Has her strip naked

The leader’s words hung in the air like a sentence already decided.

“That isn’t nearly enough.”

He gestured with the pistol toward the edge of the crowd where June’s bridal party still sat rigid at their table. “You two. The ones in the matching dresses. Get up here. Now.”

The maid of honor and the bridesmaid nearest her—Claire and Sophie, the two women who had helped June into the gown only that morning—rose slowly. Their faces were bloodless. Claire’s hands trembled against the silk of her own dress. Sophie’s eyes flicked once toward Eric, then away, as if looking at him might make the moment more real. The shotgun man by the doors tracked their movement until they stood on either side of June beneath the chandelier.

“Help her out of the dress,” the leader said. “Slow. Every button. Every zipper. If either of you rushes or tries anything clever, I start putting holes in the guests.”

June’s stomach clenched. She kept her chin high, but heat was already flooding her face. The diamond-less space around her throat and wrists felt glaringly empty. She could feel every pair of eyes in the ballroom—her father’s, her uncle’s, Eric’s college friends, the plus-ones she had never wanted, the elderly aunts who had whispered about the neckline of her gown earlier. All of them watching.

Claire’s fingers found the hidden zipper at the back of the bodice first. The soft rasp of it descending down June’s spine seemed louder than gunfire. Cool air touched the newly exposed skin between her shoulder blades. Sophie worked the tiny covered buttons that ran along the lower back, each one releasing with a faint pop. June stood perfectly still, arms at her sides, refusing to help and refusing to fight. Her pulse hammered in her ears.

The bodice loosened. The heavy silk that had clung to her breasts and waist all evening began to sag. Claire and Sophie eased the straps from her shoulders. The gown slid downward in a slow, intimate cascade, the deep V neckline peeling away from the soft inner curves of her breasts, the fitted waist releasing its hold on her hips. The long train pooled around her feet like spilled cream. June stepped carefully out of the circle of fabric when Sophie tugged it free. The dress collapsed into a soft, expensive heap on the marble.

She stood in a strapless ivory bra, matching lace garter belt, sheer stockings, and delicate heels. The bra was the same shade as the gown, lightly padded, the cups holding her full breasts high. A thin band of lace traced the underwire. The garter belt sat low on her hips, four satin straps running down to the tops of her stockings. Her panties were a scrap of matching lace, high-cut on the hips, the front panel already damp from the fear and humiliation coiling low in her belly.

A collective shift moved through the guests. Someone exhaled too loudly. A woman near the cake table looked away and then back again, unable to stop herself.

“Bra,” the leader said.

Claire’s hands were shaking harder now. She reached around June’s ribcage and unhooked the three small clasps. The bra sprang open. Sophie slid the straps down June’s arms. June’s breasts spilled free, heavy and bare under the chandelier light. Her nipples, already tight from the cool air and the raw exposure, pebbled further under the weight of every stare. She instinctively crossed one arm over her chest.

“No.” The leader’s voice cracked like a whip. “Arms down. She stands the way we tell her to stand.”

June forced her arm away. The movement felt enormous. Her breasts moved with it, soft and vulnerable. Heat scorched her face and the tops of her ears. She could feel the exact moment Eric’s gaze locked onto her naked chest and then jerked away, as if looking too long would make him complicit. Her father was somewhere in the crowd; she refused to locate him.

Sophie gathered the bra and dropped it onto the growing pile of ivory silk.

“Heels.”

June balanced on one foot and then the other while Claire slipped the delicate ivory heels free. The marble was cold under her bare soles. She was shorter now, suddenly smaller in the open space. The stockings made her legs look even longer, the sheer fabric catching the light along the curve of her calves.

“Garter belt and stockings. One at a time.”

Claire knelt first. Her fingers fumbled with the front left suspender. The little metal clasp released. She rolled the stocking slowly down June’s thigh, over the knee, along the calf, and off the foot. The second front strap followed. Then the back ones. Each soft snap of a clasp sounded obscenely loud. When both stockings lay in pale coils on the floor, Claire unhooked the garter belt itself. The lace band loosened around June’s hips and fell. Sophie added it to the pile.

Only the panties remained.

June’s breathing had gone shallow. Humiliation sat heavy and thick in her chest, a physical weight. She had been beautiful an hour ago—adorned, celebrated, untouchable. Now she stood under the brightest lights in the room in nothing but a scrap of lace while two of her closest friends undressed her like a doll and a hundred people watched. Her skin prickled with awareness. She could feel the exact path of every gaze: the men who looked too long at her breasts and the dark triangle of lace between her legs, the women who stared with a mixture of horror and unwilling fascination, the older relatives whose faces had gone gray.

“Panties,” the leader said.

Sophie hooked her fingers in the waistband. For a second she hesitated, eyes shining with tears. Then she drew the lace down. The fabric clung briefly between June’s thighs before peeling free. Cool air rushed over her bare sex. Sophie guided the panties to the floor and June stepped out of them. The last piece of clothing joined the rest.

The pile on the marble looked obscene: the ruined gown, the bra, the garter belt, the stockings, the heels, the tiny lace panties. June stood completely naked in the center of the dance floor. Her arms twitched with the need to cover herself—breasts, the soft thatch of dark hair between her legs, anything—but the leader’s earlier command still held. She kept her hands at her sides, fingers curled tight enough that her nails bit into her palms.

Silence pressed in from every direction. The only sounds were the soft creak of someone shifting in a chair and the faint rustle of the duffel bag as the shorter robber adjusted its weight. June’s face burned so hot she thought she might be glowing. Humiliation rolled through her in waves, each one stronger than the last. She had never felt so exposed, so reduced. Every curve of her body was on display: the full weight of her breasts, the slight softness of her stomach, the flare of her hips, the neat dark triangle at the apex of her thighs, the long line of her legs. There was nowhere to hide. Nowhere to look that did not contain another pair of eyes.

The leader walked a slow circle around her. She felt the weight of his masked gaze traveling over her bare shoulders, the small of her back, the curve of her ass, the insides of her thighs. When he completed the circuit he stopped in front of her again.

“Hands at your sides. Chin up. Let them all get a good look at the bride.”

June obeyed. She lifted her chin even as tears of pure mortification pricked the corners of her eyes. She would not let them fall. Not yet. She stared at a point somewhere above the far windows and tried to pretend the rest of the room had vanished. It did not work. She could still feel Eric’s presence like a brand. She could still sense the collective attention of every guest she had invited, every relative who had watched her grow up, every stranger who now knew exactly what she looked like without a single stitch of clothing.

The pile of her wedding clothes lay at her feet like evidence. The diamond jewelry was already gone. The gown that had made her feel powerful was a discarded heap of silk. And she stood naked under the chandeliers while the three masked men surveyed their work and the entire reception stared in stunned, helpless silence.