Page 25 of Missing Piece
And then Adam started pulling his hair, and he slipped his own hands into his pants…He was planning on throwing his cum-stained underwear into the fireplace before the brothers got back from working and getting as drunk as possible, but his unexpected visitors made that plan difficult.
“Are you decent?” Marcus’s voice called from the foyer.
Fuck. He must have heard something. He didn’t want to have to explain himself to Marcus. Mostly because he wouldn’t know how to.
He fully intended on roughing Adam up before feeding on him, but the damn human threw him off guard back in the room. He spent the whole day planning what he would do. A little light torture, just like he would have done in the good old days. Adam had proven he was tough and clever, and normally the monster in him would see that as a challenge. Something to bend and break. But that part of him was suspiciously quiet.
“Yes,” he said flatly as he made his way into the foyer.
Marcus leaned against the front door, a cigarette between his lips as his amber eyes flicked up and down Vincent. “You reek,” he said.
“I’m sorry, I was not expecting company,” Vincent snapped, running his hand through his messed-up hair. “Why didn’t I hear your car pull up?”
“We walked,” Ophelia said, sitting on the piano bench with her eyes glued to her phone as usual, her tawny face expressionless. “From your neighbor’s house.”
“That is a seven-mile walk,” Vincent pointed out, eyeing Ophelia’s thick soled boots that looked pristine as ever. She was small, barely five feet tall, and always wore shoes with at least a 3-inch platform. Despite her high-pitched voice and small frame, everything else about her was big. Her brown eyes, her coiled brassy hair, and her temper.
“I carried her to speed things up,” Marcus said nonchalantly, ashing his cigarette into his hand.
“That was a piggy-back ride, there’s a difference,” she saidwith a frown.
“There is no difference,” Marcus said.
Ophelia looked up from her phone, glaring at him.
“Why were you at my neighbors’ house?” Vincent asked quickly before Ophelia decided to argue the point. As humorous as her rows with her father were, he wasn’t going to wait for them to finish bickering. They’d be there till sunrise if he let that happen.
“Do you not read the local news?” Ophelia asked.
Vincent scoffed. “Why the fuck would I read the local news? To learn which hate group is standing outside which ethnic restaurant?”
“Your neighbors are dead,” Marcus said bluntly. “Several of them, in fact.”
“It wasn’t Matteo, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Vincent said. “Luka and I imported that swill from Macedonia they both like, so we’ve been able to get him a little blood every time he has a drink. He’s mostly still in his right mind right now.”
“Good, my wrist still makes a weird crunching sound since the last time he went full beast-mode and rampaged through Tennessee,” Ophelia said, flexing her wrist back and forth so they could both hear it. She stood up from the piano bench, glancing into the den. “Do you have any human drinks?”
“Check the fridge,” Vincent said.
“Your, um, newest toy isn’t passed out naked in there, is he? Because I really don’t want to see white boy dick right now.” Her usually blank stare twinkled with a mischievousness that let Vincent know she was not about to drop the subject. She may have been devoid of empathy for her fellow humans, but she loved to know everyone’s business and made it her jobto make others uncomfortable.
“He’s in his room.” He eyed Marcus, waiting for him to say something, but Marcus had a smirk on his face that may as well have said, “I’ll allow it” like a pushover judge in a bad crime drama.
“Thank God. Why can’t you guys bone in the house like normal people?”
“Ophelia, inappropriate,” Marcus sighed.
She rolled her eyes. “Whatever, fine, I’m going, you guys can hash out the sordid fuck details,” she said as she pushed passed Vincent.
“Language!” Marcus called after her, shaking his head as he cracked the front door to flick the butt of his cigarette out onto the porch.
“What did you tell her?” Vincent demanded.
Marcus shrugged. “I just told her not to go out there, she came to her own conclusions based on how loud your little pet project was being.”
Vincent’s face warmed. How long had it been since he blushed? He didn’t blush. “You’re here to talk about my dead neighbors, so talk,” he said. He knew Marcus would see right through his attempt to change the subject, but he could still try.
“Can we go sit in the kitchen? You’ve let Ophelia loose in there, which is like just asking for her to set something on fire,” Marcus said, still smirking.
