Chapter 11
Roman
In my twisted, time-warped life, I had plenty of reasons to be angry—plenty of moments where the fever of revenge burned hot in my veins. But never had I been more swallowed by rage than now, cradling this pathetic fool in my arms, carrying him toward Jack’s house.
Tristan.
This sniveling idiot, this weak, whimpering excuse for a man, had bedded my wife.
Olivia—my warrior, fierce, and capable queen—had once let him touch her.
The thought alone sent a fresh wave of fury rolling through me.
He was nothing more than a worm, a blight upon humanity’s existence, and yet here I was, hauling his unconscious body like he was worth saving.
I stepped onto the porch and adjusted my grip with a grunt.
Jack had always left the door open to let the fresh air circulate through his home. The weather was pleasant today, though I felt nothing but the storm brewing inside me.
“Where shall we put him?” I called over my shoulder to Lee as I kicked the door open wider and stepped inside.
“Jack’s office,” Lee answered, his boots crunching over the gravel.
Jack appeared from the kitchen, a tea towel in his hands. He froze the moment he saw who I carried.
“Where did you—?” he started.
“Look who we ran into,” Lee said, stepping behind me. “Or rather, look who got in the way of Roman’s fist.”
Jack’s hand flew to his cheek, his eyes narrowing in shock. “You can fill me in later. Where are you putting him?”
“Your office,” I muttered, striding down the hall.
“No,” Jack snapped. “Take him to the basement. I don’t want his smarmy ass anywhere near my office.”
Without argument, I turned on my heel and headed for the stairs off the kitchen. “Someone get the door.”
“Already on it,” Lee called, proceeding ahead. He opened the basement door and entered to turn on the light.
The moment I reached the landing, Tristan nearly slipped from my grip. His dead weight was getting harder to hold, and he reeked of blood, sweat, and ale blending into a stench that turned my stomach.
“Get me a chair before I drop him,” I muttered through clenched teeth.
Lee darted around me, snatched a folded chair from the corner, and opened it with a clank. “Here. Set him down.”
I didn’t lower Tristan so much as I plunged him into the chair, then grabbed a fistful of his hair to keep his head from lolling.
“What do you have to secure him?” I asked as Jack hurried down the steps.
“There’s some rope in the cupboard,” he said.
“I’ll get it. You get some ice water,” Lee cut in.
Jack frowned. “Ice water?”
“Just do it,” Lee said, waving his hand in wild circles.
Jack turned and clomped back up the stairs with a huff, taking them two at a time.
As Lee and I worked to bind Tristan, the slimy bastard groaned in protest.
“Feel the pain, Tristan,” I yanked the knot tighter around his wrists. “For all the pain you’ve caused Olivia. This is only a taste.”
Jack returned, a stainless-steel pitcher in his hands, condensation beading along its surface. Ice cubes clinked against the metal, and water sloshed over the rim as he hurried toward us.
“Give it to me,” I said, extending my hand.
Jack pressed the freezing-cold pitcher into my grip.
“Perfect temperature,” I smirked. “Wake up, asshole.”
With one swift motion, I upended the pitcher over Tristan’s head. The shock hit him instantly—he gasped, sputtering as ice water drenched him, his body jerking against the restraints.
Dripping, Tristan coughed, shaking the water from his hair before sneering at Jack and Lee.
“Well, well,” he drawled, his voice hoarse. “If it isn’t the old geezers—Jack and Sensei Lee. Where’d you dig up this guy?” He tilted his head toward me, his grin widening. “You’re such a pussy. You always need people to back you up.”
I grabbed a fistful of his wet hair and yanked his head back, making him wince. “Watch your mouth, you son of a bitch. Don’t talk to Jack that way.”
Tristan let out a humorless laugh, eyes gleaming with reckless obstinance. “What are you gonna do to me? I’ve already failed at everything.”
I leaned in until our noses nearly touched. “You’re going to get exactly what you deserve for hurting Olivia.”
At that, Tristan flinched—but only for a second. Then, with pure audacity, he spat, “I don’t care. She’s worthless.”
Something inside me snapped.
Before I could stop myself, my hand flung out, backhanding him hard across the face. His head whipped sideways from the impact, a deep red mark blooming across his cheek.
I clenched my jaw, my breaths coming slowly and controlled. Barely controlled. “I dare you,” I growled, “to say one more word about my wife. I will beat the shit out of you until you beg me to kill you.”
Tristan twisted his head to face me, blinking rapidly, his cocky smirk faltering.
“Fuck,” he muttered, licking at the blood trickling down his cheek from where I’d struck him.
