Page 20 of Missing Piece (Neon Scars #2)

F ingertips. Cool fingertips. They brushed across his forehead, gently rousing him awake in a way that stirred a long-forgotten sense of comfort.

Somewhere safe. Somewhere he could just be without feeling like he constantly needed to be ready for a fight.

They traced his cheek and jaw, and he moved his face closer, wanting more of the gentle touch on his skin.

Adam heard himself muttering something incomprehensible, but he didn’t bother to try deciphering it.

His head hurt and the bed was soft and warm.

He could stay there forever, with those gentle fingers on his skin.

Opening his eyes and waking up would mean coming back to a world that was far less pleasant.

“Wake up, Adam.”

There he was. The voice of the beautiful monster that drifted in and out of his dreams like a nightmare he wanted to have every night.

And he did. And unlike the withdrawal fever dreams that manifested every sort of horror his drug-damaged brain could conjure, he never tried to force himself to wake up when Vincent showed up in his dreams. He let the monster do whatever he wanted and never said no, allowing Vincent to grab at him, bite him, choke him, bend him over and fuck him like some sort of rabid animal.

And Adam was quiet, obedient, and docile.

Like a pet.

The ache in the back of his skull worsened. Somehow louder. He wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep even if he wanted to. He kept his eyes closed and batted at the hand touching him. “Get away from me.” He meant to sound more forceful, but his voice had no weight behind it.

“You usually sleep so restlessly, but you’ve been content today,” Vincent said. There was a softness to his voice, like he was being gentle on purpose.

But that wouldn’t make sense, would it? Vincent had knocked him unconscious after a blowjob so amazing it made the stars seem to dim.

And that time Adam wasn’t even sure what he did wrong.

“You can fuck all the way off,” Adam mumbled.

He turned over, facing away from Vincent and bracing for whatever was going to come. He was being rude, after all.

He just didn’t want to have Vincent’s actual face be the first thing he saw when he did open his eyes.

It was one thing to look at him before the previous night happened.

Now? No. He had already been punched, slapped, bitten, and humiliated.

He didn’t want to see whatever horrid grin lived on Vincent’s lips.

Why am I the one who’s embarrassed? It’s not like I blew him .

But he had also babbled a string of nonsense at Vincent the night before like a virgin discovering masturbation for the first time and that shit was embarrassing.

Logically, he knew it was because it had been a while and that getting sober had fucked up his sex drive. But it was something deeper. More raw .

It was his weakness. His uncanny ability to always give in to the grossest, deepest parts of him looking for instant pleasure and instant gratification that had allowed Vincent to touch him like that.

It was the same part of him that hid behind pills for years, that part that hurt others so he could feel superior.

The same part of him that hadn’t been changed one iota since getting sober.

Vincent’s body pressed up against his back, one of his hands pressing against Adam’s chest as though to feel his heartbeat. “You would turn away after we had such a lovely night together?” Vincent’s hand drifted lower, pausing to rest on his stomach. “You wound me, Adam.”

Adam’s eyes snapped open, staring at the wood-paneled wall as he tried to figure out if the twisting ache in his gut was another rush of horniness or the desire to flip back over and break Vincent’s nose again.

Probably both. “Back off,” he said. As much as his logical brain told him he should smack Vincent’s hand away, he didn’t move. He just…waited.

The anticipation was going to kill him faster than being a vampire snack would.

The familiar push and pull in his head made his skin tingle.

Just like talking himself out of flushing his last stash of oxys, reasons for not immediately trying to stop Vincent piled up on pro and con sides, divided down the center of his brain.

He knew how things would stack up. They always stacked up on the pro-side of the most destructive and stupid choice.

Because that was what he always did. Make stupid and destructive choices.

“Do you really want me to?” Vincent asked, his voice hushed, almost a whisper as he pressed harder into Adam’s back.

Oh God, those hips . They pressed into his lower back, a slight circular movement that only hinted at the things they could do.

Unrestrained possibilities danced in his mind.

Adam shuddered. He was truly an example of the weakest version of a human.

Was he really ready to forgive all of this for a temporary thrill?

