JUSTICE by Marshall Kelly

Author:Marshall, Kelly
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kelly Marshall Books
Published: 2022-10-29T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

In a sick way, I was pleased the auction proved robust. The bid climbed and climbed. Apparently white women were worth a lot in Mexico’s slave trade. Old men raised their hands as soon as the auctioneer yelled out each bid. I calculated my value with each new offer. The last bid was over a million pesos, which loosely translated to fifty grand. Still those lecherous old men didn’t stop competing for my body.

The auction continued so long that I felt my feet swelling inside the three-inch heels I wore. After an hour, I wearied of this flesh game and begged God to stop this insanity. My energy, my composure sagged. I didn’t want Rosales to think he’d won.

At last, one silver-haired man stopped the auction cold when he offered a cool three hundred thousand dollars for me. Jefe raised a glass of wine in the man’s direction and removed his cigar long enough to swill the whole goblet. Then he glanced at me with a malevolent smile, evil enough to scare the devil himself.

My owner disappeared for some time. I assumed he was paying his bill. While I waited, Alejandro strolled across the plaza and climbed the steps to where I stood. Alcoholic fumes preceded him, and I coughed as he approached.

“You are worth a great deal to Señor Miranda. Not many men would spend six million pesos for a woman. I suggest you learn to hold your stomach. He is not as gentile as I am.” He put his hand over his heart for emphasis. “If you vómito on him, he will torture you until you beg for death.” He winked at me and grabbed my breast. “Hasta luego, bebé.”

His assault hurt like hell, and I wanted to spit on him. But the last woman who did that was shot and dragged from the plaza, her body soiling the ground with a trail of her blood.

Rosales pounded down the steps and walked across the plaza to join his amigos, and they disappeared into a cantina spilling out raucous Mexican music.

Frick and Frack were replaced by two other guards dressed in black suits and ties. They reminded me of Russian mafia goons you see in the movies. Bulges at their waists signaled to me they were armed, and from the size of the protrusion, I assumed serious weapons. They escorted me off stage to a sleek, black Rolls Royce Ghost with tinted windows.

Before stepping inside, I saw Father Dominguez from Iglesia Catedral Tenancingo hovering on the sidewalk. His pleading eyes told the story of a man caught in a dreadful world of evil with no ability to protect his flock. He fingered a small sign of the cross in the air. I dared not acknowledge it, but our eyes connected, and I understood his unspoken prayer.

We waited for at least forty-five minutes before the car’s back door swung open. Señor Miranda climbed in with me and flashed a brilliant white smile. “Mi Amor.” His breath reeked of tequila, and I reacted by shrinking away from him.

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