Page 9 of Finding Haven (Haven #2)

Zack

I’m fucking exhausted. Every movement feels sluggish, like thick tar traveling through a thin crevice.

There’s a burning sensation behind my eyes that only sleep will extinguish, yet I can’t bring myself to lay down and drift off.

I’m terrified that if I do, I’ll be right back at that bridge, watching my best friend plummet into the river below while I stand by and do nothing.

I’ll never know whether I could have saved Ryan or the man who ended both of their lives. If I could go back and relive that night to possibly change the outcome, I would like to think I would have found a way to shake myself out of the frozen paralysis in time to save them both.

Instead, I find myself cursed by nightmares nearly every time I close my eyes.

I’ve tried so many different vices over the last five years to prompt a dreamless state–booze, marijuana, and a list of medications so long that I’ve lost track of them all–but nothing ever works.

Not for long, anyway. No matter what I do, my mind never settles.

I spent years learning how to shut off unnecessary emotions and compartmentalize everything, but Ryan’s death doesn’t fit into some little box inside my mind. No matter how hard I try to shove it away and forget, the memory is always there. Always lingering just beneath the surface.

This current assignment for the Legion has been weighing heavily on my mind.

Watching Ace wage war against his own internal battle has me feeling more empathetic than I’m used to.

I feel connected enough to the few people I work with and speak to regularly, but I find myself forcing down any flash of emotion threatening to break through the surface.

Ace’s sister is the person I interact with the most, given that she works on-site at the Elysian almost daily, and even she has learned that I prefer to keep my distance.

The loud ring of my phone pierces the silence, snapping my attention to the device. Nausea churns in my stomach when I see Ace’s name on the screen. While we don’t exactly keep a strict set of work hours, it’s unusual for him to call this late.

Grabbing the phone from my desk in front of me, I swipe a finger across the screen to answer.

“What?” I clip, not bothering with a formal greeting.

“I need you to meet me at Buttersweet Bakery tomorrow morning,” he says, his voice strained.

A bakery?

“What the fuck do we need to do at—”

“I need you to help me get a new security system installed. Something top of the line.”

The fuck? Ace is an Anders, technically ranking him above me, seeing as his father is the head of the organization.

I’m not in a position to argue or question his motives.

He’s never given me a reason to doubt his ability to remain focused on his assignments, but I’m exhausted and struggling to form a connection between his target and a local bakery.

“And why exactly are we installing security at a local bakery? ”

He’s silent for a moment before he sighs. “Because I’m fucking crazy about the owner, and I can’t focus on my latest target until I know she’s safe. I can’t be with her all hours of the day, so the least I can do is make sure we’re watching over her.”

I’m not even going to bother questioning him.

If he wants me to add his girl to the list of people I’m keeping tabs on, then that’s exactly what I’m going to do.

“Not a problem. Text me the details.” I hang up before he can respond, knowing he’ll be sending over all of the information I need momentarily.

And sure enough, my phone pings with a location pin for our meetup tomorrow.

The brief conversation was enough to pull my focus away from the weight of exhaustion, but now I need another distraction.

I don’t know what it says about me that the only solution I can come up with involves browsing the profile of a certain curvy masked blonde, but here we are.

Her profile image has a thin red ring around it, indicating that she is currently live.

My pulse kicks up a notch as I click into her livestream.

The screen turns black for a brief second before I’m blessed with the sight of her sitting on her bed.

She’s clearly using her phone for this—only her upper body is visible, her breasts threatening to spill over a dark purple lace top.

Her face is covered from her cheekbones to her eyebrows by a lace mask, something befitting a masquerade.

Her eyes are dancing between the camera and the screen as comments flow in from subscribers.

Ur so hot

Show us your tits

U should b mine

Take it off, baby

My blood heats, simmering to a boil beneath my skin as I read comment after comment. Some are attempts at flattery, while others are pleas for her to give them more. Most don’t even bother to form full, coherent sentences before making some vulgar demand.

I hate it.

Any woman putting herself out there in such a vulnerable way should be treated with respect, not degraded. Unless she’s specifically stated she likes that sort of thing and has consented to it.

I’m sure anything I post will be lost to the masses, but I can’t let the only ones she sees tonight be rude. I quickly type out a comment of my own and send it.

NoMerZ:

Hey there, Sugar. You look fucking stunning.

Her eyes flit back to the screen as my comment appears, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. She swipes the tip of her tongue across her bottom lip before she leans forward slightly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear with her free hand.

The simple motion has my cock pulsing with interest.

“Hey to you too, Z,” she says, her sweet voice filtering through my speakers.

