Page 58 of Missing Piece (Neon Scars #2)

G o back home, his beast urged.

“I have to do this,” Vincent muttered to himself as he sat in his car, eyes fixed on the abandoned warehouse locals called “Ghost Town.” The old rail yard had long been in the process of being reclaimed by nature, a jungle of broken concrete and overgrown vegetation.

It had once been a place for the homeless to hide from the elements, but rumors of actual ghosts and satanic rituals scared away a good portion of those who made it their temporary home.

An eerie stillness hung over the place. No tents, no signs of life. Only the faint metallic scent of blood, both fresh and old, wafting from inside.

He’d sat outside for almost two hours, watching for any sign of the cult or Richard himself.

Deep down, his beast stirred restlessly. Go back.

I can’t. The risk of leaving Richard to his own twisted machinations would bring the attention of hunters eventually, and as tough as Adam was, the human wasn’t fireproof.

Kill the bastard. Then go home to our Adam.

Vincent’s grip tightened on the steering wheel, knuckles turning white.

He wanted so badly to strike quickly and violently, to end the threat, but there was the unknown factor.

Richard had been using the idea of a cult as cover for a century-long vendetta—that alone made him more unreasonable than even the worst hunters.

Vincent couldn’t let his guard down. He would watch the place every night if it meant stopping Richard’s brazen actions.

But as the minutes ticked by with no activity, doubt began to creep in. What if this was a dead end? What if Richard let his location be known and was leading him on a wild goose chase while the real threat lurked elsewhere?

He thought of Adam, alone at the farmhouse with only Tariq for protection. Vincent trusted the young vampire, but his beast stirred possessively at the idea of anyone else watching over his human.

He couldn’t let his emotions cloud his judgment.

Not now, not when so much was at stake. They had spent years carving out a home in this little city surrounded by corn fields.

Marcus and Ophelia and the brothers, hell, even the younger vampires, were his family.

He couldn’t risk all their lives. Not when they had all sacrificed so much.

Richard’s inane ideas and recklessness stood in opposition to their safety.

He made Richard, however unwittingly. He had to be the one to remove him.

Kill him now.

“Fine.” Vincent got out of the car and approached the building, wincing as each careful step made the crunch of gravel beneath his feet sound like a siren in the still night. The iron tang of fresh blood intensified as he drew closer, making the anxiety gnawing at his core grow.

He paused at a large broken window, listening for any signs of movement inside. Too quiet, the beast warned. Vincent nodded to himself in agreement. He steeled himself as he climbed through the window.

He moved carefully through the rubble, his steps silent on the fractured cement ground. Stupid to come unarmed, the beast grumbled.

Your hunger caused this, Vincent shot back, jaw clenching as he made his way through what had once probably been an office. He slipped into a corridor, following the bloody odor, scanning each shadow as he neared a large area toward the center of the building.

Your human weakness caused this. You made him, it retorted.

Richard was squatting on the ground, his attention fixed on a human who twitched and writhed in agony. The man’s skin was pale and clammy, his veins dark and swollen. It was clear that Richard had tried to turn him, and failed. Again.

A primal fury threatened to consume Vincent—this was the exact shit that would get them caught. He forced his hands to unclench, fighting the urge to tear Richard apart. But he couldn’t. Not yet. Whatever remained of Richard’s followers were nowhere to be seen. He needed to know where they were.

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. “Richard,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “What are you doing?”

Richard didn’t look up, his attention still fixed on the dying man. “I’m makin’ a new world, Vincent. A world where we don’t have to hide in the shadows, where we can live open and free.”

Vincent scoffed. “You really believe your own bullshit? That you can remake the world by turning enough humans?” He gestured at the writhing figure. “Because it looks like you just failed. Again.”

Richard stood slowly, smoothing his shirt and spreading the blood on his hands down the front. “The only reason we’re like this is because our kind has to hide. Solomon understood that.”

Vincent’s grimaced at the name. “Our maker was a sick, reckless fuck. He would have been carving into people regardless—being a vampire was just cover,” he snapped.

“That’s the reason we are what we are. Solomon didn’t make us as part of a grand scheme.

You’ve deluded yourself into thinking your existence has more meaning than just being in the wrong place at the wrong time. ”

Richard’s mouth curved into a smile. “Worth a try,” he said with a shrug, reaching a hand out towards Vincent. “And perhaps you’re correct.”

