Page 2 of Missing Piece (Neon Scars #2)

Adam took the opportunity to study him more closely.

He was stupidly good-looking, with a strong jaw lined with stubble, neatly styled blond hair that made him look a lot like an actor he couldn’t remember the name of, and his impossibly blue eyes confident and unwavering as they looked right into his own.

There was something darkly enticing about his gaze.

If Adam had any space left in his head for desire between his hair-trigger fits of anger and his apathy, he might have even flirted with the guy for another round.

But that ship had long ago sailed. “Adam Nolan,” he replied.

“Welcome, Adam Nolan, to Wild Side. I’m Vincent Bellenger, the owner of the club.” He held his hand out.

Adam looked down at his hand, deciding in that moment he didn’t really feel like touching anyone.

Even if the owner of that hand was drop-dead gorgeous.

“Nice to meet you,” he said into his glass before he poured the rest of the foul whiskey down his throat.

He winced as he set it down. “I should go get my friend.”

Vincent grinned at him, reaching beneath the counter and producing a bottle of some expensive-looking liquor. He poured another large serving into Adam’s glass. “Your friend just wandered off for a private dance,” he said. “But you’re more than welcome to wait for him here.”

Adam pushed the glass back towards Vincent. “Yeah, no, I can’t afford your fancy liquor tonight.”

“It’s on the house.” Vincent pushed the drink back towards him.

“Why? You or your buddy slip something in there?” Adam asked, peering over Vincent’s shoulder at the bearded guy. He was gone. That was odd. He was just there.

Vincent took a swig from the bottle, facing the label out so Adam could see what it was.

Shit, Johnnie Walker? Even if it is roofied, I should drink it.

I might never get a chance to drink this again.

“No fun additives, see?” Vincent smiled, revealing a smile so bright it looked more like it belonged on an airport tarmac than in some shitty establishment in the middle of bumfuck Illinois.

Adam eyed his glass for a moment before picking it up and taking a cautious sip. “You could have built up a tolerance,” he said. “Like the guy in The Princess Bride.”

Vincent chuckled. “I have a friend who would love that reference. He owns the nightclub downtown,” he said. “So tell me, what’s a cute little thing like you drinking in this place with that grumpy look on your face?”

Little? “I’m not here willingly,” Adam mumbled.

He turned to see if Robert had reappeared yet, but there was no sign of his creepy middle-aged ass.

He supposed he could make small talk with the club owner a little longer.

The guy was easy on the eyes and made it so he wasn’t too alone with his thoughts.

“Where’d your friend wander off to? He was just there a minute ago. ”

“My friend? Oh, you mean Luka. He’s the co-owner of this place. I believe he is collecting house,” Vincent said.

“House?”

“Wow, so you really don’t do the whole strip club scene, do you?” Vincent refilled Adam’s glass. “It’s a fee the dancers pay to work here.”

“Sounds like a ripoff,” Adam said, raising an eyebrow at the blond. “You trying to get me drunk?”

“You look like you can handle a lot,” he said with another brilliant smile.

Oh yeah, this guy is definitely trying to get in my pants.

He might have been charmed at some other point in his life, but he was still in the depths of a stage where he didn’t care about anything.

He straightened his back and poured what probably amounted to another four fingers of whiskey down his throat, wincing as he slammed the glass down.

It was time to smoke a cigarette and get the hell out.

He’d wait for Robert outside whenever he got done cumming in his pants.

“Thanks for the free booze, but I’m heading out,” Adam said, taking a few steps away from the bar.

“Are you injured?”

Adam blinked at him, the words taking a moment to register. “I’m sorry?”

Vincent pointed at his right leg. “You have a limp. Did you injure yourself?”

Adam scowled, pulling the hood of his hoodie up before stuffing his hands in his pockets and looking down at his tattered sneakers.

“No.” He turned away from the owner as he walked towards the front door, his face hot.

He spent years working on his gait to make sure he didn’t limp.

How the hell did that guy notice it? Too much liquor.

I have a good buzz. Maybe I let it slip?

Whatever, that guy was weird and definitely trying to get me trashed.

Try harder, buddy. Adam took a deep breath of the fall air as he exited the club, allowing it to cool his face and his nerves.

