My father's top lip curled back in anger. "It seems you're devoted to them."
"I am."
"Are you willing to be beaten for them?"
My breath hitched, and I watched the challenge in my father's eyes swell like a growing puddle of tar. "You can beat me until I'm bloody and my bones are broken. My beliefs will not change."
Gritting his teeth, my father said, "We'll see about that. It's about time I start disciplining you like a man. You have gotten too comfortable doing whatever you please."
I felt the muscles in my jaw strain from tension and anger, and I held my father's glare as he went around his desk to pluck a rod from its structure. He was trying to instill fear in me, and he would fail miserably because I would not be backing down. Not this time.
"Remove your clothes!" he barked, rage bouncing between the rough notes of his voice.
