Page 10 of Missing Piece (Neon Scars #2)

V incent wasn’t sure how long he had been sitting on the couch in the den, staring into the crackling fireplace.

He hoped there would be an answer hidden in the flames and glowing embers, but no, it was just something for him to focus on.

His phone had buzzed in his back pocket several times, but he couldn’t bring himself to check who it was.

He couldn’t look away from the fire, let alone deal with messages.

It could be something important. Luka can handle that.

He didn’t want to move yet. He couldn’t. He knew if he did, he’d end up back in that room with Adam.

The sound of Adam’s sharp little gasps were still in his head.

How hot the human’s skin got beneath his fingers, the little goosebumps that appeared when Vincent touched him, the cute way his jaw clenched before he spoke, like he was trying so hard not to say something that might get him knocked around.

Usually, he would have enjoyed putting a little more fear into a human in captivity, but now he was forcing himself to go through the motions.

Someone like Adam was a rarity, unique in his brazenness and tough-on-the-outside attitude that didn’t fold when away from public view.

He would have loved to try and break him in the past, even if it meant scrapping him in the end and dumping the body in an abandoned cornfield for the crows to feast on.

For some reason, the thought of doing that to Adam soured his stomach. It didn’t feel right.

Then again, nothing had felt right to him for a long time.

“You have the look,” came Petrov’s thickly accented voice from the kitchen.

Vincent didn’t look away from the fireplace. “What look?” he asked, his cheek twitching with irritation. He still wanted to be alone with his empty mind.

“The ‘I fucked up’ look,” Petrov’s voice moved closer. “So did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Fuck up?”

Vincent exhaled slowly, forcing himself to turn away from the fire as Petrov settled on the couch across from him.

A stack of papers landed on the coffee table, the scent of frying oil wafting off them in a way that made Vincent’s nostrils flare with irritation.

He hated when Petrov or Matteo brought their work home.

It always reeked of French fries and grease from the diner they ran together.

He had tried to convince them to go into some other business, something with less smells, but Matteo was obsessed with cooking human food and Petrov liked the idea of interacting with people on a daily basis.

He still wished they had chosen something more upscale than a 24-hour diner.

“I don’t know,” he said, raking his hand through his hair.

“Is he still alive?” Petrov asked, leaning his imposing figure forward. He was an oddity compared to his twin brothers: bigger, taller, his face weathered enough that he could pass for their father, despite being only a decade older when they were all turned.

“Yes, he’s fine. Eating I think,” Vincent said, tension creeping into his shoulders.

“Then what’s wrong?”

Vincent scrubbed his hands over his face, stretching the skin on his cheeks downward as he avoided Petrov’s dark, judgmental eyes.

He didn’t even want to say it aloud. Luka and Matteo would tease him, make fun of him, and do their creepy silent twin thing, but they would dance around the subject and grant him some reprieve, if only for a moment.

“I kissed him,” he said, shaking his head as though he could erase the memory of how good the human tasted.

“You kissed him? And you are upset?”

Vincent’s cheek twitched again. “Yes, Petrov, I am very fucking upset,” he snapped, slamming his fist down on his knee. “He was just lying there, and he looked so fucking perfect and I just…kissed him.”

Petrov pursed his lips, looking up towards the ceiling like he always did when he was searching for the right words. “Well…did he like it? Did he kiss back?”

“God, what kind of question is that? I mean—yeah, he kissed me back, but—fuck, I don’t know if he liked it. He could just be playing along so I let him go.” Vincent got to his feet, moving over to the fireplace where he had left Adam’s clothes to dry. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to go.”

“Did you use the horny fingers?”

When Vincent turned around, Petrov was wiggling his fingers in the air at him.

He scowled. “I hate when you call it that, and no, I didn’t use my ability on him.

At least not on purpose? I may have let it slip when I fed on him, but not enough for it to linger almost two days later,” Vincent said as he paced in front of the fireplace.

“And it may have slipped a little when I kissed him, but not enough to force a reaction like that. He would be in there furiously masturbating if I had.”

Petrov flashed a crooked grin. “And how do you know he is not doing that right now?”

“We’d hear it.” They both paused, letting the silence cut through their conversation as they listened for anything from the room. “Yeah, no, he’s not doing that, so it didn’t slip that much.”

