Sid’s imagination—the one part of him that reliably still worked—got away from him.More heat spread through him, merging with the slow, welcome buzz of the weed he’d smoked. In his low-slung harem trousers, his dick hardened, the first real boner he’d had in weeks. And wasn’t that just fucking biblical? Two nights ago, an hour on Xtube had brought him nothing. Now one glance at his soon to be co-worker had lit him on fire.
Blame the disease.
Sid’s heart thumped.
Blame the medicine.
Because the alternative was too bizarre to contemplate—
No.
Justno.
You can’t wank over your new employee. That shit’s just weird.
Groaning, Sid slammed his laptop shut and opened his eyes to his empty living room. His other hand had somehow found its way to his crotch. He let it linger a moment, squeezing the stone column his cock had become. It felt like sacrilege to ignore it, but...fuck.Sid had morals somewhere.
Didn’t he?
2
“That’s it, Pope. Off you fuck.”
The screw grinned, pleased with himself.
Dante gave him a flat look and brushed past him to the open door. The big, wide world lay on the other side. He stepped one foot out, and then the other, bracing himself for a grand sense of change—fear, hope, grief—but as fresh air hit him, nothing happened. Hefeltnothing, not even relief at leaving the forbidding walls and barbed wire of HMP Manchester behind.
On numb legs, he crossed the road and faced the Hogwarts-style building.Strangeways.The old name suited it better, and as he stood alone, a flicker of emotion finally rattled him. A silky web of guilt and pain spun across his heart. Luis’s handsome face, softened by warmth and affection, flashed into his mind, but Dante pushed him away. His baby brother wasn’t here, not just today, but maybe forever, and that wasn’t going to change unless Dante did.Move on. He has.
As the thought completed, across the road, the prison door opened again. A screw stepped out, narrowed gaze fixed on Dante, eyebrows raised. He made a gesture with his thumb and mouthed two words:fuck off.
For a long moment, Dante stared him down, rooted to the spot, clinging to the unchanging world of routine and forced company. Then he sighed and walked away without looking back. Because if he had, it might’ve hurt. And he wasn’t ready for that pain, not yet. He had the rest of his life to be lonely.
* * *
The unfamiliar city swallowed Dante whole. The thundering traffic made him think of London, but the trams were new monsters. Quiet and deadly—compared to the buses, at least—he jumped every time one ghosted past.Damn.Fen had warned him the outside world would unsettle him—that whatever he thought he remembered, his new life would throw up something different—but Manchester was more than different. As far as Dante was concerned, it might as well have been the moon.
Fen had arranged a bus ticket to take him out of the city and into the countryside. Dante found his way to the right stop and took a seat at the back of the bus, alternating between people-gazing and watching the alien landscape turn from grey to green. Busy roads became moors. On the horizon, a reservoir broke up the fields and fields and fields of who the hell knew what, and the water was deep blue like Dante imagined the ocean to be. He’d never been to the beach.
Eventually, the water gave way to rolling hills.The Wilburn Peaks.
The name stirred something in Dante. He dug through the canvas bag the prison had given him to carry the few sets of clothes he owned and the work boots Fen had found in the charity donation box. The pack from the employment scheme was buried at the bottom.
He pulled it out and unfolded the page that held his location: Wilburn Manor, a trust-owned stately home that would give him work and accommodation for as long as it took for them to realise they didn’t like him. A week? A month? Who knew? Lots of people didn’t like Dante.
Beneath the employment pack was an envelope containing a dated iPhone, wiped clean by the police before they’d handed it back to Dante through the prison. A rehabilitation charity had gifted all inmates being released that spring a SIM card preloaded with credit. Dante manoeuvred it into the phone and turned the phone on. Changed his mind and turned it off again twice before he settled on leaving it on, though why he couldn’t say. The only number he possessed was one he shouldn’t have, sent him with a caveat that made his stomach churn.
Don’t call me unless you’re someone I want to know.
Dante wasn’t that person yet. Would he ever be?
Time would tell.
The bus took him to a quaint village on the outskirts of vast moorland. Dante got off and studied the map in his employment pack. It marked out the forest paths that led to Wilburn Manor. Steep hills and stiles. It was another world away from the one he’d come from, but this one he didn’t mind. He’d come to learn that being outside suited him. Sun, wind, rain. Mud and dirt. He liked the smell and feel of it on his skin. Being dirty made him clean.
He set off through a low wooden gate and followed the path into dense woodland. The trail was well walked and easy to follow. Bluebells blanketed any ground not filled with trees or carpeted by moss, and the voice of the prison wellness coordinator echoed in his head, reading from the book on mindfulness she’d handed to every inmate corralled into taking her class.
“Knowing what triggers negative habits isn’t enough. Take note of what makes you happy too, so you don’t forget when it matters.”