Page 105 of Haunted Prey

It was her turn to put up her hand.

Lez rubbed his chin and throat. He glanced at Dom then back at me, giving a low grunt. “Fine.”

I took a seat at one end and Leslie took a seat at the other with Dom still leaning against the counter behind him. Lena moved by the door with Emery standing guard against the doorframe.

Like Micheal, I asked them to give an account of their childhood. I knew some things already from their file, but I wanted to hear it in their words.

They only knew their mother for a short time. They never knew of their father. Like Micheal, their mother neglected them, falling on hard drugs until she overdosed some time around their sixth birthdays. They knew she was of Mexican descent while their father they determined was European of some kind but only because of a DNA test the foster care had them take years ago. Still, they were never told who their father was and were forced to speculate.

“Probably some rich asshole that our mother worked for,” Lez mentioned. “Got her knocked up then kicked her to the curb.”

They had no other family and often wondered if it was because their mother had run away at a young age—possibly to be with their father. After her death, they were placed in the system, bouncing from one foster family to another.

Dominic had always been quiet, though far from perfect. He got into his share of trouble—stealing, running off without telling anyone, and causing minor mischief. Leslie, on the other hand, was a full-blown troublemaker. He was constantly in fights for disturbing pranks, like stuffing a bag of cockroaches into a teacher’s coat after being punished or setting his room on fire, though he swore it wasn’t intentional.

“We got traded from one family to another from age six to eight. One foster dad made us work in the garage of his car service business for no pay. That’s when we learned the basics on fixing cars,” he explained, laughing a little. “That’s when we hotwired our first car and attempted to drive it. We barely made it out of the parking lot before we crashed into a sign, remember, Dom?”

“At eight?” I said, shocked.

Dom signed something, and Lez translated. “We were quick learners. Still took us several tries to even hotwire it on our own, from what we can remember. Dom swiped one of our foster dad’s notebooks and found instructions there. Safe to say, he wasn’t thrilled when he found out—we got kicked back into the system after that.

"When we were nine, we got separated for the first time. Dom ended up with this creepy couple. I got stuck with some crazy militant bitch and her spineless husband, along with four other foster kids. I was the worst with her, though. She wasridiculously strict, and I was determined to find a way back to Dom.”

Lez shifted in his seat, the memory visibly uncomfortable for him to recount. “She thought sending me to some ‘troubled youth’ camp one summer would fix me up. She was dead wrong. It was just a place where kids got abused. One almost died before I stepped in. Lost ten pounds in a week. Crazy thing is, that was only the second-worst experience of my childhood. Would’ve been number one if not for the warehouse.”

After running away repeatedly, the twins reunited in the foster care system—only to end up under Martel’s control. That’s when things got worse. They were sent to the warehouse, where they stayed for years. Dom lost his voice there. Lez lost his sanity, even cutting off part of his ear before they stopped him.

Eventually, the twins were released—not because of mercy, but because they became unmanageable. Lez kept self-harming, and Dom started having what Lez called "berserker moments.” Dom destroyed equipment, even broke down the door to his room. The staff couldn’t contain them no matter how hard they tried. They let them go after realizing they’d lost control.

“After they tossed us to the streets, we ran off and got involved in a local gang. Started going up the ranks real quick when they learned all the shit we could do to break into cars. Would drive around stolen cars, got into juvie several times for that. But those were fun years, weren’t they, Dom?”

He nodded in agreement.

“We had our share of psychotic moments. Especially from the drugs,” he continued. “It’s rough some days, if we get triggered by something or have a week of bad dreams. But we're surviving.”

“Thank you for telling me,” I said, saving what I wrote. I happened to look over at Lena whose face was ashen. When she glanced at Lez, I thought I saw a look of pity in her eyes.

I turned my gaze to Emery whose expression was dark. I could imagine the memories he was trying to keep away that were triggered by their story.

“Now that’s done with.” Lez moved off his seat and toward the counter and picked up a black-coated knife. He pointed it at Lena. “Come here and I’ll show you how to throw one of these.”

Lena’s eyes widened. “Um, don’t think I’ll be able to do that from my seat—”

“Oh, you will.”

Lena glanced at me and rolled her eyes. “Psycho,” she whispered as she moved past me.

“You sure you’re okay?” I asked.

“I’ll be fine. Hopefully, Andrea will save me soon and I can get my phone back.”

“We’ll make sure of it.”

Reluctantly, I left Lena with them, knowing trust needed to go both ways. “Now for the hardest one,” I said as I stood by Emery in the hallway. I glanced over at Cassidy’s room. “You think she’ll scream at me if I knock on her door?”

“Only one way to find out.”

I took a deep breath and walked toward her room. I hesitated only for a second before knocking.

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