Petrov nodded slowly, stroking his chin. “So we ignore the fact you let it slip, correct?”

Vincent tensed, the predator in him scratching at his chest, trying to come out and show Petrov how unhappy he was with that questioning. He sucked in a deep breath through his nose. “It’s been a while,” he said, narrowing his eyes at Petrov.

“And he is meant to be trial, yes? You’ve never taken this path with trial before, not even with—”

“I’m aware,” Vincent snapped, not wanting him to finish that thought.

He knew he was going against the way he usually did things—the way he was taught.

He didn’t need Petrov to remind him of why he stopped trialing humans in the first place and resorted to the blood bags with the occasional warm meal over the last few years.

He didn’t like to think about it.

“I am just saying, if your gut says do different, then do different this time,” Petrov shrugged.

‘Do different’. Vincent wanted to laugh.

How could he do things differently? He had done things the exact same way for decades.

It had always worked for him. He had never not wanted to break a human before.

But the thought of breaking Adam bothered him, even if he did look pretty when he had tears in his eyes.

It was a feeling entirely foreign to him. He wanted to hurt him because that was what he was supposed to do, right? But on the other hand, Vincent wanted to make him feel better. The darkness coiled inside him wanted Adam to feel better. That didn’t make sense.

None of this makes sense.

His device buzzed again in his back pocket. He rolled his eyes and pulled it out, playing his favorite game of ‘which dancers need to change their schedule last minute’. They weren’t even open tonight. All he expected was a delivery from Chicago, and Luka was already at the club to handle that.

He let out a small huff as he pulled up his messages. It was his niece.

Brat: Uncle Vinny, call me ASAP.

Brat: Vin, seriously. It’s important.

Brat: Dude, seriously? Pick up your phone.

Brat: OMG asshole

Brat: Do I need to call Dad?

Brat: VINCENT. RESPOND. 911. EMERGENCY. EXTRA BAD THING. HELLO?!?!

“What?” Petrov asked, noticing Vincent’s expression had suddenly changed.

He was already raising the device to his ear as he dialed her number.

It only managed to ring once before she answered.

“Jesus Christ, Uncle Vinny, what the fuck? You have to be the worst emergency contact in my contacts. Like seriously, I could be dead and disemboweled with how long it took you to answer,” she deadpanned.

“Well, are you dead and disemboweled?” Vincent asked, unable to prevent a smile from spreading across his face.

She would be a good distraction. Ophelia always made him smile, even when she was in a bad enough mood to begin plotting some sort of nightmarish revenge idea that tended to involve ordering live animals online to be delivered to his house.

The bats living in his attic were a testament to that.

“No, but when the rest of the family finds out, I might be,” Ophelia snapped at him. “Has no one texted you about Cliff?”

“I don’t think so. What’s wrong with him? Did he get mugged again?”

“You could say that,” Ophelia said. “Cliff is nursing a disgusting sunburn on Tariq’s couch right now.”

“How bad?” Vincent pressed. He placed the call on speaker and motioned for Petrov to move closer.

“If he were human, I’d say third-degree burns. He’s tearing through our back stock just to get the skin on his hands to grow back,” she said.

“Let me talk to him,” a gentle voice with a slight accent said in the background.

“I got it,” she said.

“Child, hand me the phone.”

“Ugh, fine. Dad wants to talk to you,” Ophelia groaned.

“Thanks darling,” Vincent said as he heard the handset passing hands. It sounded like she was feigning a gag at the term of affection in the background, making him chuckle despite receiving the news. “You there Marcus?”

“I’m here. She was being honest, Cliff is in bad shape. ”

“What happened?” Petrov asked.

“Cliff pulled over to wait out the sun at a rest stop between here and Joliet after he did his pickups. He called for help and when Tariq got to him, the whole truck was on fire, and everything was destroyed,” Marcus said.

“It looked like they stole the beer,” chimed Tariq from the background.

“And the blood?” Vincent demanded, casting a worried glance toward Petrov.

“Destroyed,” Marcus said, his tone grim. Vincent could hear a tinge of anger in his old friend’s words. Now that was rare. Marcus always seemed to be the most level-headed of the vampires in their little city. Probably because he was nearly a hundred years older than the rest of them.