Page 21 of Missing Piece (Neon Scars #2)

“ I ’m not going to drive us off the road, so you can move that,” Adam said through his teeth, trying to catch a glimpse of a cherub-faced demon holding a very sharp knife over his jugular.

“Eyes on the road, sweetie,” she taunted, pressing the tip of the blade into the side of his neck hard enough to make him flinch.

“I don’t know what the fuck you have going on with you, but the fact that you’re this coherent after spending a week with Vincent lets me know I should be cautious with you. ”

Adam took a deep breath, his eyes scanning the country road for any sign of other cars in the distance.

It was desolate, and even as good as the sun felt on his skin, he felt as if he was driving towards his own doom.

Not to mention the small psycho in the passenger seat next to him, ready to cut his throat every time he shifted gears on the ancient rumbling heap she was making him drive.

Escape was so close, yet so far away. How could he be doing exactly what he planned—driving away from Vincent’s house—and still feel trapped? She has a weapon. You don’t. This is the same as dealing with the vampire. Play along.

But playing along seemed harder. He didn’t know this person. All he knew was that she was a human amongst vampires. What sort of twisted stuff was she into that she got along with a family of vampires?

Was she taking him somewhere to dispose of him?

Had Vincent asked her to do this? Was his final resting place going to be a cornfield in the middle of bumfuck nowhere Illinois?

When he had imagined death coming for him, it was usually in a drug-fueled haze.

Somewhere fun like a night club or a house party. Not buried amongst the fucking corn.

“Where are we going?” Adam forced himself to soften his tone. For some reason, he had a feeling that she might respond better to being a bit demurer. After all, if she was Vincent’s niece, she probably had a similar intolerance to his bullshit.

“Larry and Viola Whitman’s farm. It’s another six miles on this road. On the right,” she said. “They’re dead, and I need you to help me find something.”

Adam pursed his lips. He wasn’t expecting that. Was this some sort of trick? A way to lull him into being more comfortable before she cut his throat? Because mentioning someone else’s death certainly wasn’t the way to do that. “Find what?”

She shrugged. “Not sure yet, my dad didn’t want me messing with the scene too much, but there’s something there. I need someone who is good at hiding shit to help me find whatever the douchebags who killed the old folks hid in there.”

“What makes you think I can help you find it?”

“You’re a former junkie, right? So, you know how to hide shit when you need to,” she deadpanned as if it were the most logical conclusion anyone could have come to .

His hands tightened on the steering wheel, the cracked and torn leather poking his palms. No one gets to call me a junkie. Only I get to call me that. “And that monster just let you borrow me for that? Does he owe you a favor?”

“No, no favors. He just doesn’t say no to me.” She sounded like she was smiling, but Adam didn’t want to risk the tip of the knife going further into his skin by trying to look at her again. She was already pressing hard into his neck. Enough so that if they hit a pothole he was definitely fucked.

“Aren’t you worried about leaving your DNA all over a murder scene?” Adam asked.

“Nope, we’re gonna burn it down when we’re done.

” She pulled the knife away from his neck as she began to rummaging around in a bag at her feet.

“You smoke, right? Let’s make a deal. You chill out so I can relax and I’ll give you a cigarette.

What’s your preference? Menthol? Marlboro man? Whatever the fuck a number 27 is?”

“Why do you just have a bag full of different cigarettes?”

“I stole them from the cigarette machine at Vincent’s club,” she said before she started tapping one of the green boxes against the dashboard. “You look like a menthol guy.”

“You’re right,” Adam admitted. “Can I have one now?”

She unwrapped the pack and pulled out a cigarette. “Open,” she commanded.

It felt awkward having her place the cigarette between his lips and light it for him, but as soon as the smoke filled his lungs he relaxed.

He didn’t even mind the silence between them as he drove.

With a cigarette in hand and the window cracked, there was a growing sense of ease.

He had never been one to stay quiet in even the tensest of situations, always running off at the mouth like some lunatic who couldn’t handle a moment of silence.

