Page 95 of My Darling Mayhem

Taylor had tears in her eyes. "Right? I know there's an age difference, but you could be twins."

The mention of twins had my stomach souring. I wanted to comment on them. I wanted to share what horrors they'd done, but then I pictured her doing the same thing to me, talking about Cruz, and I couldn't stomach speaking poorly of her kids to her.

"Well, come inside, Juan called and told me you'd be staying for a bit. I have two rooms for you, ready to go. The boys are in one together, but you'll be right next to them." Taylor led the way down a long hallway.

Off to the side were two sets of staircases that led to a separate part of the house. Through the middle was a large area strewn with chairs, couches, and a relatively long table. We just kept walking until we went down a set of steps. The floors were some kind of marble, waxed so nicely I could see my reflection on them. The drop from the stairs led to a platform that transitioned into a living space.

Thick rugs were laid out. A large sectional sofa faced a rather vast entertainment system. Matching armchairs were off to the side, framing a circular coffee table with glass candle holdersand melted white tapers inside. Pictures were scattered all along the walls.

I tried to catch what I could as we walked. Alex was in several of them; she was next to a girl with reddish brown hair, bright green eyes, and a happy smile. She seemed a few years younger than Alex, but the two seemed to appear together in nearly every picture.

I moved over to the images where Alex was with two younger brothers. She held each one in her arms and smiled down at them. Taylor and Juan held the boys while Alex sat between them, smiling like she was the luckiest girl on the planet. The boys in diapers.

My eyes watered. I had missed so much of his life, of their lives.

Now, it seemed I had been wrong about Juan. The sorrow cut deep into my heart, making guilt flare.

I kept walking, taking in all I could of these lives I had missed, only to pause in front of a particular image. The picture was recent; Alex was the age she is now, and Gio and Kingston looked the same. Next to Gio was that girl with reddish brown hair, but Gio's eyes and Kingston's were on another girl. One with dark hair braided into a crown on top of her head. She had bruises on her face and on her hands like a fighter would. Her smile was infectious as she leaned into the girl with reddish hair, but the boys… were transfixed by her. I was curious why they'd hang this photo when it clearly would have been one of the outtakes, one that would cause you to take another, so everyone would be looking at the camera.

Assuming Taylor was nearby, I asked, "Who is this?"

There was something about the photo that was hauntingly painful. An ache seemed trapped in the photo, begging to be released.

I startled when I heard a male voice speak up behind me. "That's Presley."

The man I had seen in the window stood behind me, and I realized I'd lost Taylor, Alex, and my mother. Cruz and Kane had followed along with them as I hung back by the pictures.

My finger traced over my nephews' faces, their eyes glued to this girl.

Then I whispered the only thing that kept circling my mind. "They both love her."

The man moved closer. "Took you two seconds to realize something that took them nineteen years to figure out."

Nineteen years.

That's how old my nephews were.

I suddenly felt like I was stepping into pain that was none of my business. Something had obviously happened to Gio and Kingston. Something that transformed them from the happy teenage boys in these photos to the monsters that appeared in my living room.

"Is she…" I didn't know how to ask because what if something had happened?

The man seemed to know what I was asking. "Is she alive?"

My feet shifted until I was facing him. It seemed too painful to keep watching something that looked so intimate.

The man’s features were sharp and angular. He had green eyes, similar to the girl I'd seen in the photo, with reddish brown hair. Thin brown hair was messily styled on top of a balding head. His clothes were dark, nondescript, and plain. There was nothing notable about this man other than something that felt like a thrum of danger that seemed to radiate from him. His intense gaze remained on the photo as he replied.

“The twins' mother chose that photo. She wanted it hung where they'd always be able to see what they did to this family.Taylor speaks in ways that require no words. The boys spoke back by leaving the house shortly after she hung it.”

I noticed he wasn't answering me if the girl was alive or not.

"Something happened to them?"

The man glanced at me; his scrutiny felt like someone had placed me in the sights of a sniper. "You met them."

I nodded. "They're why I had to leave."

"You left alive?"

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