The Tax Collector (GirlxIntersex) Book 1

Chapter 8

Chapter 8
Lucia POV

I sensed the car was still driving, but at a reduced rate. My eyes were comfortably closed, and I could see nothing but black. But I could hear the busy streets. We are wandering around an urban area. With car horns and people chatting. I'm sure it was the city.

A plan. I've never made a plan before. Back when I was dating Martin, I never had a plan. I have dreams that I want to realize, but no strategy. Perhaps it was the unfamiliar atmosphere I was in, but I felt the need to have a strategy. The initial plan was to get on Valentino's good side.

My eyes were tired of being shut.

I was bored of being in the dark, therefore, like a new born baby, I opened my eyes to view the bustling street. I was peering out every single window in the car.

"La ciudad," I said quietly, puzzled. It has been years since I have seen so many people or anything really resembling a city.

"You are awake."

Our gazes connected, and I flushed as she smiled at me. Her eyes, remind me of the plans. Her eyes were kind, but something in the back of my mind told me she wouldn't be that friendly for much longer. She will determine how much she can take advantage of me. That's why my first objective is to stay on her good side.

This was her positive side. Kind eyes. Her delicate grin reveals her few rows of front teeth. She was incredibly attractive...Pretty, I think.

She wasn't wearing a suit, but rather ordinary black pants and a dark blue sweatshirt that blended in perfectly with Mexico's gloomy night. It wasn't dark here, and the blue stood out against her light brown complexion. I was on the darker side, and the intensity of the sun caused me to darken by the day. I have to spend most of my days outside performing tasks.

"I was thinking...". I trailed off. I was perplexed when I noticed folks on the side of the pavement resting down on what seemed to be cardboard or homemade mattresses.

"Are they sin hogar?" I inquired, curiously. These folks were shackled together.

At first, I figured it was a night market, but there was nothing except a sign pleading for money.

"They are... welcome to the American dream." As far as my eyes can tell, every one of the individuals appears to be of Mexican descent. Sure there were a few white and black, but not much in the bunch.

"They are Mexican."

"Yes, they are."

"Why?" I drifted off, visualizing myself among the destitute folks. I would consider myself to be technically homeless. I've been homeless and homesick for several years. I want a place where I feel like I belong. I crave it. I need it. "Why are they homeless?"

"They are unlawful in this nation. And being illegal prevents you from finding job, housing, or attending education. As a result, they find themselves trapped on the road. They are unable to return home or travel farther into America. It's like a hamster on the fucking training wheel."

I felt ill when I realized she was just describing my predicament. Perhaps I should not have come here with her. I sighed, my hope fading away with it. What was I thinking? It was too early to assess the regret of leaving Mexico.

"I'd want to know what I can offer?" I inquired, my gaze drawn to the homeless scattered about on the pavement. I do not want to be like them.

I struggled to tear my sight away from the woman, for whom I have conflicting emotions. I can't trust her, yet she's the only person I know. I gradually had to push myself to trust her.

The vehicle soon began to feel stuffy, and I realized I was in a similar predicament to Martinez's. The only difference was that she's a woman and appears rather lovely, so maybe her being a piece of trash isn't that awful since her wonderful looks compensate for it.

"An offer." She grinned. She nodded slowly.

She looked interested in what I had to say as she relinquished her grip on the driving wheel, a grin on the corner of her lips.

"What's the offer?" She asked. I flushed, because the first thing that sprang to mind was probably having sex with her. Well, I assumed she was not married. If she were married, she would not be interested in my offer, let alone taking me to America. Which leads me to ponder. Even if she was not married, did she have a partner?

"Sex Slave." I spoke, unsure of what I was saying. A sexual slave. That was rather blunt of me. I should have begun as a slave or maid.

"Lucia..."

"Yes?"

I observed as the automobile slowly drove from the congested traffic bottleneck to the clean, empty road with no one on it. Just opulent vehicles and palm plants.

"I don't even know your last name."

My eyes widened and I pressed my flaming cheeks against the chilly pane. She chuckled, assuming this. "No sex, Lucia. No slavery."

My brow wrinkled; I'm not sure whether I should be glad or irritated. My eyes wander across my body. Didn't she enjoy my body? Perhaps she dislikes Mexican females and prefers American princesses. I saw them on TV. White complexion, slim figure, adorable smile, and, of course, stunning legs. Everyone is obsessed about them.

"I have to offer you something. You remove me away from my terrible situation."

"It doesn't give me any justification to demand something from you."

"I was thinking..." I trailed off, attempting to piece together my sentences. I didn't say much, and I have trouble coming up with sentences. "I can cook for you. Clean your floor, possibly. The sand and—."

"I have a cleaner, who comes twice a month. I don't need sex. I simply want you to stay inside until I can straighten things out for you."

"You're helping me?" I asked. She was actually assisting me. I issued a loud, disrespectful sneer. I found that hard to be credible.

She's going to desire sex from me, no matter what. Alternatively, she will force her friends to have sex with me in exchange for money.