Tyler righted himself, grunting as he shifted his stiff limbs. His right shoulder didn’t feel the way it should, and his left ankle pulsed dully, a testament to the repeated stringing up and dumping he had been getting for over six hours.
He sat, hunched forward, his legs folded under his torso. He spat to the side.
“Does your father know what you’re doing?” Tyler rasped, his voice muffled thanks to the blood refilling his mouth.
“I thought you said my father was irrelevant.”
“Those are your words, my Lord.”
“f**k you, mud-face.”
“Okay, okay. I give. Okay? Can we stop now? I have a meeting to get to tonight.”
“You f*****g dog,” Vincent snarled and kicked Tyler full in the face.
Tyler fell backward, grimacing, gritting his teeth, refusing to yell.
He grunted again.
And shifted.
“
