Page 16 of Midnight Rebel

“Secret tunnels?” Her voice practically sings with excitement, and she moves forward instinctively. “Can we check it out?”

“No,” I snap, sharper than I meant to, holding her back. “It isn’t safe.”

She turns toward me, one brow arched, looking adorably defiant. “If it’s that dangerous, why haven’t you fixed it? Or is there something you don’t want me to find?”

Her persistent tone always stirs something in me—half irritation, half admiration, and all trouble.

Still, I meet her challenge head-on. “This isn’t about hiding things from you. It’s about keeping you safe.”

Her lips quirk, amused. “Then show me. You said you’d help. We can’t stop when things get interesting now.”

I should tell her to back off, but who am I kidding? She’s got me wrapped around her finger. Damn it. I exhale. Surrenderis inevitable. “Fine. But stick close, and we’re not going deep. Clear?”

She nods, excitement lighting up her eyes despite my grave tone.

The door creaks open. A dank, narrow passage yawns ahead, the air thick with dust and the weight of forgotten secrets. Autumn’s curiosity buzzes beside me—irritating, endearing, and impossible to ignore.

“Watch your step,” I growl, keeping her within arm’s reach. “The place isn’t exactly up to code.”

I taste dust with each breath as it coats my throat. Autumn scans our surroundings, and I can’t help but admire her tenacity. She’s like a bloodhound on a scent.

“So,” she starts, her voice quieter now, “this is where the Montgomery family kept all their skeletons?”

I grunt, fighting the pull she exerts on me. “More like where we hid barrels of booze during Prohibition.”

“A smuggling operation then?” she presses, her excitement palpable.

“Call it ancient history,” I say, trying to keep my tone neutral.

Before I can stop her, she moves past me. The woman’s relentless. “You don’t let up, do you?” I catch her elbow, carefully tugging her back.

“You’re hiding something.” She’s not asking; she’s accusing.

“I’m showing you parts of this place no one has stepped foot in for decades,” I grit out. “Isn’t that enough?”

She tilts her head up, her chin too damn stubborn for her own good, meeting my glare without flinching. “Then show me,” she whispers.

I don’t know if she means the tunnels or something else—and I don’t care. And as ever, no matter how frustrating she is, I feel it—the fucking draw toward her.

“Damn it, Autumn.” The words slip out, low and rough.

Her expression softens just a little, but that gleam in her eyes? Still there—the same fiery resolve that pulled me to her the second she walked into my house.

It gnaws at me, that reckless part she’s unlocked without even knowing.

Before I can say anything more, a soft groan echoes through the tunnel walls. Autumn’s eyes widen, her defiance replaced by a flicker of uncertainty.

“Did you hear that?” she asks, but she’s not teasing this time.

“I did.” Stepping around her, I take the lead, keeping her close. “Stay behind me,” I mutter, pulling her forward a few steps, eyes scanning the narrow space ahead.

Ahead of us, barely visible in the gloom, is a rusted iron lattice blocking the path.

“What is it?” Autumn asks, her earlier bravado subdued.

“Stop.” I grit out the word, grabbing her arm as she inches toward the lattice. “These old mechanisms are ancient—and unstable.”

Of course, she doesn’t listen. “This is incredible. How does it work?”

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