Page 36 of Missing Piece (Neon Scars #2)

T he initial thrill of seeing Vincent back in the room curdled into a thick, uncomfortable guilt as Adam watched Vincent settle on the edge of the bed further away than he wanted. He said he wants to talk. Probably about last night.

Shit .

Another part of Adam wanted to scoff. Guilt? For upsetting your captor?

“I’m sorry about last night, that shouldn’t have happened.” Adam winced. He hadn’t meant to say it like that.

A flicker of surprise creased Vincent’s forehead. Then, a slow, strangely sad smile touched his lips, softening the hard angles of his face. “You don’t need to apologize.”

Fingers twisting in the bedsheets, Adam heart pounded as Vincent’s silence stretched. Vincent’s expression remained gentle, but Adam had seen how fast that could change. His muscles tensed, ready to flinch at the first sign of danger.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Vincent’s hands smoothing over his pajama pants, long fingers working the fabric in slow, repetitive motions. The gesture seemed almost…nervous?

What does a vampire have to be nervous about ?

Cool fingertips brushed his chin. Adam’s pulse jumped, but Vincent’s touch stayed tender as he turned Adam’s face toward him.

Their eyes met. Adam’s breath hitched, caught between wanting to lean into that contact and waiting for pain.

His body couldn’t decide if it wanted to lean forward for a kiss or curl away from an expected blow.

Vincent’s expression stayed soft as he spoke. “Let’s have a do-over.”

Adam blinked. “What?”

“The first time we met.” Vincent’s thumb traced along Adam’s jaw, barely there. “Let’s have a do-over.”

The words didn’t compute. Adam stared at Vincent, trying to parse their meaning through the fog of confusion and lingering fear. A do-over?

“Why?” The word slipped out before Adam could really think it through.

He’s tricking you. This is another game.

“Because,” Vincent started, his voice low and even, “the first time was…messy.”

Adam let out a short laugh, more uncertain than bitter. “Messy? That’s what you call drugging and kidnapping someone?” He tried to ignore how his skin tingled at Vincent’s proximity, how his body remembered every caress from the night before.

“I could have handled it better.”

“You could have—” Adam paused, running a hand through his hair. Part of him wanted to hear the explanation, even as warning bells rang in his head. “What does that even mean? You can’t just…pretend what happened didn’t happen.”

“No.” Vincent shifted closer, the mattress dipping under his weight. The motion sent a wave of his scent washing over Adam, crisp and masculine, making his pulse quicken. “But we can start fresh. From this moment.”

The proximity sent Adam’s heart racing, memories of last night’s intimacy flooding back.

His body remembered those hands, that mouth, the fangs, the way Vincent had made him feel so powerless and desired…

. He took a steadying breath, trying to quiet both voices in his head screaming at him to run and the one begging him to move closer.

“Why now?” Adam asked softly, hating how husky he sounded. “Because of what happened?”

“Because knowing the truth will keep you safe.” Vincent’s fingers curled into fists on his thighs.

“The truth?”

“Yes.” Vincent rose, pacing to the boarded-up window. “No more half-truths or posturing. But first—” He turned back to Adam. “I want to introduce myself properly.”

A nervous laugh escaped Adam’s throat. “You’re serious about this?”

“My name is Vincent Bellenger.” He stepped forward, extending his hand with an oddly formal air. “Vampire and business owner.”

Adam stared at the offered hand. Every instinct told him to back away, to protect himself.

But beneath the wariness, a deeper part made him want to understand.

And beneath that, the traitorous heat in his blood made him want to touch.

“This is crazy,” he murmured. Still, he reached out, letting his fingers brush Vincent’s cool palm. “Adam Nolan. Kidnapped human.”

The corner of Vincent’s mouth twitched. He clasped Adam’s hand, fingertips brushing over his knuckles in a way that sent sparks of electricity up Adam’s arm. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Adam.”

The contact lingered longer than necessary, neither quite willing to let go. “So what now? You’re going to tell me everything?”

“If you’re willing to listen.”

“Can I ask you anything?”

Vincent’s nodded. “Yes. Ask me anything.”

His throat dry, Adam felt questions crowd his mind, jostling for attention. The weight of Vincent’s presence, the memory of his caresses, made it hard to focus. He licked his lips, trying to organize his thoughts.

“Why didn’t you kill me that night behind the club?” The words came out rougher than intended.

Do I really want to know the answer to this?

Vincent’s shoulders tensed. He moved back to the edge of the bed, close enough that Adam caught that intoxicating scent again. “I found you fascinating and I mistook that fascination for a chance at a return to form, so to speak.”

