​

​The leather whip cut through the damp air of the dungeon. When it hit Roxanne’s back, the sound echoed off the stone walls like a gunshot. She screamed, her body jerking forward against the rough stone floor of the cell.

​The silver bits on the whip burned her skin, leaving smoking red tracks.

​"Again," Melissa ordered. She stood outside the bars, her arms crossed over her luxury champagne-colored silk dress, completely unbothered by the dirt and smell of the underground cells.

​The guard looked at the whip in his hands, then at Roxanne’s swollen belly.

​His hands were shaking. "My lady, she is six months along. If I keep...