Because silence meant thinking and thinking meant introspection.

Still, there was something freeing about this.

Just driving into a cornfield oblivion, not worried about when his next piss test was or having to spend his entire morning in traffic court as a punishment for showing up five minutes late to a drug court meeting.

Now the only pressure he was under was the urge to not die or go insane by the end of his ordeal with the vampire.

But that seemed like nothing compared to his never-ending appointments and reminders of where he needed to be and for what.

Being captive, he was finally just able to exist.

“This right here,” Ophelia said, pointing at the first house that came into view as they reached the top of a small hill.

There were still tire tracks in the front lawn as Adam pulled into the gravel driveway, some looking fresh and others old and worn from years of someone parking their car on it.

The house itself didn’t look half bad, the front porch adorned with large fake deer of varying sizes and potted plants drooping in the rapidly cooling October weather.

Strips of police tape fluttered in the wind, still tied to either side of the porch.

It didn’t look ominous, just sad.

“Let’s go,” Ophelia said as Adam parked the truck. She held out her hand.

It took Adam a moment to realize what she was waiting for. The keys. He reluctantly turned the vehicle off, scanning her for any sign of the knife. Where had she tucked it away? “You don’t trust me?” he asked sarcastically as he plopped the keys into her hand.

“Not as far as I can throw you,” she replied as she stuffed the keys down the front of her hoodie.

Adam climbed out of the driver’s side and adjusted his pants. Going commando had never been a thing he liked, and he certainly liked it even less in jeans. “How come you just got your license?” he asked as Ophelia came around the front of the truck.

“My dad didn’t want to take me right away ‘for the health and safety of the humans I shared the road with’,” she said, rolling her eyes as she did air quotes. “Finish your cigarette and quit stalling.”

Adam took a closer look at her. She was really small, and her face looked impossibly young.

He had spent too much time staring at the faces of other drug users, people whose skin had been marred by picking and unfulfilled dreams, but she didn’t look old enough to buy her own cigarettes, let alone drive a car. “How old are you?”

“One hundred,” she said blankly as she grabbed his wrist with her disturbingly strong grip.

“I thought you said you were human?!”

She laughed as she pulled him towards the door. “Relax,” she said, flashing a devilish grin back at him. “I’m sixteen.”

“You’re fucking with me.” Adam yanked his arm away.

He grabbed the rail on the porch as a familiar, fuzzy feeling burned through his skull.

Anger. He was angry and confused, his head hurt, he didn’t want to walk into a house where people had been murdered with some psycho kid, and he just wanted to stuff pills into his face and forget this entire thing happened.

“I’m not setting foot in there until you answer some God damn questions.

Your ‘uncle’ has kept me chained up like a fucking dog for the past week with nothing to do and for all I know you’re dragging me in there to kill me.

I don’t want to play this game anymore, kid. I want to go the fuck home.”

She spun around, the switchblade back in her hand as she stomped up to him.

“You’re out here as a loan from Vincent, so you do what I want you to when I want you to, got it?

” She tapped the tip of the knife against his chest, her face frighteningly serious.

No. Not serious. Blank. Zero emotion, like she couldn’t care less about plunging the knife directly into his chest and leaving him for the turkey vultures.

“I’ve been nice to you because you’re kind of a dick and you have Uncle Vinny in a knot, but my kindness only extends so far.

If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead by now.

Vampires are the least of your concern if you piss me off, and you are well on your way to doing that. Chill. The. Fuck. Out.”

Adam held his hands up. “I’m sorry. Okay? Sorry.” Add her to the list of weirdly temperamental people who desperately need therapy.

She grabbed his wrist even harder and pushed him towards the door ahead of her. “Open it.”

Adam could feel her staring daggers into his back.

She may have been a human kid, but she struck him as just as deadly as a vampire probably was.

He took in a deep breath as he turned the doorknob.

You can handle whatever is behind the door.

She said she’s not going to kill you. Just relax.

Look around. Convince them all you’re a good little blood bag with legs and live another day.