He knew he needed to relax. To stop being such a sour asshole about everything to everyone, but it was really damn difficult.

He just wanted to be a little high. Not even full-on shit-blasted like he had been for the past 4 years. Just a bit.

He walked past the smoker’s area, scrubbing his hands over his face. “Stop thinking about it,” he groaned to himself.

He should have known he was going to get caught.

He knew the moment he picked up a stash from that motherfucker V he was being set up.

The guy never dealt in anything harder than weed and the occasional tab of acid, so when he offered him a killer deal on dozens of oxys, he should have just left.

But he was too far down the rabbit hole at that point to see what was right in front of his face. A big fat set-up.

At least his parents got him a decent lawyer.

His plea deal wasn’t the best, but it would do.

He just needed to stay sober for a few years and he’d be free of the threat of jail.

Though sometimes, on late nights when he couldn’t sleep, and he was plagued with every dumb, awful thing he did when he was loaded or desperate to get there, jail sounded like heaven. At least he could get high in there.

“Stop it, you damn idiot.” He slapped his palm against his forehead as he walked along the side of the building, trying to get as far away from the other smokers as he could.

He knew he was shooting himself in the foot by thinking about it.

But it was all he thought about. All he dreamed about.

Avoiding every person he hung out with in the past, holed up in a shithole studio apartment his parents gave him when he promised he’d get clean, and trying his hand at a dozen hobbies that were supposed to help distract him.

His life was a nightmare and then some, but now there was more yarn and jigsaw puzzles involved.

He deserved it. Every second of misery he was drowning in. After all the pain he caused–

“Mr. Jovanovska, please, I don’t know what you think you saw, but it was nothing,” a woman’s voice came from behind the building, shaky and panicked.

Adam paused. It would be better to go smoke near the front of the building.

His younger self would bust his balls over walking away from what sounded like a woman in trouble, but Adam knew getting involved could only end poorly.

His presence never helped anyone, and knowing his luck, the cops would roll up and arrest him for something stupid.

He didn’t need to explain to the court why he was already screwing this up so badly.

“Please, Mr. Jovanovska, please, please let me go home. I’ll pay double house for leaving early,” the woman pleaded, a little more forcefully.

“I believe I saw you poking around where you didn’t belong,” came a familiar voice from before. Vincent. He must have left the bar at the same time as Adam to already be outside.

“Mr. Bellenger! No, that’s not it. I just lost my wallet is all. I thought I left it in the office.”

Adam placed a cigarette between his lips and pressed himself up against the wall of the building, checking what he could see of the parking lot to make sure no one was coming in his direction.

He was intrigued. His life had become very boring over the last month, and even if it was rude to eavesdrop, this was going to be more interesting than anything he had streaming at home.

Vincent laughed. “Is that so? Is that why you were raiding the fridge under the desk? You thought you put your wallet in there?”

“I-I–” the woman began.

“How about this? Let’s go look. Give Luka your bag. He’ll hold it for you out here while we go search together,” Vincent said.

Oooh, lady, whatever you were up to, you messed up. Adam curved his lips as he lit his cigarette. More than once, he had stolen someone’s wallet or purse and then pretended to help that person search for their lost item, as if it wasn’t hidden inside his jacket or down his pants .

“I’m not giving him my purse,” she replied, a little more confidence and depth to her voice than before. “Look, I’ll get out of your hair, okay? I won’t even come back.”

“There it is,” Vincent said, sounding amused. “Give me your purse.”

Adam found himself inching closer to the corner of the building, wanting to get a closer view of the confrontation.

He knew it was a bad idea, but it’s not like a bad idea had ever stopped him before.

He just needed to stay far enough away that he could bail on the situation if things got to the point where cops were called.

He was tipsy, but he had successfully run away from the cops in much worse states plenty of times.

“Go screw yourself,” she snapped.

“Such coarse language from such a pretty face, even when you look like that.” Vincent was laughing, but it wasn’t a warm laugh. “So, which group of idiots are you with?”

There was a long pause. “L’Ordre du Nouveau Soleil.”

“Oh, sweet baby Jesus in a basket. Are you kidding me? No, what are you doing? Stay,” Vincent was laughing still, that same laugh that made Adam squirm.