Page 5 of Jax

As Mia rolled onto her back, giving her viewers a look at her surprisingly ample bosom, Jax heard a ding that told him that Mia’s cash pot was going up.

He knew that he was going to have to pay her, too, if he stood a chance of getting somewhere with this.

He opened up a private chat box.

“Hello,” he typed.

"Hi there," Mia typed back, along with a smiley face emoji. She wasn’t smiling in real life, though. "I'm Mia. What can I do for you tonight?"

Jax hesitated, the worry gnawing at his gut. But the time had come. He was going to do this. He was going to help Mia break free.

Chapter three

Mia

Mia's green eyes flickedto the screen, as a new private chat request popped up. The username read "Fred" – another alias, no doubt. She got plenty of Freds, Jacks, and Johns; it seemed guys loved hiding behind those names.

Mia clicked accept.

“Hello,” typed Fred.

"Hi there," Mia typed back, bracing herself for yet another dirty request. What would it be this time? To remove her bra? Her panties? To provocatively suck her fingers for him? Eugh. "I'm Mia,” she wrote. “What can I do for you tonight?"

“I’m just hoping for a chat,” said Fred.

Mia raised an eyebrow, not used to this kind of approach. Still, she kept her guard up, fingers poised over the keyboard. "Okay. What do you want to talk about?" she typed back, her words sharp and straight to the point. She couldn't afford to let her defenses down with these clients.

"Nothing specific," Fred replied, his tone maintaining its respectful demeanor. "I just wanted to see how you're doing."

Mia blinked in surprise, her fingers hovering over the keys. This was different, unexpected. Her intrigue grew as she considered the sincerity of his words. Could he really just want to talk?

"Really?" she typed, her wariness seeping through. "No special requests?"

"Chatting can be special," Fred assured her. It took her aback. "I was just hoping to get to know you better. You seem like an interesting person."

Mia's heart pounded in her chest, a mix of anxiety and anticipation fluttering within her. She'd never had a client act like this before. It was . . . unnerving. Mia had been through a lot in her short life, and she had learned to trust no one. Especially guys who tried to act nice to her. Like the one who had bought her that perfume.

"All right," she typed cautiously, her pulse quickening. "Well, in answer to your question, I’m doing okay thanks."

“Glad to hear it,” replied Fred. There was a pause after that. Fred didn’t seem to be typing anything new. He was probably some newbie trying to pluck up the courage to ask her to masturbate for him or whatever gross thing he had come here for.

Mia took the opportunity to check for other messages. There was one from Slimeball68. Actually, his online name was SlimJim68, but Slimeball68 seemed a lot more fitting. He was always asking her to do things that were not allowed in her webcam work. Like bringing another woman—or man—in and getting it on for the camera. One time, he even asked her to bring a dog in though she had no clue what he wanted her to do with it. She shuddered at the memory.

Still no message from Fred.

She sat cross-legged on her bed, looking into her camera lens. Not for the first time, she began to wonder about all the differentpairs of eyes on her right now. She could see from the statistics on her screen that there were 168 people in the chatroom right now. Who were they all? Were they people who visited the club? How many were regulars? Why had they chosen to watchherin particular?

Mia yawned. She was so tired. She was always so tired. It had gotten so bad that Chad had started giving her vitamin tablets morning and night. Without them, she felt even worse. Trouble was, she almost always forgot to take them. Life was exhausting. She worked long, long hours, just sitting or standing around in her underwear. It was simultaneously very draining and very, very boring.

She glanced around her small room. The walls were a sickly shade of pink, a color she would never have chosen herself. On the floor was a stained, thin, rug, the only thing soft in her entire room. It was basically a prison cell.

Just then, another message from Fred popped up. "Is that a copy ofThe Jungle Bookon your nightstand?" he asked.

"Uh, yeah," she typed back, glancing over at the worn book. She didn't think anyone would actually notice it, let alone ask about it.

"Which story is your favorite?" Fred inquired, his genuine curiosity evident.

Okay. Well, that was interesting. Nobody around here had an interest in literature, but on the rare occasion she’d spoken to someone about her favorite book, they had no idea it was a collection of short stories. Most people thought it was an exact retelling of the Disney movie.

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