Dante's POV
The mettalic taste of blood still hung on my tongue despite the fact my mouth had healed from the busted lip caused by the punch administered to me some hours ago.
I didn't know the time, rather I could tell it was approaching night from the shadow on the wall. I was given a beating constantly as if it were something I needed to survive.
For that I had become used to the pains and anguish that came with the kicks and hits I got three times a day. I had received the one of afternoon and already knew another was coming at night.
Damien and his rogues had made my body a training device to test and weigh their punches and strength and I didn't blame them because I never for once kept my mouth shut, instead I egged them on. The anger and irritation on their face I got in response always gave me satisfaction.
