Page 106 of My Darling Mayhem

We stepped around another corner, a long corridor greeted us, and nothing but silence.

I whispered in return, “Why was your upbringing different?”

Weren’t they all raised together?

Presley walked a few steps and then replied, “My dad…it’s hard to explain but he and Mom never had a boy, they just had me. I liked the training though…my uncle Scotty did most of it. He used to work for some of the most gruesome Mob bosses alive. Took my dad with him when he was little, was essentially a second father to him. When my dad was old enough, the twoof them turned against a pretty big player, and then just kept taking from everyone else on the board. He changed things in a significant way…so much so that we’ve never really walked away from it. The entire operation…it’s not really El Peligro anymore. Juan handed that over to my dad years ago and came under the umbrella of his family. He allowed Juan to operate El Peligro as a charity for those who needed it, but my dad is the one who runs it.”

Her information swirled in my head, confusing me but also helped connect a few dots.

“But I thought Kingston and Gio were the new leaders.”

Presley let out a small scoff. “They’re trying to protect me.”

“From what?”

We rounded another corner and suddenly a loud gun shot rang out, echoing all around us. Presley pulled me back just in time for the bullet to land in the wall across from us. We waited for more shots, but none came. Presley crept around the corner to be sure no one was there and once it was clear, she waved me over.

She smiled at me from over her shoulder. “No one else sees it as their attempt at protection, but no one else knows them like I do.”

Another shout rang out down the corridor, which had Presley freezing then picking up the pace again.

“Come on, I think we’re close.”

The tunnels poured into a large garage that held several tactical vehicles and a wall full of weapons. An additional room with tactical gear was next to a platform. Presley ran for the platform, aiming for the door at the top. I followed her, trying to process who we might find on the other side.

Was I really going to do this and possibly get myself killed?

Where was Archer? had my nephews killed him? Had my brother helped? I hoped beyond hope that he was safe and on hisway to me. That he’d show up and take us home, that we could put all this behind us like a bad dream. That I could forget this insanely dangerous life that my brother led with these friends of his.

This was madness, and I wanted as far away from it as possible.

I pushed my eyes closed and kept moving, knowing deep down I had to do this for him. I had to get Kane to safety and trust that Juan would be sure he and Cruz were kept safe. Although if they were left in his charge, I had to wonder how the two of them would end up if his sons, King and Gio, were anything to go by.

Presley was at the door but paused momentarily and looked back at me.

“Get your gun out. Keep it aimed at the ground, keep your eyes open. I don’t want you to get shot. In fact, maybe you should stay here.”

I pushed closer. “No, I’m going.”

It wasn’t a gun that I pulled; it was two knives that I had found amidst the myriad of weapons that Presley had offered me.

She glanced down and smiled. “Just like Juan, he trained me to use them too, but I’m better with a gun. How many of those do you have on you?”

My fingers shook as I gripped the blade, ignoring how long it had been since I’d thrown one. The memory of a black handle sinking directly into a target flashed back. Once upon a time, I was a really good aim.

“I have four.”

Presley gave me a brisk nod. “Good. Remember to aim for the neck, or the hand if they’re shooting. But the neck would be better. I took out his men. I don’t think he has more, but he could. We might be walking into a really dangerous situation.”

“He’ll use Kane against us. Try to use him as a shield,” I explained, still trying to remember how I used to grasp the handle and what my father used to say when he’d correct me.

Hold it like this, Henrietta. Looser here, then flick your wrist.

“Then let’s make it so he can’t. The little guy is how old?”

Presley began adjusting her rifle scope. It was a newer model of what, I had no clue, but it was sleek in design with slate black knobs and grooves.

“He’s five.” My mouth was dry as I tried to swallow.

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