lie to me → s.d.

.10 | still got it

Theodora's thumb worked to loosen the fake, gaudy-looking wedding ring from her finger as they came to a grinding halt halfway down the hall, and when it came free, she let it slide from her hand and onto the carpeted flooring beneath their feet. When she stooped down to pick it up again, sure to give the approaching guard a generous view of her ass, she tucked the still-open purse under the hem of her dress and up between the tops of her thighs. Standing upright again, she secured the ring and, using Sam's arm for balance, pretended to stumble on the tips of her heels.

When they turned to face the new danger, they nearly startled to find that another guard had joined the first in his approach, each gripping a silver-accented, silencer-adorned submachine gun. One man's knuckles were tattooed with letters spelling out morte; the Italian translation for 'death.' She nearly snorted; at least her tattoos were tasteful.

"Hands up," said the first guard through an accent so thick the pair could hardly comprehend what the hell he was saying. Even if they couldn't, they were both clever enough to get the message. "Against the wall, now. Both of you."

Theodora pressed her weight further against Sam, forcing him to put his weight in his opposite heel, and blinked a few times. "What's this all abo-ut?" she asked. Imaginary alcohol flowed through her veins as they faced the nearest wall and placed their hands above their heads.

"An auction item was stolen, madam," said the second, and the pair set their guns aside further down the wall so that they could search them. Who would have thought the Rossi Estate couldn't pitch in for some shoulder straps? "The grounds are being locked down as we speak."

She and Sam shared a sly, barely-noticeable glance over their extended arms, a silent thought passed from one mind to the other. How the hell were they going to get out of this place, all regular-looking, la-dee-da, when the gates were being chained shut and snipers were taking up positions on the rooftops? Hopefully with all their fingers and toes, but neither were starting to hold their breaths.

The guards moved to corner them against the high-reaching walls, between prints of Montes and Pissarros that practically reeked of crisp money and backroom deals. Theodora squeezed her legs together tight when she felt the purse inch down and slip slightly, the nervous sweat breaking across her body doing nothing to help her conundrum. Hands inked with words of the afterlife began to pat her down and search for anything conspicuous; down the lengths of her arms and under them, over the zipper on her back and around to the front of her abdomen.

"Woah, buddy," she said and started when the man's roaming touch moved to the cups of her breasts. She nearly forgot to slur her words and dull her facial expression. "I've got enough friends, capiche?" Turning round to the wall again, she tried not to shiver or even smile when the patting hands moved down her waist and to her hips - she had always been ticklish as a child around the areas of her sides.

"Spread your legs," instructed the man.

Theodora's resistance to the smile trying to break across her lips won and the uncontrollable giggle in her throat died like a gunshot to the head had put it out of business. Her breath hitched and she glanced at him over her shoulder, half-way tuned into the announcer in the atrium telling the guests the bidding would begin again as soon as the cross was located. The purse between her thighs slipped again and she pressed her feet firmly together.

"Listen, sir," she said with a toothy smile. She leaned back against the guard like he was one of the marble columns surrounding them and reached up to flick a beaded dread from off her shoulder. "While you know I would love to for a handsome guy like you -" she brought herself even closer -"it's my time of the month and my tampon is about to fall out, so if you could be a dear and maybe let me by this one time...?"