Page 2 of Jax

One by one, excruciatingly slowly, he began sliding dollar notes into her underwear. His rough fingers felt like they left burn marks all over her skin. The scent of his breath made her want to wretch. Finally, he had inserted all ten notes, and she counted them. Ten dollars. Ten measly dollars. And for that, he got to feel her up with those disgusting sausage fingers and act like he was better than her.

She looked him in the eyes, frustration bubbling within her. She knew that she was facing away from the camera right now, so she mouthed three words to the guy. “I hate you.”

The guy licked his lips and laughed. “I like ‘em feisty,” he said.

Mia was about to say something or retaliate, but just then, a shrill bell sounded. The bell that told Mia her shift was up, her torture was over—or at least, this particular torture was over— for another day.

“Time's up!" called a gruff voice from beyond the stage, yanking Mia back to the present. With a heavy sigh, she stepped down from the platform and made her way through the labyrinth of dimly lit corridors, her mind still lingering on the past.

"Another night over," she mumbled, pushing open the door to the cramped dressing room. It was a far cry from the glamour and glitz portrayed on the outside; just a small space cluttered with discarded costumes, cosmetics, and shattered dreams. Mia took the cash out of her clothes, uncrumpling it and counting it out. Not that she was allowed to keep any of it, of course. It all went to Chad. Occasionally she got other gifts inserted into her underwear: perfume or trinkets, and she was allowed to keep those. Her only worldly possession.

She peeled off her underwear, her skin prickling with both relief and disgust as she removed the layers of sweat-soaked fabric.

"Ugh, I need a shower," she thought, shoving the dirty garments into the laundry basket. Her body ached from hours of dancing, and her soul felt even more bruised than her muscles.

She went into the small, moldy shower in the corner of the dressing room, and turned on the faucet.

The water was tepid at best, but Mia didn't care. She needed to wash away the filth that clung to her skin, not just from the sweat but from the men's unwanted touch. As the water cascaded over her, she closed her eyes and tried to block out the memories of the night.

When she was done, Mia stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself in a threadbare towel. She looked in the mirror, her eyes bloodshot and her skin sallow. How anybody could find her attractive was beyond her. She used to be quite round as a kid, and she always liked her natural shape. Since she was brought here on her sixteenth birthday, she’d been practically starved. She had curves, yes, but her ribs showed, too. She felt like a skeleton with skin.

Mia got dressed and sank down into the battered armchair in the corner of the dressing room, her body still trembling from the night's performance. She glanced over at the worn copy of Kipling's Jungle Book she'd stashed among her things earlier. The dog-eared pages had become a sanctuary for her, a place where she could escape the harsh reality of the strip club and lose herself in the wild jungles of India.

"Hey, Mowgli," she whispered, opening the book to her favorite passage. The familiar words washed over her like a soothing balm, transporting her far away from the leering gazes and groping hands of the club's patrons. Her fingers traced therough edges of the yellowed pages, tracing the ink as it formed each word, each sentence, each story.

This book had been one of her rare gifts from a client. He was a regular visitor about a year and a half ago. Gave her gifts like a necklace and some perfume that smelled of lilacs. He’d asked her if there was anything else she wanted, and she told him shyly that she’d love him to bring her favorite book to her:Jungle Bookby Rudyard Kipling.

He brought her the book and then the very next night he made an advance on her. He paid her boss, Chad, a hefty payment so that he got time in the back room with her. But when he’d tried to sleep with her, she’d kneed him in the balls. He told her he’d earned a fuck with her, and she’d felt sick to the stomach. Told him to go find some other slave to lavish attention on.

And, presumably, he did.

But not after reporting her to Chad, and making sure she got no dinner for an entire week.

Mia's fingers rubbed the creased spine of The Jungle Book, her thoughts wandering to a life beyond these dimly lit walls. A life where she could be seen for more than just her body, where her passion for books could flourish. Her heartbeat quickened at the thought, as if even daring to imagine such a future was dangerous.

"God, I wish I could escape," she whispered under her breath.

"Don't let them get to you," murmured a familiar voice. It was Zara, another young woman held captive here, about to go onstage for her shift. "You're stronger than they are, you hear me?"

Mia nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. She turned the page and her heart skipped a beat. There, staring back at her, was Shere Khan—the same image of the tiger that adorned the back of her neck. She stroked the picture gently, feeling an odd connection to the fearsome beast.

"Shere Khan," she mused, her voice barely audible. "Misunderstood, powerful. Just like me."

"Exactly," Zara affirmed, her gaze holding Mia's. "You've got that fire inside you, babe. Don't ever forget it."

"Thanks," Mia said, her determination strengthened by her friend's unwavering support. She closed the book, the finality of the action echoing her resolve. "I won't."

The heavy thud of fists against the dressing room door caused Mia to flinch, her momentary peace shattered by the intrusion. Chad's menacing figure filled the doorway, his bulky frame casting a dark shadow over her. "Here's your dinner," he growled, shoving a grease-stained paper bag at her. "Bon Appetit. You've got 15 minutes to eat and then get your ass on that webcam."

Mia clenched her jaw, forcing back the fear that threatened to consume her. She met his gaze with as much defiance as she could muster, watching as his eyes flicked down to the book clutched tightly in her hand. "Thanks," she replied, her voice barely a whisper.

"Saw you talking back to a customer tonight. Just remember who you belong to," Chad snarled.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “I won’t forget.”

“Yes,who?” asked Chad, taking a step toward her.

She swallowed, grimacing as she said the words: “Yes, Daddy.”

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