They would make such a cute couple :)

  Sincerely,

  NannyOgg

  Story Info

  Genre: contemporary

  Tags: gangs, crime, drug use, drink driving, violence, prison, first time, friends to lovers, slow burn, hurt/comfort

  Content Warnings: dub-con/non-con

  Word Count: 29,025

  Acknowledgements

  With thanks to our magnificent readers: Kristan, Layla, Kim Alan, Astrid, Noah, Grenville.

  With thanks to the MM group and all the volunteers who take part.

  Dedication

  This story is dedicated to Kristan and Layla.

  THE FOREST SAVAGE

  By Claire Davis and Al Stewart

  “I found myself within a forest dark, for the straightforward pathway had been lost. Ah me! How hard a thing is to say, what was this forest savage, rough, and stern, which in the very thought renews the fear. So bitter is it, death is little more…”

  —Dante Alighieri, “The Divine Comedy”

  Chapter One

  It was raining, cold, and miserable. Flurries of leaves battered his face like the condemning words of those he left behind one dreadful night when the world stopped. Cal had spent over a year in prison, waiting grimly to be released into this grey wasteland of a town.

  The bitter northern wind was strong enough to push him forward, away from the prison doors, but not enough to permeate the numb layers of shock that still surrounded him like sweet decay.

  His thoughts were thankfully halted by a familiar face— Mary, his probation officer, come to meet him and drive him to his new town. “Hello Cal. Good to see you. Do you want a lift?”

  “Hi, Mary. Yeah, that would be great. Thank you,” he greeted her gratefully, glad to avoid the train ride and passengers— staring at his black plastic bag and clothes that were now too large and screamed of braver days. He got into the car, which was warm and comforting after the harsh reality of the outside.

  The rest of the journey flew past with calming and welcome talks of curfews and licence restrictions, all bewildering to Cal, reminding him that even after nearly two years, he was still a stranger to this world of punishments and crime.

  ****

  He left Mary at the Probation building and made his way alone to Stonehenge Probation Hostel, his new abode. Dragging his black bag across the front garden like a gothic and disgruntled Santa Claus, he gingerly picked a path through the old nappies and beer cans. Beyond the security camera, three guys were fighting viciously, moving closer to where Cal stood.

  It was nothing different from the hundreds of confrontations he had witnessed in prison, but the close proximity and lack of guards made his heart beat, and beat. Cal was in no physical state to fight after losing two stones and most of his muscles, but Jay taught him long ago how to scrap. He could not afford to get involved in this, but the unfairness of the fight made his fingers curl instinctively into fists.

  Not his problem. Walk away.

  The youngest of the three men slammed into Cal as the other two attacked, pushing the kid from one to the other, sneering and braying like hyenas after prey. “Fucking faggot. You owe me!”

  The younger man looked awful; his face smeared with blood and something black, but even though the odds were against him, he fought back desperately.

  The ‘faggot’ reference made Cal step forward, seize the bony shoulders and face the kid. “There you are. Been looking for you. He giving you trouble?” Smiling nastily at the biggest guy, knowing he would fight them if he had to.

  “What’s it to
you?”

  “He owes you?” Cal snapped. They nodded, about to tell him a sordid story no doubt, so he cut them off, stony faced and surly. “Ok. He’ll get it to you by the end of the week.” Show no fear, another trick he learnt the hard way.

  They shifted their feet a bit, then grumbled and wandered off. Cal felt vague relief, but an even stronger sense of disappointment. No fight today, then. He turned to the kid, who was shaking with shock. “Are you okay?”

  “Get-get away from me,” the young man shouted, unsteadily.

  Cal lifted his hands, raising his eyebrows in mock surprise. “Hey, it’s okay. I was trying to help! You owe me a thank you.”

  “I was handling it. I can look after myself.” The kid winced, casting baleful looks back at Cal as he limped off.

  Cal entered Stonehenge Hostel warily now, tasting the violence and neglect. A worker peered suspiciously through wire mesh, making Cal’s toes curl and his heart sink even further into the depths. “Callum Foster,” he announced apologetically.

