The first stroke lands on Nana’s back, and she grunts through clenched teeth. She knows they want her break, to cry and beg for mercy, but she’s determined not to give them the satisfaction. She tightens her jaw, refusing to make a sound.
Felisha stands at the far end of the crowd, her face pale and stricken. Nana catches her staring and knows she’s probably holding back tears. Felisha looks like she’s ready to run in and stop the madness, but she doesn’t move. If Felisha admits she gave Nana the money for the perfume and makeup, they’d both be dragged through hell. Nana’s punishment would double, maybe worse.
The tenth stroke hits the same raw spot on her back, and this time, Nana can’t stop herself. Her knees buckle slightly, and the guards yank her back up like she’s some f*****g rag
