Page 76 of Twisted Love

His hand clenches into a fist, but he doesn’t strike again. Instead, he steps back and reaches into his pocket, pulling out a knife. The sight of the blade sends a fresh wave of terror coursing through me. He waves it in front of me, his lips curling into a cruel smile.

“You’re going to behave,” he says, his tone almost mocking, “or this will end very badly for you.”

The sudden sound of shattering glass from upstairs freezes us both. My breath catches, and Charles’s head snaps toward the ceiling, his entire body going rigid. The knife trembles slightly in his hand as he stares at the dark hallway leading to the stairs.

“What the hell was that?” he mutters, his voice low and filled with suspicion.

Every nerve in my body is on edge as he moves toward the staircase, his footsteps cautious and deliberate. The house falls eerily silent, the only sound is my ragged breathing and the faint creak of the wooden steps under his weight.

Then, chaos erupts.

The crash of something heavy colliding with the floor reverberates through the house, followed by muffled shouts and the unmistakable sounds of a struggle. The noises grow louder, followed by the sound of bodies slamming into walls. It makes the room shake. My mind races with the worst possibilities as every second stretches into eternity.

The commotion moves closer, and then Charles’s body crashes down the stairs, landing in a crumpled heap at the bottom. Blood smears the floor where he lands, his face contorted in pain and fury. My breath catches in my throat, and my eyes dart to the top of the stairs.

Earl stands there, his chest heaving, his face bruised and bloodied but alive. Relief floods through me, but it’s short-lived as Charles groans and starts to stir.

“Earl, watch out!” I scream, my voice hoarse and raw.

Earl doesn’t hesitate. He descends the stairs with stunning speed. Grabbing Charles by the collar, he lands a solid punch to his face. The force of the blow sends blood spraying, but Charles fights back, clawing and thrashing like a wounded animal.

“You fucking sick bastard,” Earl roars, his voice echoing with fury.

The fight is brutal, with both men grappling and throwing punches with everything they have. Earl gains the upper hand, pinning Charles to the ground and delivering blow after blow until Charles is barely conscious.

When Earl stops, his chest rises and falls violently as he catches his breath. He turns to me, his eyes softening despite the blood and rage etched into his features.

“I’ve got you,” he says, his voice hoarse as he cuts the ropes binding me.

Before I can answer, Charles lets out a low, guttural laugh. He sits up, his face a bloody mess, and pulls a gun from his waistband.

“If I can’t have her,” he rasps, his voice filled with malice, “no one will.”

The world slows as he raises the gun, aiming it at me. Earl moves faster than I can comprehend. He throws himself in front of me just as the shot rings out.

“Earl!” I scream, as he collapses against me. Blood seeps through his shirt, staining my hands. Screaming, I press against the wound. My vision blurs with tears.

“Oh my God, no,” I say, I can’t say even a word again, tears pouring from my eyes. “Oh my God. Oh my God. No.”

“You’re going to be okay,” I swear to Earl, my voice breaking. “You’re going to be okay.”

Charles remains slumped on the ground, his face swollen and bloodied, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. He tries to push himself up, but his arms give out, his strength failing him. His eyes are wild, darting between me and Earl, filled with equal parts fury and desperation.

The gun trembles in his hand, the metallic barrel catching the light and sending chills down my spine. I barely dare to breathe, frozen in place as the room becomes a pressure cooker of tension. Earl stirs in my arms, his face pale and his breaths shallow, but his focus remains locked on Charles.

The distant wail of sirens grows louder, slicing through the suffocating silence. Relief should wash over me, but it doesn’t. The danger isn’t over—not yet. Charles’s gaze shifts toward the door as the sound draws closer, his body tensing like a cornered animal. His lips curl into a twisted smirk, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth.

“You think this is over?” he rasps, his voice hoarse and broken. He lifts the gun, its barrel wavering as his hand trembles. “You can’t take her from me. She was always mine.”

“Charles, stop!” I scream, my voice cracking with desperation. “For fucks sake stop!”

The front door bursts open with a deafening crash, and police officers flood the room, their shouts cutting through the chaos.

“Drop the weapon!” one commands. All their guns are trained on Charles.

Charles looks around wildly, his breathing frantic, sweat and blood streaking his face. For a moment, his hand lowers, and hope flickers in my chest. But then his eyes meet mine, dark and empty, and I see his resolve harden.

“If I can’t have you …” he whispers, the words trailing off as he raises the gun—not toward us, but toward himself.

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