He kicks my legs apart, and Collins tries to cuff the second ankle. No. Fuck no. I struggle wildly, keeping my foot out of his reach, stabbing back with my elbow into Vander’s ribs. He buries a hard punch into my back, clubbing the same bruised area Belanger laid into. The strike shudders my bones. It nearly floors me, but I bite down my bark of pain. He twists my arm behind my back, forcing it upward.

“Keep the fuck still,” he says in my ear. “Or we’ll let Adams damage that pretty face.”

My fear of the wolf is nothing compared to the terror of being manacled and strung up to the cage ceiling. I keep struggling, but Collins fastens my other ankle, and with the bar forcing my legs apart, I’m finished. I can barely stand. Vander takes full advantage, gripping my collar and using it to yank me backward. The move chokes away the curse on my lips, and I land on the ground with a crash of metal.

Belanger laughs. “Now we’ve got you, you little shit. Strip him and string him up,” he says to his men.

My stomach tenses. Strip him?

Collins fastens my other wrist to the end of the bar and leaves me lying on the floor in an enforced star shape. I can barely breathe, gasping against the frantic panic threatening to burst through my chest. I arch off the floor and twist, but I’m not getting out of this. Belanger’s right. They have me. And whatever Belanger’s idea of a lesson is, there’s not a thing I can do to prevent it.

They rip my thin shirt off and cut the leather trousers away with a knife. I hiss as the blade slices skin. Once I’m naked, Vander drags me by the wrist bar across the floor. The slate ground scrapes skin from my back, pain searing the flesh beneath. I grit my teeth, clamp down on my cries. I’m not giving the bastards the pleasure of hearing me suffer.

While the wolf breathes stinking hot breath on my mouth, Vander attaches chains to the spreader bar, and I’m flipped and hauled upright. I’m left kneeling on the stones, my feet spread wide by the bar between my ankles and my arms open above my head. Then Vander adjusts the chain length, stretching my body upward as far as it can extend from my knees, leaving my chest open and my junk on full display.

“Nice,” Belanger says, his eyes raking my form with a sick, lustful grin. He steps forward and crashes his fist into my jaw. The blow jolts my head sideways, pain crashing through my teeth, blood and spit spraying the gray stone.

“That’s for the bruises,” he states. He grips my chin, forcing me to look up at him. I taste copper. “And now, you little blood slut, the fun really starts.”