Vincent retreated, watching the bloody hand extended towards him. Don’t let him touch, his beast snarled.

“Glad that’s settled. Now call your little minions and get the fuck out of my town.”

Richard advanced, his face shifting to amusement as Vincent backed away.

“You wanna know somethin’ interesting? In the months and years I was alone, I spent a long time hidin’.

I didn’t have a maker around to show me how to be a proper vampire, how to control this thing inside me that was always so hungry.

I barely survived on vermin and drunks who wandered too close—”

“I literally do not care.”

Richard’s face flickered, just for a second, before reforming into a smirk. “I don’t suppose you do. After all, you left me to die in that basement.”

Vincent glanced around the space. Aside from years of debris and the dead man on the ground, there was nowhere to retreat without Richard getting a chance to grab him. Keep him moving and talking. An opening will present itself eventually.

Normally, he would have no qualms about charging headlong into an enemy and tearing them apart, but he didn’t know how Richard’s ability worked. It seemed to require touch, but did that mean only his hands? Or would any contact give him control of Vincent’s reality again?

He couldn’t risk it.

“Is that what this is about? You want an apology?” Vincent edged sideways, maneuvering into the open area to put more distance between them.

“An apology? No.” Richard’s laugh was hollow. “I would sooner expect the great Vincent Bellenger to walk into the sun than give an apology. This is about connection, my friend. Sure, it’s nice havin’ drones I can order around, but the fact is—I miss having equals.”

Vincent bared his fangs in a snarl. “You’re not my equal, and you never will be. You’re nothing but a pathetic excuse for a vampire. You turned a fucking child. Even the old ones have lines they won’t cross. Even Solomon wouldn’t have crossed that line because he wasn’t a fucking idiot.”

Richard brightened, as if he’d been expecting the vitriol.

“Oh, I know that. But it was such sweet forbidden fruit, and isn’t that what bein’ us is about?

Bein’ able to do whatever we want to whoever we want?

” His voice dropped to a purr. “I have a multi-state following just because I can. Do you want that? Pure freedom?”

Vincent kept watching Richard’s outstretched hand. “No.”

“I can make it so you don’t feel guilt. You’ve been around these humans too long, fully integrated. I can make you forget all of that so you can be free—”

“I said no!” Vincent roared, his voice echoing through the warehouse.

Richard merely chuckled, shaking his head. “You see? You let yourself be tamed. But I can fix that. I can remind you what it means to be truly free.”

He lunged, hand outstretched, fingers splayed like claws.

Vincent was ready. He darted to the side, adrenaline surging through his veins. He wouldn’t let Richard touch him. He wouldn’t let himself be controlled again. He couldn’t.

Richard steadied himself and groaned loudly. “Why must you make this so difficult? I’m tryin’ to help you! What’s the point of being one of us unless we get to do what we want? Why live within the confines of pathetic humans?”

His thoughts and his beast’s overlapped in that moment: Adam. But he couldn’t say that aloud.

“I am doing what I want,” Vincent growled. “And frankly, you’re getting in the way of that. Do you really think you can mind control your way into having a compatriot?”

Even as Richard began responding, none of the words seemed to reach his ears. His beast stirred first, and then he noticed it: a different smell of blood, faintly drifting in from one of the busted windows. Not just different.

Adam’s blood.

The coppery aroma mixed with menthol cigarettes and sweat, accompanied by the sound of approaching footsteps. No…

Richard’s words faded into meaningless noise as panic seized Vincent’s chest, squeezing the air from his lungs. Adam’s scent grew stronger, unmistakable now. He was close. Too close .

Not supposed to be here! his beast roared, clawing at the inside of his skull. Get him out! Get him out now!

“You seem distracted,” Richard observed, his voice a grating intrusion. “Worried about somethin’?”

Vincent tried to respond, to warn Adam away, but the words caught in his throat. He could hear footsteps now, light and uneven, accompanied by the rhythmic tapping of Adam’s prosthetic against the concrete floor.

“Don’t worry,” Richard purred, false reassurance dripping from his voice. “We can make this a little reunion. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

Panic turned to ice in Vincent’s veins as a clammy hand closed around his forearm. He whipped his head around, his heart plummeting as he met Richard’s gaze.

Richard was beaming at him, triumph written across his features. “Be a good little minion and bring him here.”