Page 9 of Jax

A man approached her, and Jax's grip tightened around the glass, his knuckles turning white.

"Hey, gorgeous," the man slurred, his breath reeking of alcohol as he ran a hand through Mia's hair.

"Hi there," Mia replied, flashing him a forced smile that made Jax's heartache. She was so close yet so far, and all he wanted was to whisk her away from this grimy place.

"Man, I'd love to take you home with me," the drunk patron leered, attempting to pull Mia closer.

Jax fought the urge to intervene, reminding himself that he needed to blend in, to be invisible.

"Sorry, handsome," Mia said, gently pushing the man away. "I'm just here to dance."

"Come on, baby, don't be like that," the man whined, but Mia shook her head and gracefully moved away, leaving her admirer pouting in disappointment.

"Good girl," Jax thought, exhaling slowly as he watched her escape.

"Hey, you," called a sultry voice, snapping Jax out of his thoughts. A dancer sidled up to him, her hips swaying seductively as she attempted to catch his interest. She was blond and young and had sleepy eyes. Were all the women on drugs here? Probably. Probably helped them get through their damn shifts. "You look lonely over here."

"Uh, no thanks, I’m fine," Jax replied tersely, trying to keep his focus on Mia. He didn't want any distractions—not now when the stakes were so high.

"Suit yourself," the dancer purred, sauntering away in search of more receptive prey.

Jax remained vigilant, his eyes never leaving Mia as she finished her performance. By the end of the night, she was completely naked, but he wasn’t looking at her body. It wasn’t his to look at. Instead, his eyes were fixed on hers. He wanted to see everything those eyes saw, to understand what kept her here, and how he could help her out.

He stayed until the very end of Mia’s shift, watching over her like a silent guardian. As the red light above the stage flickered on, Mia slipped off the stage and disappeared behind the curtains.

"Time to go," Jax murmured under his breath, downing the remainder of his drink before making his way toward the exit. A nauseating sense of anxiety churned in his gut as he passed Chad, the burly bouncer who'd allowed him entry earlier.

"Remember, sweetheart, call me Daddy," Chad sneered at Mia as she brushed past him, clearly used to the demeaning command.

Jax's blood boiled at the sound of those words, but he kept walking, clenching his fists to keep from decking the brute.

Call me Daddy?

That guy wasn’t a Daddy Dom. Not even close. He was a bully. An asshole. He wasn’t there to protect or nurture, but to scare, to squash.

Outside, the cool night air hit Jax like a splash of cold water, clearing his head as he took a deep breath. "Please, Mia," he thought, his heart pounding with hope and desperation. "Find the message. Trust me."

With each step he took away from the sleazy club, the tension grew thicker, as though an unseen force were tightening a noose around his neck.

But for now, all he had was hope and a hidden message, a fragile lifeline in an unforgiving world.

Chapter five

Mia

Mia stared at theten dollar bills in her hand, her brow furrowing. The man who had carefully slipped them into her underwear had whispered something about a secret message to her.

Who was that guy anyway? He didn’t look like the normal clientele here. He was in his thirties, muscular and handsome, with a five o’clock shadow and a stern look in his eyes. The kind of guy who could have any girl he wanted. He didn’t need to come here to pay for the likes of her.

He told her he was Fred from the chat room. The guy she had been suspicious of. But if he was giving her some sort of secret message, that meant he wanted to help her, right?

Well, not necessarily. There were all kinds of reasons that random guys wanted to get in touch with strippers privately. Illegal requests. Frightening reasons she didn’t want to think about.

As she looked more closely, she saw tiny codes scrawled in the top left of some of them. One of them read “1-p26-4-2.” Theylooked like gibberish. The dim light of the dressing room cast a sickly glow over the worn paper, and the scent of sweat and cheap perfume hung heavy in the air.

"Whatcha got there, Mia?" a fellow dancer asked.

"Nothing," Mia replied, her tone clipped and defensive. She turned her back to the wall, shielding her discovery from curious eyes. “Just counting my earnings.”

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