You don’t have to forgive him. Hate-fuck him. Make him think you forgive him. Then escape, he told himself. It was a lie. Blatant and crude. But he had always been a good liar, particularly when it came to lying to himself.

“What if I don’t want to?” Vincent muttered. His hand slipped a few inches lower, resting along the waistband of Adam’s pants.

Pants! He couldn’t believe it had taken him so long to notice.

He was dressed again. Which meant that Vincent had dressed him at some point while he was unconscious.

He tried not to imagine what that must have looked like.

Or if the brothers had helped. Imagining so many strange hands touching his body made his stomach churn.

Adam sat up quickly, pushing Vincent’s hand away from his waist as he did. “I’m up,” he grumbled, swinging his legs over the side of the bed to keep his back to Vincent.

His right leg felt heavier for the first time in a week.

Adam yanked up his pant leg, his mind trying to make sense of his prosthetic suddenly snapped back into place.

Had Vincent done that as well? Two pairs of socks had been rolled over the prosthetic sleeve, just the right thickness he needed for the remaining portion of his calf to fit snugly in the socket.

He never told Vincent how his prosthetic worked, let alone the fact that he needed to layer socks to make up for the shrinking muscle mass in his stump.

“How did you know?” he asked, unable to tear his eyes away from his restored foot.

Vincent rested his head on Adam’s shoulder, peeking over him to look down at the device. “I looked up how to put one of those on,” he said nonchalantly. “They’re not as simple as they look and I prefer to do things correctly the first time.”

Adam released the pant leg, letting it fall back into place to hide his disfigurement. He didn’t know what to make of that. Again, it seemed like kindness. But kindness from his captor was fleeting, subject to change on a whim. Still… “Thank you,” Adam said.

Vincent’s lips brushed his ear. “You’re welcome.”

Adam’s body hummed with awareness of Vincent’s proximity.

He knew Vincent wasn’t oblivious to the effect he had on him, especially when he murmured in his ear like that.

Adam had to exert every ounce of self-control to prevent himself from reacting.

He needed to keep a clear head, especially now that Vincent had unexpectedly moved up the timeline by returning his foot.

All it cost was an intimate moment under the stars, a moment that could’ve been much worse. Adam had certainly compromised himself more for less in the past.

“Why are you so insistent I wake up? You usually just leave me in here,” Adam asked, rubbing the back of his head.

“We have things to tend to today,” Vincent said as he pulled away.

“Such as?” he asked as he planted both feet on the ground.

He had only been over a week without his foot and yet his prosthetic felt foreign and strange.

The weight distribution felt off, and he had to concentrate on each step in a way he hadn’t needed to in years.

Perhaps he had gotten used to hopping around and relying on balance alone.

He literally used it every chance he got after it was fitted.

Even when his skin was rubbed raw and his joints ached, even after all the physical therapy and occupational therapists told him he needed to let his leg breathe.

He just endured the discomfort and pain until he could medicate it. Anything to be whole.

And it seemed like after six years of fighting against the simple fact that was his body, he was getting used to his missing piece.

Out of an abundance of caution, he kept a hand on the nightstand as he rose to his feet, the prosthetic clicking loudly as he shifted his weight onto it.

“Is it supposed to make that noise?” Vincent asked as he moved around the bed and held his hand out to Adam.

“It does this for a little while after I put it back on.” He didn’t want to take Vincent’s hand.

He didn’t want the help, and he really didn’t want more of that weirdly cool, soft skin on his own again.

He was already struggling to push away the arousal he woke up with and the intrusive memories of the night before.

The thought of those hands touching him, feeling him, that mouth full of sharp fangs tasting him…

A shudder ran through him as he tried to fight the tingle in his lower abdomen.

The loud knock at the door made him flinch. Vincent rolled his eyes and grabbed Adam’s hand. “Yes?” he called.

“Can you hurry the fuck up? I’m bored,” a high-pitched voice said from the door. “And I swear to God if I open this door and I see your ass I’m going to stab you.”

Vincent huffed in amusement. “I’d like to see you try. ”

The door flew open and Adam stepped back, grabbing Vincent’s hand instinctively to keep from losing his balance.