“What does that mean?”

“My maker always said the best trials were when someone catches your eye like that, you make them yours. I took you because I wanted you.”

Heat crept up Adam’s neck. He fought the urge to look away. “So what, you decided to kidnap me out of sympathy?”

“No.” Vincent’s hand stilled. “Because for the first time in decades, I felt inspiration beyond the usual…tedium.”

“That’s not exactly reassuring.”

“You asked for honesty.”

Adam began cracking his knuckles one at a time, buying time to steady himself. “Maybe I should start with less intense questions. Like…how old are you really? ”

“One hundred and twenty-nine.”

What the fuck?

A smile touched Vincent’s lips. “Is that too old for you?”

“I mean, you look good for your age.” The words slipped out before Adam could stop them. He felt his face flush. “That’s not—I didn’t mean—”

Vincent’s low chuckle soothed some of the heat in his face. “Thank you. I was thirty-two when I was turned.”

“When did that happen? The turning thing?”

“1926.”

He was turned into a vampire before Pop-Pop was even born…and you let him fuck you?

“Did you want to be a vampire, or was it like a freak accident?”

An expression flickered across Vincent’s face, a subtle tension at the question, but it didn’t look like anger.

It looked like a flash of indifference, pain, and pride all mixed together.

“My maker, Solomon, was supposedly amongst the first Europeans to land in the States. He made no effort to blend in with the times despite being here for a few centuries, and was an old bastard who thought he’d perfected the process of trialing. Well, until he got to me.”

Adam’s insides clenched as understanding hit him hard. For some reason, he hadn’t considered vampirism might be forced.

“I was stubborn, like you. It just made me more interesting to Solomon. I vaguely remember hoping he would finally kill me or let me go, but as it turns out, the old man wasn’t just looking for a new trial. He wanted a compatriot.”

Mouth going dry, Adam felt the clinical detachment in Vincent’s voice couldn’t quite mask the edge underneath. “What did he do to you?”

“He had this habit of finding ancient markings, symbols of gods and goddesses in obscure texts he had collected over the years, and he would carve them into the people he drained. There was a new moral panic every few years, so he would do it to throw any police off his—our trail, as we moved around. Sometimes he would force me to do it while I was still his trial. When he started carving into me one day, I was honestly happy, because it meant I would be found face down in some bayou soon, and the nightmare would be over. I was too tired to scream anymore at that point. I just let him do it. By the third day, he decided I would be his progeny, and he turned me.”

“Fuck.” The word came out as barely more than a whisper. Adam’s chest ached with a sympathy he hadn’t expected to feel. His hand moved without conscious thought, reaching for Vincent’s shoulder.

Vincent caught his wrist before he could make contact. His grip was gentle but firm. “Don’t.”

“Sorry, I—”

“You don’t need to feel sorry for me. It was a long time ago.”

Adam swallowed hard. “Is that why you kept me alive? Because you know what it’s like to be…trapped?”

“No.” Vincent stroked Adam’s wrist, resting along his radial artery as though feeling the blood move through his veins was comforting. The contact scattered Adam’s thoughts, made it hard to focus on anything but the cool press of Vincent’s skin against his.

“Then why?” There was some part of Adam that was still insisting on finding deception in what Vincent was saying, but even that part was half-hearted.

Vincent’s grip tightened fractionally. “Your defiance, your strength…even now, you’re not cowering. You’re trying to understand. I don’t think a human has ever tried to understand me. They’ve only ever acquiesced out of fear.”

Heat bloomed in Adam’s chest, spreading outward until his whole body felt too warm. He couldn’t tell if it was fear or arousal anymore—maybe both. “That’s not exactly comforting.”

“No?” Vincent’s other hand came up to cup Adam’s jaw. “Would you prefer I lied? Said I kept you for some noble purpose?”

Adam’s breath caught. Vincent’s contact was gentle, but the power behind it was unmistakable. He should pull away. He should be terrified. Instead, his body leaned into the warmth like a flower seeking sun.

“I’d prefer the truth,” Adam managed.

“The truth is complicated.” Vincent traced the lines of Adam’s veins. “I wanted you. I still want you. But not just as a prisoner anymore.”

Part of him screamed to run, to fight, to do anything but sit here letting this monster caress him. But another part, a part that grew stronger with each passing second, wanted to surge forward and claim Vincent’s mouth with his own.

“What do you want from me?” The question came out barely above a whisper.