Micah, Love at the Haven 3

LOVE AT THE HAVEN 3

A RENT BOY ROMANCE

STELLA SHAW

Copyright 2021 / Stella Shaw

Smashwords Edition

Micah and Fox weren’t each other’s first choice—but might they be the last?

Easygoing Micah takes the role of peacemaker at the Haven Hotel, where he's one of the long-standing escorts. But beneath his tolerance he’s hiding turmoil and anger he daren’t let loose—the last time it got the better of him, his whole family fractured. However, on one fateful night, Micah strikes back at an abusive client, and also finds startling passion with a pop star travelling incognito. Blindsided by both, his life is never going to be the same.

Fox's band is an online sensation, just about to break into live events. A talented songwriter with his career on the rise, he’s held the band together since they were all in college. So why does his public life now fill him with dread, threatening to rob him of his precious voice? Seeking anonymous comfort at the Haven, he’s mistakenly paired with Micah, and what was meant to be a straightforward business transaction affects him in a way he never imagined.

Two confused men in need of love and understanding—can they find it together?

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Contents

1 – MICAH

2 - FOX

3 - FOX

4 - MICAH

5 - MICAH

6 - FOX

7 - FOX

8 - MICAH

9 - FOX

10 - MICAH

11 - FOX

12 - MICAH

13 - MICAH

14 - FOX

15 - MICAH

16 - FOX

17 - MICAH

18 - MICAH

19 - FOX

EPILOGUE

The Love at the Haven series

About Stella Shaw

1 – MICAH

Whatever else people think about escorting, it’s rarely boring.

But on yet another quiet Monday night, I wasn’t so sure. The owner Rick and I were the only ones in the lobby of the Haven Hotel. He was manning Reception, and I was leaning not-so-casually against the front of the desk. I had nothing else to do, except stand there in my skinny jeans and tight mesh top, watching the time tick around to nine o’clock, assuming that no one would turn up this late at night just on the off-chance of a booking. Besides, Rick didn’t like drop-ins at the best of times, so it looked like it was going to be another cashless night for me. I wasn’t panicking about money just yet, but the end of the month loomed near. Mama was still interviewing for a new job, and meanwhile Jaden needed school books, and Naomi needed new shoes. That was even before I settled the rent on my poky shared flat. I was twenty-five next birthday, and I sometimes felt I had the money worries of a guy twice my age.

I took a deep breath, wondering whether to ask Rick if his partner had any office jobs I could do for a few extra quid. Eliot was running a business services company out of Room 5 upstairs, and although I hadn’t much experience working in offices, I was a fast learner—

Take your fucking hands off him!

At the shout, Rick and I both turned to stare along the hallway towards the stairs. It had been Liam’s voice, from the next floor up, and clear enough to know he must be out of his room.

What the hell’s going on? Rick frowned.

You want me to go and see? We didn’t have a lot of hassle at the hotel, which was maybe why we didn’t immediately panic. That was partly because Rick and Eliot vetted everyone who called for a booking, and partly because most of us guys developed a sixth sense about troublemakers. Rick would step in if a heavier hand was needed. And sometimes I stepped in if the need was for negotiation. Seemed I was good at smoothing ruffled feathers.

I’d had enough practice, but that was another story.

Yeah, maybe you should—

There was a crash of furniture being overturned, and heavy, stumbling footsteps across the floor above. Another, inarticulate shout, followed by a succession of jerky, painful thuds that made both of us wince.

Rick was out of his seat and around the front of the desk in seconds, but I was lighter and faster than him, and I was already dashing down the corridor towards the stairs. I heard a thump on the landing above, then a slap and a yell. I knew that second voice, too.

I paused, about to take the steps two at a time, glaring back over my shoulder at Rick. Why’s Tom up there? He’s meant to have finished early tonight.

Rick blinked hard. I guessed my voice was way too loud. He was on his way home when this guy arrived. You were in the kitchen with Arne when I booked it.

A drop-in?

Rick grimaced. Not exactly. He’s phoned the Hotel before, so we had time to do the basic background checks. But he hadn’t booked specifically for tonight, just turned up. He mentioned a threesome, and I was about to tell him that had to be by prior arrangement. But Liam’s scheduled client tonight was a no-show, so he wanted the work, and Tom offered to join him.

Tom, you fucking idiot. Yeah, I took threesomes sometimes. But only with Tom, so I could keep an eye on things, and he was only meant to do them with me in return. Clients liked the contrast between us, my dark skin, Tom’s bleached-pale look. But with three egos in the room, there was always a risk of something going wrong.

