relaxed more around him as a result. And because of that he got to see even more “stuff.” Win–win.
These weren’t unattractive girls either. Most “normal” cam girls just filmed the shit on their laptops, in between baby feeds and arguments with their other half.
This operation was different. For a start, his Russian bosses called it a “studio”—studio! ha!—and secondly they claimed to offer superior quality. Not just picture and sound quality, either, but the most beautiful and willing girls—beautiful, willing girls who would do practically anything the punters asked, providing the price was right.
And Jason, being a man of small or, to be perfectly honest, zero ambition, could quite happily have kept that particular job for the next, oh, until-he-retired number of years. He was as happy as a clam in that job.
And then it all came crashing down around his ears, when poor old Faye blew her brains out, live on camera.
He’d been first on the scene, and he knew that the brief glimpse he’d had of the room—splattered with blood, gobs of brain matter, and weirdly bright skull fragments sliding down the walls—would stay with him forever.
Thank God for Sergei, insisting that he concentrate on reassuring the other girls that things were fine while the clean-up operation took place.
And then there was Karen. She had a gammy arm, but even so, you wouldn’t kick her out of bed for eating toast. She seemed to quite like Jason as well. She often spent time with him in the office during her visits, just chewing the fat. They shared an unlikely passion for Downton Abbey.
It helped that she wasn’t Russian herself, of course; she had an English accent. But as far as Jason could tell—you weren’t exactly encouraged to ask questions—she was married to one of the Russians, a guy higher up the tree than Sergei. It also helped that the girls never warmed to her, nor she to them. That suited Jason down to the ground.
But Karen had taken a particular interest in Faye from the start. “What’s her name? Jace?” she’d asked on one of her visits. Jason had to admit that he was quite fond of the way Karen called him “Jace.”
“It’s a new girl. Well, been here a couple of weeks. Gorgeous, ain’t she?”
Karen was staring at the screen, staring intently at Faye, who was currently between punters, fixing her makeup, primping the bed, oblivious to the fact that she was being scrutinized.
“How did she get here?”
“One of the other girls brought her in. Precious, I think it was.”
“Is she using?”
Jason had nodded yes to that one. Girls tended to arrive at Foxy Kittenz after a journey whose stops along the way included abusive parents, violent partners, and drug addiction. All three, if they were really unlucky. Every single one of those girls was living proof that good looks and a firm young body weren’t necessarily a passport to getting ahead in this world. Fortune’s smile and parents who weren’t fuck-ups, those things were important, too.
“Faye,” Karen had said, repeating the word like a mantra. “I bet that ain’t her real name, though, is it?”
Jason had shrugged. All the girls used assumed names. More fool them if they didn’t.
“And I bet you could find out her real name for me, couldn’t you?” Fingers with red-painted nails found their way to his leg.
“How could I do that?”
Karen had a strange smile. It lifted her top lip to reveal a slightly crooked tooth below. Even so, despite that—actually, on second thoughts, maybe because of it—it was cute. And it did the job on Jason.
Moments later he was in Faye’s room. “Fancy a quick toilet break? I’ve got to adjust the cam,” he said, knowing Faye would jump at the chance—and do more in the toilet than just a wee.
“Thanks, sweetheart,” she said, smiling at him, and he thought, not for the first time, how much he liked Faye. He hoped he wasn’t helping get her into trouble with Karen.
Anyway, on with the job. Aware of Karen, in the office watching, he found Faye’s handbag, rifled through it, and in seconds flat had discovered her real name. Letting himself out, he returned to the office.
“Well?”
“Her real name is Emma—Emma Drake,” Jason told Karen, and watched closely for her reaction, which was a slow nod, the name evidently coming as no surprise to her. “You know her,” he pressed.
“Yeah,” Karen said. “You might say that. You might well say that, Jace.”
A couple of days later Faye killed herself, and for