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His back arched as the belt hit him again. He was at his limit, but he didn’t say anything. He wouldn’t give Vegas the satisfaction.
“That was the eighth,” his torturer mockingly told him.
Pete gritted his teeth. How many strokes did he have to endure again...?
Clack!
“That’s nine now.”
“I can count,” he wanted to retort. But he didn’t dare open his mouth for fear of letting out a sob. His back was burning like hell. He hoped the punishment would stop at ten lashes… He wouldn’t last much more…
Clack!
“And that’s ten. We’re halfway through.”
Shit…