I cleared the rest of the stairs in seconds, Rick on my heels. There was a tussle happening on the floor outside Room 4, the air filled with grunts, slaps, and a crunch when someone crashed into the wall. A mess of male limbs, Liam, Tom, and a dark-haired, heavyset man. The punter was dressed in only his briefs, Liam had on a harness over his tattooed torso, leather jockstrap, and biker boots, but it looked like Tom was naked. He was wheezing, trapped under the heavy man, while Liam had an arm around the guy’s throat, trying to haul him off. Tom was definitely coming off worst.

I glanced up the second set of stairs that led to Rooms 7 and 8. The door to 8 was wide open. It was the only escort room on that floor, and Liam liked to play his scenes up there. What had happened tonight? There was a discarded blindfold over the bannisters, a snake of rope hanging over the top step. One of Tom’s favourite, red, stripper pumps lay abandoned, upside down and halfway up the stairs. Or halfway down. Had he fallen?

Rick forced his way into the fray. He grabbed the client’s arm and hauled him off Tom. No more! You fucking hear me?

Liam slumped back against the doorframe of Room 4, his face covered in sweat, his chest heaving. He clutched his belly like it hurt.

I only had eyes for Tom. My best friend.

Fucker didn’t play by the rules, Liam said to Rick, his breath ragged.

What bloody rules? The man struggled angrily in Rick’s grip.

He was middle-aged, his eyes were dark, and the lines around his mouth were tight and cruel. Despite his hair being a mess, I could see it was an expensive cut. Money and arrogance. A potential recipe for trouble.

I’m the fucking client, I can do what I like.

Not here, you can’t, and not in an agreed scene, Rick growled. We all have to be safe.

The client snorted. He loved every minute. See him gagging for it?

You arsehole! Liam lunged for the man again, but Rick slapped his free hand to Liam’s chest, holding him at bay.

No more, I said. Both of you.

What did he do? I asked Tom. His eyes were wide and wild. We’d been in trouble before when we worked together on the streets of Earls Court—Tom always more than me, because he had a reckless streak a mile wide—but he looked genuinely scared tonight.

I’m okay, Micah. Honest. All over now. Tom dragged himself to sitting, his hand held out as if to calm me.

I ignored him. I only had eyes for any injuries on him. He’d been slumped on the landing carpet, scratches on his cheek, bruises on his throat. His throat.

Rick had wrestled both the man’s arms behind him, wrists in a firm lock. Rick had six inches and many, many more pounds on him, plus his determination to protect the escorts.

Tom’s eyes were still wild. Micah. Listen. There’s no problem, okay?

Tom, there definitely is a problem, Rick said fiercely. And there’s no excuse. This shit is out of here, right now. He turned to Liam whose breathing was calming, though he was still bent forward, hands on his thighs. What the hell happened?

He tried to strangle Tom. I suddenly realised he had his phone set up on the headboard, like he was filming a snuff movie or something. Sick fucking pervert!

Tom, is that true?

Tom sucked in a breath that looked painful. Yeah. Blindfold. Sp-spit roast. Going okay, then… hands around my neck. Could have been okay, for fun. His eyes darkened. But he squeezed.

I told him to stop. Liam was one of the tougher guys at the Haven, but when he glanced at Tom, his eyes shone wet. Took no notice of me, nor Tom’s safe word. I pulled him off, Rick, but the fucker just went wild. Got in a lucky punch, knocked me down. Tom went for him too.

Pulled his… damn ears, Tom wheezed. Aiming for h-his eyes.

It was a good strategy, I knew. But Tom wasn’t particularly strong, and was the shortest of the three by several inches.

Then he pushed Tom down the stairs! Liam exclaimed.

I turned slowly to face Mr Snuff. His arms were taut under Rick’s grip, his flesh reddened from Tom’s kicks and struggles to get free. He stood firm, but he had sly, guilty eyes.

It was part of the bloody game, wasn’t it? he blustered. For fuck’s sake, I wasn’t going to strangle him, not really. They never let me explain properly. He knew what was going on. They both did.

There was a rushing sound in my ears. My head hurt. The sounds of the fight had tripped something inside me, set fresh fire to a long-distant, sleeping memory. The crack of knuckles on a jaw; the thud of a body against furniture.

Tom staggered to his feet, leaning against the opposite wall.

I fucking paid for this! the client complained to Rick, like an aggrieved customer in a supermarket complaining about a broken kettle.

You bastard, Tom hissed beside me. His free hand was at his neck, nursing his Adam’s apple. Not for this, you didn’t.

Yeah? Mr Snuff was scarlet with rage by now, thrusting his head forward as if to get in Tom’s face. I paid for the fuck I wanted. I paid for you, you little tart!

