Page 27 of Missing Piece (Neon Scars #2)

“Why did you pick this town? It sucks here. I’ve been here my whole life and nothing ever happens here.”

“Like I said, we integrated. Up north, everything is controlled by the old ones, the vampires who are five-hundred and older who dictated everything we could do. How we hunted, where we lived, what areas of the city to avoid because they weren’t the ones in control.

It was all bullshit,” Vincent explained.

“One of my best friends, Ophelia’s father, he got tired of living that way, and I did too.

Being the nightmares of River North was fun for the first thirty or so years, but living by someone else’s rules isn’t really in my nature, so we said screw it and left.

Brought a few friends with us, bought some property, and we’ve been here ever since. ”

The man’s eyelids were fluttering closed as Vincent stroked his hair.

He needed to rest, and if his little tale was putting him to sleep, so be it.

Vincent continued, “Plus, I like it here. It’s quiet.

Not a lot of noise, you can still see the stars out here at night.

I have a business, my friends have jobs all over.

As long as we don’t mess it up, we can do whatever we want. And I like doing whatever I want.”

“Like the occasional kidnapping?”

Vincent smirked. “Yes, like the occasional kidnapping.” Those eyes stayed closed, and as badly as Vincent wanted to lay down beside him and watch him sleep, the traumatized human would probably sleep better knowing he was not beside the same type of beast that tried to tear him to shreds earlier in the evening.

“Get some sleep, we can talk more later if you like,” he said while pulling his hand away.

Adam grabbed his wrist, eyes still closed. “Can you stay until I fall asleep?” he murmured into the pillow as his body slumped further into the mattress. “Please…I don’t want to be alone.”

Vincent’s throat tightened. Adam wanted him to stay? The cage around his heart rusted further as the words lingered in his mind. “Okay,” Vincent said, his throat dry and voice hoarse. “I’ll stay.”

* * *

“He likes peaches.” That was the only thing written on the note Ophelia left him inside the grocery bag filled with cans and the single burner phone she brought back from the Whitman’s farmhouse.

He should have busied himself with going through the device to figure out why exactly it was left behind, but he found himself distracted by the memory of how Adam smelled that first night in his house.

Like alcohol and sweat and blood and peaches.

He wished he could go back and do that entire night differently.

He should have killed Beth. He should have tried a different approach with Adam.

How could he have thought that emulating his old self would bring that sense of control back into his life?

Perhaps Marcus was right. Changing wasn’t a bad thing.

The phone began vibrating in his hand, the screen displaying only an unsaved number. “Who is this?” Vincent answered.

“Ah, Mr. Bellenger, wonderful to finally get to speak with you.” The man on the other end of the phone sounded soft and jovial with a heavy Cajun accent, as though the phone he was calling hadn’t been found in a blood-soaked den of murder. “I’ve been looking forward to this moment.”

“Yeah, can’t say I feel the same,” Vincent said.

He made his way to the back door. Luka was already off to Wild Side for the night to relieve their assistant manager of club duties and Petrov and Matteo were at the diner, so there was no worry about any of them interrupting him, but he still wanted to take the conversation outside.

There was something off about whatever discussion was about to happen.

“I’m sorry to hear that. You know, it’s very important for our kind to stick together,” the man on the other end said.

“Which is why it has wounded me so that when I went to check on my children tonight, I found nothing but a big ole’ fire.

I assume you and those boys you hang with have something to do with that? ”

“Assume whatever you want.” Vincent stepped out onto the back porch, scanning the empty cornfield for any movement. It couldn’t be a coincidence that only after he snuck out of his room to think more clearly did the phone ring. “Why don’t you tell me your name? You already know mine.”

“Of course! Where are my manners? I am Richard LeBlanc the Third. I wanted to see when we might be able to have a sit-down chat.”

“Is that your real name or some bullshit you came up with to make you look cool in front of your little drones?” Vincent asked while moving out into the backyard.

The scent of smoke lingered in the air, drifting downwind.

Someone would report it eventually, and he wasn’t too worried about the bodies of Beth and the child.

Those were out in his field, waiting for the sun to come up and destroy the remaining evidence of what happened in that house.

“Of course it’s my real name, chéri. Though my children simply know me as Papa,” Richard said.

“Because that’s not weird.” Vincent rolled his eyes.

Makers referring to those they turned as their children always rubbed him the wrong way.

He rarely judged others, even humans, for the things they found appealing, but that was a little much.

If being called daddy was this guy’s thing, so be it, but don’t trick impressionable younglings like that into playing in the kink court.

“So, what do you say, Mr. Bellenger? When and where shall we meet? I’m dying to meet you.”

Vincent walked along the side of his house, continuing to watch the shadows for any sign of movement.

“I’m going to have to decline your invitation,” he said while rounding the corner and moving to the front of the house.

“If you’re dying to meet me, you’re free to go back over to the Whitman’s place and wait for the sun to come up. ”

Richard sighed into the phone. “I am disappointed to hear that. Why?”

“Because, Richard LeBlanc the Third, I don’t fuck around with child killers.”

The pause on the other end lasted long enough that Vincent wondered if the man had hung up, but the sound of tapping through the earpiece told him Richard was still on the phone.

Probably trying to come up with some clever retort.

“I didn’t kill that kid, one of you did,” Richard said, more of his accent coming through as that jovial tone wavered.

At least he didn’t sound like he had an insufferable smile on his face anymore.

Vincent clenched his fist at his side. “The second you decided to turn him, you killed him. We just cleaned up your mess,” he growled.

“I don’t know how they do things wherever your cousin-fucking accent is from, but up here, we don’t turn kids.

What the hell is wrong with you? Why would you do that? ”

“Heh, Mr. Bellenger, you must have been distracted by that little toy of yours, because I’ve only been doing what I have to in order to get what I’ve wanted for decades,” Richard laughed.

“So a few humans get lost in the process? Not my concern. At least they were useful in their final moments to feed my children.”

Vincent didn’t process the second half of what he said. His mouth fell open the moment Richard mentioned his “toy”. There was no way he could know about Adam. Beth was incapacitated before he took Adam, so she couldn’t have told him. But somehow the bastard knew. Which left only one other option:

They were being watched.

“And what is it that you want?” Vincent demanded while stomping up the front steps of his porch to check that the front door was locked. It was, but that still meant he left the back door unlocked. And Adam was asleep and all alone.

“Your attention, Vincent Bellenger. Just your attention.”