Without hesitation, I grabbed both his ears and pulled hard, making him yelp. “You betrayed her. You went after her father. And now?” I gave another yank. “I’m going to tear you apart.”
For the first time, real fear flickered in his eyes.
I slugged him in the gut. His body convulsed, folding over as much as the ropes would allow, a harsh wheeze escaping his lips.
Lee grabbed my arm.
“No, don’t. We need him.” He turned to Tristan, gripping his face in an iron hold. “What happened the day Olivia time traveled? Why did you snap? You played your role perfectly—acted like you adored her—and then you just turned on her. What do you know?”
Tristan thrashed, shaking his head to escape Lee’s merciless grip.
Lee’s fingers only dug in deeper, stretching his skin taut.
“I’m not telling you shit,” Tristan declared.
Then, before Lee could react, he spat into Lee’s face.
Lee wiped the saliva from his cheek with measured control. Tristan, ever the jackass, tilted his head toward me.
“Who’s the hired meat?”
I straightened, rolling my shoulders back. “I’m no hired meat,” I said coldly. “I’m Roman Alexander. Warrior. Husband to Olivia. And the man who will make your life hell if you don’t start talking.”
I crouched closer, letting my words cut through the space between us. “Now tell me—who is Eyan Malik, and why does he want you?”
Tristan’s entire demeanor shifted. His breath hitched. His pupils shrank. A fine sheen of sweat broke out along his forehead and upper lip.
He shook his head.
Lee snarled, gripping his jaw tighter. “You good-for-nothing asshole.”
I drove my knife into Tristan’s arm, carving with the precision I’d once used to extract secrets from my enemies in the arena.
He let out a screeching, garbled cry.
Jack lunged forward, gripping my arm. “Roman, stop! You can’t do this—there are laws in this country.”
My brows knit together. “Laws? What laws?”
“Laws about what you can do to another person,” Jack explained. “We shouldn’t even have him tied up in my basement!”
With a grunt, I released Tristan. “Fine. But you better start talking before I unleash pure hell on you.” I snarled. “Who is Malik?”
Tristan’s swollen lips pressed together in defiance.
I grabbed a fistful of his greasy hair, twisting hard. “Why did you want Olivia to time travel? How do you know about time travel at all?”
His eyes shimmered with something unexpected—regret. “I was trying to prove to my father that I’m worthy to stand by his side. But now that I’ve failed, my life is worthless.”
Self-pity? Where had that arrogance gone?
I let go of his hair just long enough to deliver a quick backhand, sending his head whipping to the side.
Tristan spat a wad of bloody saliva at my feet. “I did everything to please my father, but nothing was enough.” A choked sob broke from him. “To prove my loyalty, I had to bring Olivia to him. But I failed. And now he’s right—I’m a complete loser.”
I narrowed my eyes. None of this made sense.
The water heater in Jack’s basement hissed and rumbled, and the washing machine kicked to life with a sudden thud.
I tensed, momentarily startled, before remembering Jack’s explanation about clothes-washing devices and their strange “cycles.”
Turning back to Tristan, I dragged a hand across my stubbled jaw. “All this time with her—you knew Olivia was a time traveler? How?”
“My father told me. He told me everything… about Jack, about Olivia.” His breath hitched. “The only way to prove myself to him was to bring Olivia to him. But I failed.”
A ripple of unease crawled up my spine. The puzzle pieces were finally locking into place.
A single tear slipped down Tristan’s cheek, and his head slumped forward, his entire body sagging.
Pathetic.
I grabbed his hair again, yanking his head up. “Keep talking. Who is this father of yours?”
Tristan clenched his jaw and shook his head, but when he finally spoke, his voice hardened.
“I was trained to understand Timebornes from the time I could walk,” he muttered, his chin jutting forward.
“My entire life was spent trying to make my father proud—to be the perfect son, to obey him, to please him.” A bitter laugh escaped his lips.
“But it was never enough. I saw it in his eyes—disappointment, every single time. No matter what I did.” His gaze flickered to mine, dark and hollow.
“Then, one day, he told me about Olivia. About Jack. He said if I wanted to be a part of his world—to be accepted as his son—I had to bring Olivia to him.” His lips twisted. “Only then would I finally belong.
“I started watching Olivia, studying her, learning everything I could about her life. I thought dating her would make her trust me—make her spill her secrets. But one month turned into two, then a year, then two years… and still, I got nothing. She never let me in. Instead, I fell in love with her.”
My jaw clenched. The thought of him loving Olivia made my blood burn. She was meant for me.
“But my duty to my father was more important than love,” Tristan continued. “I couldn’t betray him.”