Page 8 of Finding Haven
Swinging my legs off the side of the bed and planting my feet on the cool hardwood floors, I ground myself in the here and now. I stumble down the hall toward the kitchen, my body heavy with the weight of the nightmare still plaguing my mind. You would think I would be used to this feeling by now.
As a child, my mom would always make hot chocolate as a way to soothe the soul any time my siblings or I couldn’t sleep or were feelingstressed about something. It’s a habit that I’ve carried with me into adulthood. Something about hot milk mixed with melted chocolate or coco powder and sugar just soothes the soul. It’s a tradition I always imagined I’d carry forward someday, just as my older sister, Leah, has done with her children.
According to the clock on the stove, it’s just past three in the morning. I could make some and try to go back to sleep, but I don’t want to risk ending up back on that bridge. I might as well make a pot of coffee and allow the hit of caffeine to force away the lingering demons. If that doesn’t work, I can always escape from them down on the beach. One of the best parts about living this close to the ocean is the sunrise runs on the sand.
Maybe the additional waking hours will help me sleep tonight. I would give anything to have even one solid night’s worth of sleep. A night without nightmares.
I’m moving on autopilot as I put a coffee pod into the machine, close the lid, push the button, and wait for it to do its thing. Within minutes, the smell of freshly brewed coffee permeates the air and immediately begins working to enhance my senses, chasing away any remnants of brain fog from the nightmare. Pouring the coffee into a mug and adding a hint of creamer is a mindless activity, but it gives me something to focus on as I move through the motions. Leaning against the cool marble countertop, I raise the mug to my lips and inhale deeply, letting the steam invade my lungs.
I know I could speak to Will Anders about this. When I came on board with the team, he set me up with a standing appointment to talk to someone who specializes in trauma, no questions asked. But what I’mbattling seems so minuscule in comparison to what the other members of the Legion deal with on a daily basis. My demons, this guilt… It’s all been weighing on me for years, and yet I know others have faced much worse than I have. My past and trauma don’t even compare.
I need a distraction.
Pulling up the Frisk app on my phone probably isn’t the best way to distract myself right now, but I want to see that mysterious woman with the mask again. I type out her account name, SugarQueen, and a censored version of her profile fills my screen. She has a couple of different subscription tiers to choose from. I don’t hesitate to click the most expensive level, granting me access to every photo and video she’s ever posted. As soon as the payment is submitted, the page refreshes, and all of her content is unlocked.
She is stunning. Captivating. The poses she shares and the content available go beyond what you would typically see from an adult entertainment creator on this site, or any other site, for that matter.
Every single image is a work of art. From the way she’s posed to the way the light and shadows emphasize the dips and curves of her body. My eyes catch on a photo of her sitting with her back pressed against what I’m assuming is the headboard of her bed, her legs bent at the knee and spread wide with her feet planted on the mattress. Keeping her otherwise naked body from view is a plain white sheet pulled up between her legs, her hands clutching the sheet to her chest as she gazes into the camera. Her hair is ruffled and messy as if the moment was captured just after sex. The thought has my cock hardening behind the thin material of my boxer briefs.
I’m half tempted to hack the site and find a workaround to the firewalls that block the ability to download images. I’m well aware it would be crossing all kinds of invisible lines, but I’m also not so sure I care. I take a deep breath and talk myself down for now and scroll past the image. There are dozens of others just like it. Photos where she’s posed in such a tastefully artistic manner that her body looks like a work of art.Sheis a work of art.
Walking into the Elysian hotel brings a sense of comfort that walking into a police station never did. The luxury hotel is equipped with premium services, suites, and various conference and meeting rooms, but also doubles as temporary safe housing when needed for the Legion’s rescued victims.
It’s been a long time since I’ve considered myself to be “law enforcement”, but as the years pass and I’ve made a name for myself within The Phoenix Legion, I can’t help but think about all of the people I thought I’d saved as a government-controlled officer. Domestic disturbance calls that resulted in the offending partner being detained or arrested. Children who were removed from unsafe homes and made wards of the state.
What happened to them after we had done our part? Did anyone ever check on the victims to ensure they were settling into their new lives? Were they left to struggle and figure it out on their own?