The sound in my ears became a tsunami. For a second, I thought I’d pass out. I couldn’t speak, and my body moved instinctively. I wasn’t a big man, I was slim built rather than brawny like Rick, but I stepped in front of Tom and Liam, my arm drawn back. My shoulders shook from a sudden jolt, and I grunted.

Then the guy was no longer in Rick’s grasp. He was sprawled on the floor: blood trickled from his nose.

And people were yelling.

Micah?

Rick sounded very close, very shocked. And was that Liam on my other side? I bent over the bully, splayed out in his stupid, too-tight, over-priced designer briefs, taking in his wheezy, scared little breaths, and the stink of heavy cologne. If he didn’t get up, he’d risk getting blood on the carpet. Arne won’t be pleased when he has to clean up, I thought. And Rick couldn’t afford to replace the carpet again after Room 2 flooded last winter.

My arm tensed afresh.

Micah! That was definitely Rick’s bark. Enough, man. Please? Listen to me.

Jesus Christ! Liam sounded awed.

Rick put his big hand on my shoulder, and Liam clamped my wrist so I couldn’t swing again. The shock on their faces was a wonder. All I knew was, my fucking knuckles stung.

Get him the hell away from me! the man wailed, trying to scramble away from me.

Get the punter outta here, Rick muttered to Liam. For his own safety, if nothing else. I’ll see to Tom and Micah.

You better refund me… I’ll report you… Mr Snuff’s voice was nasal and sloppy somehow, like he had trouble talking and breathing at the same time.

You arsehole. It should be me reports you, Rick snapped. I can find out where you live and work, if I need to. You don’t want anyone knowing what you did here, do you?

Liam hauled Mr Snuff to his feet like a sack of potatoes. It made me want to laugh. Tom limped over with a scrunched-up pile of clothing and blankets he must have fetched down from Room 8. The man’s phone wobbled on the top of his suit jacket; the screen was cracked in several places. I watched as Liam yanked the guy’s shirt around his shoulders, and pushed his legs into tailored trousers. Liam didn’t go easy on him.

That’s enough. He can carry his own fucking shoes. Liam glanced at me, eyes twinkling. Christ. I never saw a punch that good. It’s like Mother Teresa turned into Mike Tyson, right?

I frowned. What the hell does that mean?

Liam didn’t answer, just started down the stairs, tugging impatiently on the client’s arm at each step, making him follow.

Tom touched my arm, and it seemed to ground me. His cheek looked sore, and the bruises on his throat were livid red welts. His skin is too pale to take that, I thought randomly. A wave of distress swamped me, and fierce nausea cramped my belly. I was glad I hadn’t eaten with Rick earlier, like he’d offered, else I’d never have kept the food down.

What have I done?

Liam just meant we never saw you like that before, Tom said quietly.

I still didn’t understand, but I scooped a blanket up off the floor and wrapped it around Tom’s still-naked body.

He sighed his thanks, still holding onto my arm. He didn’t usually accept help without a smart comment.

Micah? Rick said gently. You need to go home. Or at the very least, go somewhere and calm down.

He didn’t sound annoyed though. In fact, they both sounded kind of worried.

I’m calm now, I said. The nausea was going. The blackness had left. Now I just felt Tom’s grasp, smelled the lingering stench of the client’s cologne, saw two concerned faces. Oh, yeah, and my hand still ached.

Fuck. Everything suddenly came into focus. I’d punched a punter!

Oh my god, Rick, I’m sor—

You need me to look at your knuckles, love? Tom’s hoarse voice interrupted, with his squeeze to my elbow. It was our signal from working the streets: it could mean anything from I’m here with you, Do you need help to get shot of this guy?, to Shut the fuck up before you get into any more trouble. I don’t think you broke the skin, but there’ll be a hell of a bruise. He glanced at Rick. He’ll be okay.

I didn’t know what the look between them meant, but it was all moot because we were interrupted by someone clearing their throat downstairs.

Anyone here? came a hoarse, male voice.

Oh, sweet effing ever-loving fuck, Tom whispered, eyes rolling. Another punter. Bloody brilliant timing.

Who’s around for a booking this late? Rick said. There was nothing else in the diary.

God knows. Tom tilted his neck, wincing. His voice was still croaky. Monday’s always quiet, and I only offered to help Liam out because he was afraid he wouldn’t get any action tonight.

Rick grimaced and ran his hand through his hair. I really hope he took that creep out through the back exit. Last thing we want is punters crossing paths in the hallway, especially when one’s got a bloody nose. He glanced at Tom and me, and gave a weary smile. "You two okay? I’m not sure which one