  “Hello Callum, nice to meet you. I’m Tom, your designated hostel worker. I have some paperwork for you to complete, then I’ll take you to your room. Welcome to The Henge.”

  ****

  The room was truly awful. He had to breathe deeply and concentrate on maintaining his neutral face, slipping on the invisible mask he had perfected in prison. The worker prattled on, seemingly oblivious to the inhuman state of the hovel in front of them. “Here’s your key. It’s called a bed and breakfast hostel, but you can stay here all day if you want. The TV doesn’t work. Bathroom is at the end of the corridor and breakfast before nine A.M. There are twelve other men in this hostel. You have Troy on one side, a storeroom on the other.”

  Cal couldn’t say thank you, because surely it would look like he was taking the piss? Tom managed a pitiful, half smile. “It’s a bit of a state, isn’t it? This block is waiting to be redecorated. Still, at least you have a roof tonight, eh? Settle in, I’ll come back in an hour and go over things. Okay?”

  The minute Tom left, Cal threw the black bag at the wall and waited for a welcome spark of anger, or anything: anger at ending up here, sadness at the lonely grey bed, or even bone-chilling grief at the events that led him to this desolate shithole.

  But there was only greying wallpaper which was coming off in strips from the damp. It hung there like flaps of pallid skin, giving Cal the acid reflux of retribution. He was getting what he deserved.

  For the first time in over a year, panic screamed through his veins: no way out, no control, floors and walls diminishing to black, exploding into hot tyres and white light… his knees struck the floor as the poisonous rush of memories whirled him into a tornado; dangerous reminders he had so successfully blocked out for nearly two years.

  But everyone knew it was easy to shut up shop, in prison. Easy, and necessary, if you wanted to survive. Cal had even wondered at his lack of emotion, maybe half convinced himself that he really was the badass his fellow inmates feared. But deep inside, he knew that one day the screaming, hulking monster of reality would have to be faced— this stinking room and not being able to catch his breath. He was on a boat, plunging into the depths with no way out.

  He slid into the cloudy waters of misery. It was ages since he cried, but now he could not stop, low, tuneless moans of someone dying alone.

  ****

  Chapter Two

  Looking on the bright side was never going to be easy, but even he could see that a good clean would make the room look a whole lot better. It was funny; he’d spent so long planning the big events, but never really thought of the everyday stuff at all.

  He scrubbed the room until his hands were pink and sore. The smell of acrid sharp lemons overtook the fog of old urine and unwashed bodies, motivating him into action. There was no way he could sleep on the damp, stinking mattress, he would get rid of it and buy a new bed.

  He was lugging the ancient fold-up bed onto the landing, when the kid from the fight went past him, whippet-thin, all elbows and knees. Maybe he could help? “Hey, can you give me a hand? It’s not heavy, just a funny shape.”

  Guarded bright eyes appraised him. “All right, yeah. Suppose so. What are you gonna do with it?”

  “Thanks. It’s filthy and I’m getting rid. I’m just going to lower it down the stairs, one at a time. I’ll hold it; you just have to direct it. Okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Can you just lower it your end? It’s going to bang into the ceiling.” There was a shriek, the bed slid most of the way down the stairs, and Cal struggled to hold it. “Shit,” he shouted, “just hold the end. That’s it. Are you okay?”

  “No, I’m fucking not. I’ve got a bed rammed into my cock and my hands are on fire. I am very much not okay, thank you very much,” a voice protested indignantly.

  Cal snorted, as they successfully manoeuvred the bed round the corner and into the foyer. “Thank you. I couldn’t do it on my own. You okay?”

  He peered at the young man, who glared back. “Yeah, just about.”

  “Can I give you something for your help?”

  Dark eyes gazed back at him, frowning, then slid up and down Cal’s body. “What kind of something?”

  Cal couldn’t help it. He sniggered. “Are you for real?” he asked, almost admiringly. The guy blushed, wrinkled up his nose, and turned to go. “Hey, wait. Here. I’m just joking with you.” Cal held out the money, and the kid took it in silence.

  “Yeah,” he mumbled, startling grey eyes peering up at Cal under a messy shock of dark hair. “I’m for real,” he said, trying to look wounded but not quite managing to hide a sudden, shy smile.

