Gianna stopped the gory lashing at the twentieth count, unable to bear the sickening sound of the whip landing on pulpy, torn textures; or the weak, broken groanings that escaped Esme's lips; or the harsh, uneven breathing of Noah, who—tried as he might—couldn't get his feelings of pain under control.
Yes, he was unhappy with his sister, and yes, he didn't like that she was in this state.
He must believe jail was better… it really was though. There was food there, and there was water, and there were no lashings like this.
"Do you want to catch a break, Gianna Aldo…"
Gianna wondered at the strength of Isaac, at how he could still sound so unshaken in the face of the bloodied, fallen state of his granddaughter. Or was he simply good at hiding it?
Would this moment breed resentment toward her in the nearest future?
The thought unsettled her.
