He placed his hand on her left shoulder, then moved it down over her shoulder blade along the side of her ribs. His fingers pressed into the fabric of her black tea, pressing harder than any search required. Audrey stared at the hood, a scratch in the paint shaped like a crescent moon. She focused on it, counted the ridges. Anything to leave her body, anything to not be here.
Lawson's hand reached her waist. He paused, then continued down over her hip along the curve of her thigh through the denim. Slow. His thumb hooked under the hem of her tea and lifted it an inch. She felt the air hit her skin.
"Just checking," he said to nobody. Audrey's eyes filled. She blinked twice hard. Force them back. She would not cry.
Not in front of them. Not for them. Greer watched from behind Nicole, his hands still pinning her shoulders. Nicole could feel Audrey shaking next to her. A vibration through the metal hood like a tuning fork pressed against a table.
Audrey, Nicole whispered. No answer. Audrey, talk to me. I'm fine. Her voice was a thread.
Lawson stepped back and looked at Thornton. She's clean, Sarge. Thornton flicked Ash from his cigarette. You sure? Check again, slower.
Lawson hesitated for half a second, then put his hands back on Audrey. Same path, same speed. This time, his hands slid under her shirt at the waist. Fingers on bare skin. Audrey's stomach contracted.
A sound came out of her small, involuntary, like a hiccup or a swallowed scream. Stop. Nicole's voice loud, clear, not shaking anymore. Stop touching her right now. Thornton raised an eyebrow.
Or what? Or you're going to regret this for the rest of your life. Thornton chuckled. Greer, her turn. Greer moved to Nicole.
He was rougher than Lawson. Bigger hands, less pretense. He grabbed the strap of her red dress and pulled it off her shoulder. Might be hiding something in here. Don't, Nicole started.
Greer's other hand clamped the back of her neck. Same spot Thornton had touched earlier. She went quiet, not because she chose to, because her body chose for her. A reflex, something ancient and terrible that shuts the voice down when the body knows it can't win. Greer's hand moved down her back, over the zipper of her dress, down to her waist.
Lower. Nicole pressed her forehead into the hood and closed her eyes. Her lips moved, but no sound came out. Thornton lit another cigarette. Third one.
He was enjoying this. You like that red dress? Thornton asked Nicole. Bet your boyfriend doesn't touch you this gentle. Nicole didn't answer.