I took the job with The Phoenix Legion and Elysian Suites without a second thought. It’s been one of the best career decisions I’ve ever made. The Legion doesn’t just save and protect those who can’t protectthemselves, we also give everyone we rescue a fresh start. Victims are always provided housing when needed. Whether it’s here at the hotel or in one of the many community homes across the nation, we always make sure they have everything they need. I don’t see too much of that side of things, aside from those who end up here at the hotel. But knowing that the people we rescue are provided for, and not just left to deal with the aftermath of their situation on their own, brings me a sense of peace.
Sinking into the leather chair at my desk, I pull up the latest documents sent over from Will Anders, the head of The Phoenix Legion. A new assignment has come in for Ace, Will’s son, and I need to gather as much information for him as I can. The digital file is filled with endless reports and documents against this target. I’m surprised the man hasn’t been on the Legion’s list before now. Knowing Will, there was likely a pertinent piece of information missing that prevented them from confirming suspicions and officially able to make him a target.
Running facial recognition on the guy is easy enough and results in multiple hits. The guy has a disgusting history. I’m not surprised that he is on the Legion’s hit list, but I am surprised that it’s taken them this long to move forward with making him an official target. Every new piece of information I come across gets added to a double-encrypted folder on our network computer. I’ve got so many damn firewalls and safety measures in place, I pity the person that tries to hack into this shit.
Ace sits in the dark leather chair next to my desk, his head buried in the file folder his father gave him. It’s a printed copy of what I was provided. He’s a stoic guy, but watching his jaw clench and eyebrows furrow, I can tell that the photographs and documents he’s flippingthrough are likely turning his stomach. His nostrils are flaring as though it’s taking every ounce of strength he possesses to keep his rage in check.
Hell, I want to take this fucker out and I hate violence. To think that any human being could do this to a child when they are considered a trusted adult will always enrage me. I’ll never get used to it, no matter how many children we save.
This part of the job never gets any easier.
I’m currently trying to pinpoint the target’s recent locations and patterns of behavior. Ace needs to know where he has been and who he’s been seen with. Even the smallest details help us to track him down more efficiently and figure out his next move. Will informed me that this man’s personal history aligns with someone who is very important to their family, and I can’t even imagine the kind of pressure that Ace is battling right now. Knowing that someone you love and care about has been abused or harmed in any way when you could have stepped in to save them is a special kind of torment I wouldn’t wish on anyone. Especially not someone with a heart as big as his.
My ribs tighten at the burst of empathy. I hate this feeling. I don’t want to care about how he may be struggling or think about how he puts his life at risk with every assignment he takes. I lost my best friend once. I refuse to do it again. And the best way to make sure it never happens is simply to never allow anyone to ever get that close. I can’t allow myself to care.
I have nothing left to give anyway. I’m not sure whether my heart still beats in my chest or if the steadythump-thump, thump-thumpsensation is merely a memory of what once was. Either way, I won’t survive that kind of devastation again.
7
Quinn
BrewBreak,thecoffeeshop down the street from Buttersweet Bakery, is the perfect place for a caffeine fix before work. It’s still early enough that a layer of fog is draped over parts of the city, the distant sound of the waves crashing along the shore easily heard without the midday traffic lining the streets. The combined scent of freshly brewed coffee and ocean air somehow makes it easier to take a deep breath,
“I’ve been waiting for this all day,” Becca groans dramatically as she raises the paper to-go coffee cup to her lips.
I shake my head, laughing. “You act like we’ve been awake for hours,” I tease, taking a sip from my iced coffee, hints of vanilla and hazelnut bursting on my tongue.
“Two hours awake without my caffeine fix is more than enough, thank you very much. I’ll need another hit later to make it through the day,” she says before diving into a ramble about work and how much one of her co-workers is driving her insane. “Anyway, distract me,” she sighs. “How’s your Frisk account going?” she asks, taking another drink from her coffee before setting the cup on the table.
The bell above the door chimes as two guys walk in, brows raised as they quickly glance in our direction, no doubt having heard herquestion. One of them smirks while the other attempts to hide a smile, their eyes darting away from us as they move towards the counter to order.
