Page 37 of Missing Piece (Neon Scars #2)

Vincent’s eyes darkened. “Everything you’re willing to give.”

This is dangerous. He’s tricking you.

Adam forced himself to look away from Vincent’s hypnotic gaze, focusing instead on the little crescent marks he had left in his thigh from his free hand digging into his own leg. “And if I’m not willing to give anything?”

“Then you walk away. Once the current danger passes, you’re free to leave. I won’t stop you.”

Adam furrowed his brow, trying to process what he’d just heard. He says you’ll get to leave. That’s what you want. Right?

He looked back at Vincent. “And what if I don’t want to?”

Vincent’s icy eyes widened as though he’d expected Adam to jump at the first chance of freedom. A relieved exhale escaped his lips, softening the tense lines of his shoulders. He ducked his head slightly, as though he were struggling to hold back a smile.

After a long pause, Vincent’s expression grew serious again.

“There’s one more thing.” Vincent folded his hands tightly on his lap, fingertips pushing hard against one another. “It won’t paint me in a good light, Adam. I need you to know that going forward. But if you’re really staying of your own free will, you deserve to understand a piece of what I am.”

Anxiety twisted in Adam’s gut. He steeled his nerves against a familiar surge of apprehension. Memories of his own ugly mistakes crept from hidden corners of his brain. He had plenty of his own stories to share, none of which would fair any better under scrutiny.

“All right,” Adam said quietly. “I can handle it.”

Vincent rose abruptly from the bed, moving purposefully, crossing the room to a rough plywood board partially covered in faded photographs. Adam watched as he stood frozen before it, his back rigid with unease.

He finally spoke, words quieter than Adam knew he could be. “I haven’t really talked about this with anyone in a long time, or, honestly, I haven’t allowed anyone to talk about it. Unfortunately, I’m developing a soft spot for you, Adam. And I really don’t like it.”

Adam frowned, uncertain where Vincent’s mind had taken him. “About what?”

“There was another human, a man, that stayed here longer term, like you.” He carefully pulled a pushpin from a photograph covered by black paper. Vincent loosened the hidden edges carefully, seemingly reluctant to reveal what lay underneath.

“It started just as Wild Side opened,” he said softly. “I wanted to celebrate my business and newfound independence from my maker. So I took a new trial.”

Adam’s pulse quickened. “You’ve said that word before. Trial. Never explained it.”

Vincent glanced over his shoulder, mouth tight, a bitter smile barely formed.

“It’s testing out a human to be your food.

You push their limits. If they break, fully give over, they’re yours.

Your personal blood bank.” He peeled the remaining tape slowly.

“You’re smart enough to imagine that process. ”

Adam gave a slow, cautious nod. A ripple of sick dread coiled in his chest, but he stayed silent, not wanting Vincent to stop now he’d finally trusted Adam.

“My maker handpicked someone rough-looking, tough—someone who could handle the physical strain. But the man behind the facade was soft, gentle.” Vincent’s eyes closed, shadows of pain crossing his face.

“He broke quickly. Shockingly quickly. And before I knew it, we were making deals instead of fighting. He had a baby, a little boy he’d do anything for.

And ridiculous as it was, we formed a different kind of arrangement.

He’d continue his daily life, and I’d feed on him.

In return, I made sure his kid was safe. ”

Vincent turned, coming slowly back towards Adam, holding out the photo as his hand shook.

“Truthfully, it was one of the stupidest things I’ve done.

Because soon it wasn’t a transaction anymore.

I started to feel things for him.” He laughed bitterly.

“I couldn’t tell if his affection towards me was real or a survival tactic, but for me…

it was devastatingly genuine. To the point I designed a room for him and his son here.

So they could stay here. So they’d be comfortable, cared for.

So when he fell asleep after feeding, it would feel safe, not forced. ”

Finally, Vincent pulled away the last strip of tape from the photo and pressed it gently into Adam’s hand, turning away as if unable to bear seeing it himself. “This was three weeks before they died.”

Shock stiffened Adam’s limbs as he stared down at those smiling faces captured on paper.

A little boy in a birthday hat, chubby-cheeked grin brightening the shot, sat between two men in a restaurant booth.

Adam’s chest tightened sharply seeing Vincent’s carefree expression, radiant and unexpected as it was.

On the other side, a tall, muscular man—the boy’s father, no doubt—wore the same tender smile, pride and joy undeniable.

He flipped the photo over slowly, reading the penned date silently: “Lashawn and Reggie, 7/23/2014.” They were dead. Just three weeks after this joyful picture, they were both dead.

“What happened?”

Vincent dropped to a whisper. “Hunters. They were after my maker—a vendetta from a kill he made—but they wanted all of us gone. They didn’t discriminate vampires from humans.” He extended a trembling hand, wordlessly asking for the photograph back .

Adam gave it to him. Vincent stared down, shoulders trembling. “They kidnapped them both. Tortured them in ways no living creature should ever endure, trying to break us. They took every human we cared about as revenge for the vampires we’d killed. Lovers, friends, trials. All gone to spite us.”

Adam placed his hand firmly atop Vincent’s thigh, unsure of what to do or say. When he finally found his voice, it felt fragile. “What did you do?”

Vincent met his eyes at last, scarlet streaks of blood tracking silently down his cheeks. “We slaughtered every single one of them.”