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Isabeast screamed.

She jerked backward, but I held on until the corner of her lip split before she ripped herself free. Blood spilled over her mouth and down her chin.

The hand around my throat disappeared, and air tore into my lungs.

Pedro pulled away from me as she stumbled back, one hand clamped over her bleeding mouth.

For one perfect second, no one moved.

Then Pedro stood and punched me.

His fist drove into my stomach. The next blow landed across my ribs, and the chair skidded back.

Pain exploded through me.

And I welcomed it.

Pain was simple. It belonged to muscles, bone, and breath. It cut through the panic and destroyed the involuntary response they’d dragged from me.

Pedro hit me again.

My cock softened as the agony of the beating pulled me back into myself.

I laughed through the pain.

That infuriated him more.

“I’m going to fucking kill you.” His fist buried itself in my side.

“Enough,” Mateo ordered.

Pedro ignored him and swung again.

Mateo caught his arm before the blow landed. “I said enough. Ciro needs him alive and capable of speaking.”

Isabeast stared at me.

I smiled at her.

Her eyes promised murder.

“You’re going to pay for that,” she said, the words distorted by the injury.

“Already did.”

She stepped toward me, but Mateo blocked her path.

“That needs stitches.”

“Move,” she demanded.

“You damage him further, and Ciro will punish you.” Mateo’s voice remained calm. “Get the wound treated. He’ll still be here when you return.”

She glared at him, then at me.

“Put the blindfold back on.”

Pedro snatched the cloth off the floor.