“You’re damn right I’m making it up as I go along. If there’s a rule book I don’t know about, I’d be delighted to look at it.”

Kyle Foster stepped forward. “Listen here,” he said. “I don’t want to hear some high-and-mighty shit from you in the future. You want everybody to take a swing, that’s fine. But you take the first one.”

That earned applause.

Victoria felt her face redden. It was a horrible demand, but not an unreasonable one. She’d passed the sentence. She needed to be a part of it. “All right,” she said.

As she approached Brandon-Lee, so exposed and helpless, she made the mistake of making eye contact. He’d transformed from cocky warrior to terrified boy. At nineteen, he was barely older than her own Adam. What had she brought upon him?

As she passed McCrea, the major took her arm gently and whispered, “You have to hit him hard, Vicky. The others certainly will. You’ve got to show conviction.”

The whip felt heavy in her hand as Victoria circled around behind Brandon-Lee. He had a farmer’s tan, brown arms to mid-biceps and then stark white everywhere else.

“You’re gonna have to step closer,” George Simmons said. “You want to give him a full stripe.”

Victoria stepped forward another step, close enough to smell Brandon-Lee’s sweat. She was on his right, so she cheated toward her left, squaring up perpendicular with the boy’s back. She drew her right arm across her left, took a deep breath and let loose with a full-force backhand. The folded, knotted rope whistled through the air and then hit Brandon-Lee’s flesh with a heavy thwop.

Brandon-Lee howled at the impact as he drew his legs up and threw his head back. Within two seconds, a heavy red welt had begun to rise halfway between his shoulder blades and his kidneys.

Reflexively Victoria brought her hand to her mouth as her vision blurred.

“Nicely done, Mrs. Emerson,” George said with a grin. “My turn.” He took the scourge from her, bounced it in his hand and took a couple of practice swings in the air. When he delivered his blow, he put his whole body into it, like he was swinging a baseball bat. It hit hard enough to make some of the observers cringe, others laugh.

“Holy shit, George,” Joey Abbott said. “We’re not trying to break his ribs.”

“I’m hoping we’ll cut him in half,” George said through a laugh. As he passed Brandon-Lee, he got up into his grill. “You’re gonna have a long damn day, asshole.” Then he spit in the prisoner’s face.