  ****

  Cal was used to being alone, but soon the emptiness of the hours swallowed him, gnawing away every evening like persistent rats.

  One night a soft knock on his door roused him from pointless circles of endless thoughts. It was the kid, leaning on the door frame trying to look cool. “Gonna invite me in?” he mumbled, blushing, honest to God blushing.

  Cal made a hand gesture to welcome him in, not sure of the etiquette. “I’m Cal, have a seat. What’s your name?”

  “Troy?” the kid threw, unconvincingly, raising his eyebrows as he flicked long tendrils away from his face.

  “Troy?” Cal repeated, in disbelief. But Troy didn’t take offense, or even notice. He placed his lanky frame gingerly on the bed, and started thoughtfully playing with his spiky hair whilst he looked around. “You done this room up nice, it’s much better than mine.”

  “I just cleaned it and replaced a few things. Wasn’t fit for a human.”

  Troy nodded emphatically, pointing at the kettle. “Mm. Know what you mean. You making me tea then? Strong, two sugars. What you doing in this shithole, Cal? You don’t look like you belong here, same as I don’t. Got no family?” Cal had no idea how to answer any of that, so he just made the tea, giving Troy sidelong looks as he divulged information about the other residents.

  “How long have you been here?” Cal asked.

  “A year, almost.”

  “A year? Christ. How old are you? Where are your parents?”

  Troy held up his hands in mock protest, eyes rolling. “How old am I? Man, that’s personal, isn’t it? How old are you?”

  “Sorry. Just making conversation. Twenty-six,” he answered, weariness sinking over him. Now he couldn’t be bothered. How few people were there in the world who you really liked? Even fewer that you loved.

  “I’m twenty,” Troy declared, suddenly. “Now we’re being all pally— what did you do then?”

  “Do?” Cal shook his head, puzzled.

  “Pri-son,” Troy explained slowly, as if to a child. Cal stared at him, appalled. There was no way anyone here could know what he had done, surely. It was nearly two years ago and probably only in the papers for a couple of weeks. How could they possibly know?

  “Calm down.” Troy laughed, and patted the bed next to him. “Everyone in here has been to prison, you d
ork, except me. It’s the council convict dumping ground. S’all right. Old news round here. We’re all bad boys, mate.” Then, after a minute of inspecting Cal, “What’s your crime then? Give me a minute, let me guess.” He looked Cal up and down with clever, narrowed eyes and pursed lips. “Hmm. Drugs?”

  Cal stood up too fast and almost tripped over in his haste to open the door. “No. Look, I have to go out. See you later, yeah?”

  Troy stared, head on one side. “You killed someone then. You’re a murderer,” he announced loudly, then grinned at Cal cheekily, pointing at his shocked face with black nail polished fingers. “Don’t worry, I’m just joking. Thanks for the tea.”

  Cal stared at the door as it closed, heart beating, nausea rising up to his throat. He just made it to the sink, before throwing up so violently it struck the wall behind. He gazed at himself in the cracked mirror, seeing desperation in the navy blue eyes, his clammy face framed by sweaty blond hair like a ruined halo.

  ****

  Chapter Three

  It took a couple of weeks to fulfil the probation targets. He reactivated his bank account and saw that his café appeared to be running smoothly and making steady profits. Even without him around, it was doing well. On another day, he looked at flats and visited the job centre, making sure always to dutifully smile and nod politely at everyone. There was a semblance of order and routine; it did not matter if it was pointless and dreary, because the alternative was too awful to contemplate. He kept the monster that was his past at bay, but it lurked at the periphery of his sanity, watching him from the corners.

  At the end of his first week at the hostel, he was at Probation, looking through his diary sheet with Mary. She leaned forward and looked right at him, making him wince. “At some point, you’re going to have to talk to me, you know. I’m not talking about lists and targets. I mean Jay.”

  The silence in the room was like a warm, malevolent oil slick, clogging up his breathing, and his heart. He wanted to look away so badly, but then it would seem he was evading her, so he carried on, with just a few blinks for protection.