I assumed she would either ignore my comment or utter some kind of greeting to the dozens of people currently watching her.

I wasn’t at all prepared for her to verbally respond directly to me.

“You guys will have to just bear with me,” she says teasingly.

“This is my first time, and I'm a little nervous.” I'm sure she means it's her first time doing a live session, but the way her sultry voice wraps around the words has me imagining a different scenario.

“It helps knowing you're here,” she says, leaning back against the headboard. She’s talking to the group of viewers now, purposely not addressing anyone specific. “To be honest, I wasn't sure how I felt about doing this, but a friend convinced me to give it a try.”

I fight back a groan and send another message to the chat as she scrapes her teeth over her bottom lip.

NoMerZ:

Seeing you has already made my night so much better, Sugar.

“I’m glad I could help improve your night, Z.”

Fuck, my cock likes it when she speaks directly to me.

I have to remind myself that watching her right now isn’t an invasion of privacy, no matter how much it feels like one.

She has chosen to allow viewers to watch her.

If anything, I’m doing exactly what she wants by interacting.

Plenty of other comments are flooding through the chat, but I’m choosing to ignore them.

She has my full undivided attention right now.

I reach beneath the waistband of my joggers and grip the base of my cock, willing it to calm down.

“I guess I’m not the only one who’s not quite ready for bed, huh?

” She brushes her hair off her shoulders and trails her fingertips across her collarbone, drawing attention to her full breasts.

Her eyes flick to the screen, reading a few of the comments.

“Not this time, guys. If you want to see more, you’ll have to pay for a private session. ”

That’s a fucking option?

Sure enough, a link to schedule a private session pops up in the chat window. I’ve never clicked something so fast in my damn life. If anyone is going to steal all of this woman’s attention, it’s me. A message pops up to confirm the price, and I happily agree to the several hundred dollar fee.

“Looks like I’m needed elsewhere, guys. I hope you all have a wonderful night,” she says. The screen goes black, indicating that her livestream has ended. A moment later, a new window appears on my screen.

SugarQueen has accepted your private session request.

Fuck yeah.

“Hi, Z.” Her voice is softer than it was a few minutes ago.

More hesitant. “Just a second. I’m gonna see if I can give you a better angle.

” She lays the phone down, the camera suddenly pointing up at a white ceiling as sounds of shuffling come through my speaker system.

A moment later, she comes back into view as she props her phone against something, gifting me with a view of her entire body.

She’s sitting on one hip with her legs stretched out to the side, leaning on her forearm with her other hand resting at her waist. Her soft belly and supple curves are on full display, faint pale lines scattered along her sides and around her belly.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more beautiful woman. She’s breathtaking.

NoMerZ:

Hey, beautiful.

I’ve never been the kind of man to have a type. I’ve always gravitated to women for who they are and how they present themselves, but watching this woman has my mouth watering and my pants becoming tighter by the second.

“You know,” she starts, her voice taking on a slight raspy tone. “This sorta feels like I’m talking to myself. Can I see you? ”

My gaze shifts to the top of the chat window where a few different icons are located.

I click the one indicating a camera and shift in my seat when the screen splits, showing both her camera feed and mine.

I reach up and adjust the angle, making sure that my body is only visible from the chest down.

I wasn’t planning on doing anything like this tonight and hadn’t bothered to put a shirt on.

Thankfully, I hadn’t yet removed my gray joggers.

I usually sleep in my boxer briefs and nothing else.

“Ah, there you are.” A playful expression dances across her lips.

The lace mask hides enough of her face to keep her identity a mystery, but her smile has my heartbeat kicking up a notch.

“I don’t know what I was expecting”—she bites at her bottom lip—“but this is a nice surprise. Your body is amazing, Z.”

The outline of my cock is visible against the thin fabric of my pants, but as on display as I feel, I can only imagine the feeling is even stronger for her.

NoMerZ:

Pretty sure I’m the one who’s supposed to be complimenting you.

Not gonna lie, it’s sort of hard to form coherent thoughts at the moment.

She hums softly. “Hard, huh? And why is that?” I watch as she trails a hand up the length of her body and back to her hip, tracing the movement with my eyes.

There’s a small tattoo on the inside of her wrist, but it’s not the ink that catches my attention.

On the back of her upper arm, I see a small white circular device attached to her skin, causing my brain to skip to the glucose testing strip left behind by the woman at the bar.

I don’t have the words to explain to her that I’m so far out of my own comfort zone, but selfishly, I don’t want to share her attention. I don’t want her focusing on anyone else.