Adam looked from the young woman standing in the doorway to Vincent, who seemed unfazed, back to the young woman.

She held a hand up, flipping open a switchblade.

For a moment, Adam thought she had to be another vampire, but that didn’t seem right.

There was something even more unsettling about the expression on her face, worse than the first time he saw black eyes and fangs.

She had a round face, almost doll-like in proportions, but it was her big brown eyes that seemed to suck the light out of the room, her expression blank as she cocked her head at him.

There was nothing behind those eyes. No surprise. No curiosity. Not even boredom like she said. Just nothing.

Whatever she was, he needed to stay very far away from her.

Vincent yanked him forward. “Come meet my niece,” he said.

Adam tried to ignore his clicking leg as he was led back out into the den, his face flushed and hot.

Maybe it was from the embarrassment of his leg, or the way the woman’s creepy blank eyes studied him as they walked, seeming to take in everything about him and nothing at the same time.

Or maybe it was the way the inside of his jeans was already chafing his dick.

Vincent had destroyed his boxer briefs the night before and he was suddenly very aware of how scratchy the inside of the zipper could be.

“You introduce all the people you kidnap to your family?” Adam asked sarcastically.

Vincent laughed. “You’re the first,” he said as he released Adam’s hand. “‘Phelia, keep an eye on him while I grab a few things.”

The young woman nodded before she pulled her phone out of her oversized hoodie.

Vincent disappeared towards the foyer, leaving them standing near one of the couches a few feet from each other.

She was short. Really short once Adam realized some of her height was just the explosion of brass-colored curls that made up her hair.

She just looked so bored, like she couldn’t be bothered with the information that she was standing next to a guy who had more than a foot on her and easily a hundred pounds.

If Adam had no reservations about striking a woman, he could have knocked her out before she ever saw it coming. But that didn’t seem right, even in his desire to escape, and she still held a switchblade between her hand and her phone, like a casual threat.

“You gonna keep staring at me or ask a question?” she asked without looking up from her phone, tapping away with her thumbs.

Adam took a step back. Her voice was another unsettling thing. It matched her features, but not her demeanor. “What are you?” he asked.

A faint smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she glanced up at him. “You’re blunt. I like that,” she said. “Show me your hands.”

“What?”

“Show me your hands.”

Adam furrowed his brow, trying to figure out what she was getting at. Did she think he had a weapon? He held his hands out, turning them over a few times.

“You still have all your fingernails. Interesting,” she said before turning her attention back to her phone. “First off, my name is Ophelia. Second, I am human.”

“Is that actually your uncle?” Adam’s eyes went between the foyer and the knife in her hand.

He’d be an idiot not to consider taking it, but her nonchalance and overall stoic demeanor kept his imagination of a great escape at bay.

Every scenario that flashed in his mind ended with the knife in his neck.

“No, but things like family take on different meanings with us,” she said. “Also, if you keep looking at my knife I’m going to give you a real close-up view of it that you will not like.”

“Sorry,” Adam mumbled, looking away from her. Even if she wasn’t a vampire, there was something deeply wrong with her.

Vincent reappeared in the room, holding Adam’s sneakers. “You’ll need these.”

“What’s going on?” Adam asked as he took the shoes.

“Are you sure you need to take him along? I’d prefer for this to wait,” Vincent said to Ophelia, as though he hadn’t heard Adam’s question.

“I’m telling you, there was something weird about how they staged that house.

The other two weren’t like that, and someone like your pet has just the set of eyes I need to figure out why,” Ophelia said.

She didn’t even acknowledge Adam as he slipped the shoes on.

“There’s an hour till sunset, if you get too worried about him, you can meet us out there and help. ”

Vincent held out a set of car keys. “Take the truck, I don’t trust you to drive my car. You just got your license.”

“Oh, fuck off, Uncle Vinny. I’ve been driving since I was twelve,” she said as she snatched the keys from his hand. She shoved her phone and the knife into her hoodie pocket and grabbed Adam’s wrist.

A dam winced, stumbling forward as she dragged him towards the foyer. “What is going on?” he asked, looking back to Vincent for an explanation.

“I’ll explain on the way,” Ophelia said as she pulled open the front door.