“You have the right to remain silent,” she thought.“So shut the fuck up!”
“I would like to call a lawyer,” she said.
The older cop snapped open a leather pouch on his belt and produced a pair of jangling cuffs. “Turn around, please.” His professional veneer failed to disguise the fact that he relished the idea of snapping those cuffs on her slender wrists.
“There is no need for that,” she murmured. “Just let me get my shoes and I will go with you.” She was already trying to grapple with the situation. She would need to get a lawyer and arrange bail. How could she possibly pay for it?
His response was swift and unexpected. She cried out as her arm was twisted up between her shoulder blades and her face was slammed against the wall.
“I think this one is resisting arrest, Lonnie,” he said conversationally, as he snapped the manacle around one wrist and pulled her other arm into the waiting open cuff.
Lonnie- she would remember the name. She had already memorized the other one’s badge number. She consoled herself with plans for lawsuits.
Lonnie knelt behind her, and she felt a similar pair of cuffs clicking shut around her bare ankles. “You don’t need shoes, darlin’,” she heard the older man chuckle. “This is a come as you are party.”
For the first time, she was really afraid. She could sense the men behind her, feasting on the sight of her helplessness. There was a moment when she heard nothing from behind her except their heavy breathing and the distant murmur of the television. She had fallen asleep without turning it off. A late night talk show was on. Raucous laughter followed some smutty remark from the host.
“They are admiring my ass,” she thought. Brad had always called it a “world class ass”. Brad, the sweet and useless, her fair weather lover who disappeared soon after her parents’ accident when she needed him most. If she called him now, would he even remember her name?
“Turn that fuckin’ thing off,” said the older cop. His hand was firm on the back of her neck, pinning her to the wall.She heard footsteps across the room. The television became silent. “Guess we better make sure she doesn’t have any weapons,” said the older cop.
She felt his cold hand slipping under her tee shirt. “No bra,” he chuckled. Her working uniform, the gray dress that she had selected from her closet this morning before her fateful confrontation with Mr. Rawlings, was still a crumpled heap on the bathroom floor, along with the confining armor of her bra. She had been desperate for a shower when she came home, wanting to wash away the memory of her day before preparing for the birthday fiasco.There had been no need to dress for the occasion with only the two of them there. A tee shirt and jeans sufficed.
Now, as his icy palm cupped her breasts and his thumb and forefinger worked her nipples painfully, she had reason to regret that choice. She bit back the sharp retorts that rose to her lips, sensing that it would not be wise to provoke these men, not while she was their bound prisoner.She promised herself that she would make their lives hell when this whole sordid business was over.
He ground his pelvis against her backside as he mauled her breasts. She could feel his erection, hot and huge, lodging itself between her cheeks. Her nipples began to erect.
“Damn them!” How long had it been since she felt the touch of a man? Brad, of course, but that had been months ago. She was a healthy young woman. Even this hateful pawing was arousing.
His hand drifted down across her soft belly, teasing her navel briefly before she felt him working on the button of her jeans. She squirmed, twisting her hips away, but the hand on her nape tightened to enforce her cooperation.She whined as she heard her zipper come down. His knowing hand burrowed under her panties, sliding along her fleece to find the soft folds between her legs. He kicked her ankle as she attempted to cross her legs.
“Get ‘em apart!” he snarled.
Breathing angrily through her nose, she opened her knees. A kick to her other ankle, harder this time, forced her legs wider until the chain between them was taut. She was up on her toes now, the hand on her pelvis partially supporting her. Fingers worked her, finding the hard button of her clit before exploring deeper.
“Gettin’ wet for us, honey?” A finger found her opening and plunged deep. Angela bit back her cry, refusing him the satisfaction of knowing that he was hurting her. Another finger stabbed into her, twisting.
“Remember what the Captain said, Sarge,” Lonnie admonished softly.
The fingers worked her with renewed vigor for a moment, as though to defy the warning, plunging in and out like a cock.
“Fuck the Captain!” the Sergeant growled, but the hand withdrew.
Angela was heartened by this development. Apparently the Sergeant had molested other prisoners often enough to earn a reprimand. If she had five minutes to talk with his superiors, she might be able to use this information to gain a bit of leverage. Perhaps she could get these bogus charges dismissed.
Outside, frost was settling on the ground, cold on her bare feet. It hardly mattered. Each officer held an elbow, propelling her along so powerfully that her shackled feet touched the ground only occasionally. Their car was parked in the driveway, well off the road with its lights off. She wasn’t encouraged by this sign that the officers didn’t want to advertise their presence. At this hour, her neighbors’ houses were dark.
“No one will know where I have gone!” she thought.
When she saw the big, gold star on the prowl car door, she understood the real explanation for her arrest. They were Sheriffs deputies, county employees. She had no doubt that the “Good Old Boy” network that infected the county government had spread to the police as well. Mr. Rawlings almost certainly had a hand in this set up.
“Watch your head, please.” the younger cop said. He put a hand on Angela’s head to keep her from banging it as he put her in the back seat. She looked at him, caught his eye, and realized two things that she had overlooked until now. He was very young, a rookie probably, still young enough to believe in justice and human dignity perhaps. The second thing she realized was that he was frightened too.
“Help me!” she whispered urgently, as he leaned across her to fasten her seat belt. “I’m being set up. I think you know that already. Don’t let them get away with this!”
He drew the belt tight, forcing the handcuffs to dig painfully into her spine. His lips were grim. Glancing down, she saw that her fly was still open and her white panties were on display.
The older cop got behind the wheel and threw a glance over his shoulder. “How we doin’ back there?”The young cop ran a finger down the line of her jaw and looked into Angela’s eyes with an expression she could only read as regret. “Just fine, Sarge,” he said.