I’d been riding alone. Coming back from my brother’s memorial in Colorado. Cancer took him at sixty-five. Too young. Too fast. I’d been on the road for twelve hours, running from grief, when I pulled into that gas station.
Just needed coffee. Bathroom. Ten minutes.
“She’s not worth two grand. Look at her arms.”
I froze at the urinal. What were they talking about?
“She’s young. That’s what matters. Clean her up, she’ll pass for eighteen.”
“My buyer wants younger. Fourteen, fifteen tops.”
My hands started shaking. I knew what this was. Had heard about it. Read articles. Never thought I’d stumble into it.
“Please,” a girl’s voice. Young. Desperate. “Please let me go. I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”
A slap. Loud enough to hear clearly. The girl cried out.Continue reading…
