The hand on my shoulder pinched into my flesh like a rusted iron vice.
"Get your hands off me, you filthy, worm-infested son of a pig!" I shrieked, thrashing wildly against the man's grip as two more hulking, scar-faced thugs stepped up to grab my arms. "Let go! I will personally tear your tongue out and feed it to an Ash-Drake!"
The greasy man only chuckled, a wet, stomach-churning sound, as they dragged my heels through the sawdust and spilled booze of the den floor. "Keep spitting, red. Higher class men like them feisty. Makes the breaking part more profitable."
"I am the Duchess of the South!" I screamed, kicking backward until my riding boot connected squarely with a guard's kneecap.
