The next punch to the same place drops my knees to the stone, a firm boot toppling me all the way to the ground. I roll away from the second kick meant for my lower back, but with one step, his foot meets my side anyway.

I can take a beating. Always could. I scrapped my way right through my childhood. Had to. A foster kid learns how to fight early on or becomes a punching bag for every bully. Taking a beating was how I won my first major competition fight. How I gained my fighter’s name, the Rocket. My opponent was stronger and more skilled than me. He beat me to a pulp. But when he’d exhausted himself, thinking he’d won, and everyone watching thought the fight was over, I came back at him as hard and fast as a man in his first round. “Like a rocket,” the local paper had said.

But I’m not in a fighting ring now. This is more like a schoolyard gang event, and Belanger clearly came to this room with one intention: to rough up the prisoner he thinks is a Blood Servant. He’s targeting the same vulnerable body part, hitting my kidneys with every strike. He wants permanent damage. It hurts.

“Five Guardians died at the steelworks. Good soldiers who thought they were saving a new Channeler, not a dirty fucking blood whore. And you think it’s a joke?”

The skinny blond guy loitering behind him nods his agreement.

I try to roll away and rise to my knees, but every move is thwarted by the chains, and he follows without effort. Another booted thump to my lumbar region has me crying out from the sharp pain that shoots through my back.

“I’m not a Blood Servant,” I grit out. I know it’s useless saying it, but it is the truth.

Belanger chuffs and shakes his head. “We know about the blood tests, you little slut. These soldiers watched you kneel to the Prince of Filth with their own eyes.” Another kick to the back draws a cry from my throat. I curl into a protective ball. “You’re just a dirty human whore. What happened? You get bored of servicing a prince? Thought you’d try fucking your way into the Guardians’ good graces instead?” Another deep kick, straight into my side. My organs shudder. “If it’s that bastard Lycan you’re after, I’ve got news for you. It takes a lot more than a pretty face to get Mr. Untouchable into bed. He doesn’t do weak little humans. Too scared he’ll break them. And he certainly won’t be interested in the prince’s leftovers.”

What the hell is he on about? After another hefty strike to my lower back, I’ve had enough.