The thoughts that chase through his head are she's got somebody else here, somebody I know followed by she wants me to think she's got somebody I know followed by should have kept my mouth shut followed by ow.

It's not really a beating, just a few desultory blows to keep him from struggling while they wrench his arms behind his back and buckle the cuffs on. The collar's next; one of them takes his face in a bruising grip from behind and jerks his head back, while another fastens it, not tightly enough to give him trouble breathing.

Not that he's not already having trouble breathing, between the pain and the anticipation of worse.