The Tax Collector (GirlxIntersex) Book 1

Chapter 4

Chapter 4
Lucia POV

The sun stung the nape of my neck as I went up to the line to remove the garments. The clothing felt as though they had been cleaned with sand rather than soap and water. I fold each piece of clothing and place it in the basket.

As I hummed a melody beneath my breath, my thoughts turned to the woman I saw on the sofa. I couldn't quit feeling her gaze on me. Even now, I could feel her gaze on me. She appeared to be from America. I caught a peek of the licence plate.

I still felt her soft grip on me. It was only for a second, but it felt wonderful not to be thrown around like rubbish.

As I lifted my head, I noticed a large shadow in the sand. It provided some protection from the heat, but upon closer inspection, I saw that the shadow and shape were of a human. It couldn't be Martinez; he wasn't tall enough to keep the sun from burning my neck.

I carefully craned my neck and looked up at the woman. Her unsettling stature pushed me to smash my back into the dusty clothing on the line, nearly knocking me over, but thankfully she grabbed my bruised wrist. With a hiss of anguish, I attempted to free my wrist from her grip.

"Hey, it's okay. I just want to have a chat with you."

I shake my head.

Martinez did not appreciate my socializing as much as I did.

"I have nothing to talk about."

Her hand left my wrist and went into her pocket. "How about I pay you 300 to chat with you?" she said, giving me a tight-lipped smile. Why would she want to talk to me? I have nothing to offer her but sex for money.

"I can only take it for sex. Martinez said I'm not permitted to talk to anybody." I lightly murmured.

"Well, Martinez isn't your fucking daddy," she growled. I returned my focus to the garments, feeling the paper of the money strike my shoulders. "Take the money."

"Just for sex."

"You aren't a prostitute?"

I looked across at the woman. "How do you know that?"

"Are you staying here against your will? Is this the case?" She asked. I shake my head. Martinez saved me. I told myself this every day: he rescued me. I would have died. What's better than being dead, living, and suffering?

"Take the money and talk to me."

"What could I tell you?" What would she want to know about me? There was nothing unique about me.

"About yourself. Where are you from? Did you grow up in this neighborhood?

"No, near Mexico City and No."

She laughed. She has a lovely laugh. The type that makes me silently smile to myself.

"Well, I understand you're from Mexico. It's an extremely foolish question. I just want to know about you."

I folded the final shirt. I turned around and faced the woman. "You are from America?" I asked.

"I am."

"Isn't America full of intriguing females that you'd like to know about?"

"You would be astonished if it didn't."

"It is America. Everything is there."

She grinned. "You want to go there?"

I nodded and returned my attention to the walls. If only my living condition was different. I wish I didn't have to spend the most of my life repaying Martinez for saving me. I could only dream about traveling to America.

"I do." I mumbled, staring down at the sand, which moves with the breeze.

"You certainly can. You will."

"I won't." I pick up the basket.

"I wish you a pleasant day, Ma'am."

I didn't know her name. But I know I will never forget her face. She has one of those difficult-to-forget faces. She has a face that I would want to touch someday.

"My name is Valentino Rodriguez. I want you to remember my name, Lucia."

"I have a lot on my mind." I said. I'd absolutely remember my name. She's the only one who has ever talked to me so beautifully. I would never forgot about it? I passed by, making a move inside the home. I looked back and noticed she was gazing at me.

"Lucia..." She called so quietly, but I heard.

I hesitated at the entry of the door. "I am coming back for you."

I laughed airily. It was rather amusing. I shook my head and went into the home. She was coming back for me? I seriously doubt she would. I also have a part of me that wishes for anybody with good intentions to take me away from here, rather than just her. I was weary of being Martinez's toy.