“Roman.”
He spins around, eyes going wide when he sees me approaching. “Stay back! I'll call the cops?—”
“No, you won't.”
I close the distance in three quick strides. He tries to swing at me, but he's slow and drunk. I catch his wrist, twist until I hear bones grind, then drive my knee into his solar plexus.
He crumples forward with a wet gasp. I grab him by the hair and slam his face into the roof of his car once, twice. The third impact leaves him limp.
Blood streams from his broken nose as I haul his unconscious body around to the trunk. It takes some creativefolding, but I manage to stuff all of him inside. The trunk barely closes—Roman's bigger than I'd prefer for this kind of transport—but it'll do.
I slide into the driver's seat, noting the fast food wrappers and empty beer cans littering the interior. The car reeks of stale cigarettes and unwashed human. Perfect representation of its owner.
The engine turns over with a reluctant cough. I navigate slowly through the carnival grounds, avoiding the main pathways where staff might see me. Around the back, past the equipment trailers, to the isolated spot where we kept Teddy.
Our little torture chamber.
Roman's still unconscious when I drag him out of the trunk, which makes getting him inside easier. I dump him in the center of the trailer and secure the door behind me.
I check Roman's pulse. Steady but weak. The head trauma knocked him out good, but he'll live.
For now.
My phone buzzes with a text from Nova:
Is he gone?
I type back quickly:
Handled.On my way back to you.
Another buzz,this one from Teddy:
Everything okay?
Better than okay.Meet me at the back trailer in ten minutes. Bring Cole and Logan.
Roman's starting to stir,low groans escaping his split lips. I grab some zip-ties from the table and secure his wrists behind his back, then his ankles to the chair legs. By the time he's fully conscious, he won't be going anywhere.
“Wakey wakey,” I murmur as his eyelids flutter.
Roman's eyes focus slowly, confusion giving way to panic as he takes in his surroundings. The metal walls. The restraints. My smile.
“What—where am I?”
“Somewhere private,” I say pleasantly. “Somewhere no one will hear you scream.”
He tries to sit up, realizes he can't move, and the panic ratchets higher. “You can't do this! I'm her husband?—”
“Were,” I correct. “Past tense. That marriage died the moment you decided to hurt her.”
“I didn't hurt anyone! She's my wife!”
The wordwifecoming out of his mouth makes my vision go red around the edges. I crouch down until we're eye level.
“She was never your wife, Roman. She was your victim. There's a difference.”
His face twists with rage. The same expression he probably wore every time he hurt Nova. “Little bitch has been filling your head with lies?—”
