Shhh, They're Working Upstairs

We were elbow-deep in sawdust when the counters showed up. Allie's mouth was taped shut and Brooke's fingers worked her bare ribs like she was dialing a safe combination. Every squeal got swallowed by the silver strip. She thrashed on the kitchen table, wrists roped to the legs, ankles spread and tied to the chairs. Blonde hair stuck to her temples. Sweat rolled between her breasts and slid down to the hard wood beneath her. Brooke stayed dressed in black, leather straps tight across her own chest, the picture of calm while she decided which spot would break Allie next. Upstairs the drill screamed, masking the choked laughter and the wet slap of skin on skin. One of the workers laughed at a dropped screw. Allie heard it and her eyes went wide. Brooke only smiled and dug in harder.