Page 190 of Love at First Fright

He spun, blue eyes finding me immediately. Startled. Confused. But already moving.

“Come with me.”

He followed. Of course he followed. Down the corridor, quick, quick, quick. The electric saw’s roar grew louder, competing with the sound of Charlie’s breathing and my own frantic thoughts.

I stopped at the cupboard. The same one where Molly first terrified Charlie.

“Quickly.” I yanked the door open. “In here.”

Charlie’s brow furrowed, but he stepped inside without argument. His trust in me punched through my chest worse than any wound.

I followed him in, pulling the door shut behind us.

Darkness swallowed the space. Charlie’s warmth pressed close in the confined area, his shoulder brushing mine, the scent of him surrounding me.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. My hand found his face, fingers tracing the curve of his cheekbone. His lovely, lovely face. “I’m so sorry.”

“What?” His voice pitched higher. “Sorry for what?”

The key turned in the lock.

Thank you, Molly.

“I can’t risk you getting hurt.”

Silence. Then—

“Bat. Bat, what the fuck did you just do?”

I could hear it. The exact moment understanding crashed into him.

“Open this door.” His voice dropped low. Dangerous. “Open it right fucking now.”

“No.”

“You absolute prick!” The pitch-black darkness hid the fury surely twisting his features. I knew it anyway. Could picture it perfectly—those blue eyes blazing ice, jaw clenched, hands probably curling into fists. “Let me out!”

I slipped through the door.

Molly stood waiting, hands wringing her apron.

Inside the cupboard, Charlie exploded. Fists hammered against wood. He screamed my name, calling me a fucking idiot, demanding I let him out, threatening violence I probably deserved.

I’d rather have locked him in Brad’s car. Sent him to the garden, the town, a different bloody country. But there’d been no time to argue, and zero chance he’d have gone. Not willingly. This was the only way to keep him safe.

“Stay with him unless you really can’t,” I told Molly. “Will the door hold?”

We both looked at it. The wood shuddered under Charlie’s assault.

“BARTHOLOMEW!” His voice broke. “Don’t you dare—don’t you dare fucking do this!”

Pain lanced through me. Oh well. An angry Charlie was better than a dead Charlie. Even if he never forgave me.

“I’ll do my very best,” Molly said quietly.

I nodded. Couldn’t speak. Charlie’s shouts followed me as I pulled myself down through the house, through the foundations, through the terrible weight of the manor’s history.

The basement stairs.