“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.”
