Page 41 of Missing Piece
“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 remainingevidence 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 upyour 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.”
Chapter Fourteen - Adam
Adam had never been hit by a truck, but he imagined this was what it would feel like. Every muscle screamed, even his eyelashes somehow hurt. He groaned as he tried to move, but sharp pain lanced across his back, making him abandon all hope of movement. He could just stay in bed until the pain stopped. He’d slept through worse before.
“Let me help you up.” Vincent’s voice drifted into his ears and settled in his skull like warm honey.
When Adam opened his eyes, Vincent’s face hovered only inches away, blond hair messy and sticking up in places. “You actually stayed?” Adam asked as Vincent sat up.
“Well, it’s the middle of the day, and this is my bed,” Vincent yawned.
Adam didn’t even try to look away from Vincent’s muscular back as the man eased himself out of bed, wearing those ridiculous flannel pajama pants but no shirt this time. His jaw would have hit the floor if he weren’t already lying down. Vincent was ripped. Like, how-did-he-fit-all-that-muscle-into-his-tailored-suits ripped. Aside from several faint scars on his lower back, his skin was flawless.
When Vincent turned around, Adam tried tohide his stare, but he must have lingered a split second too long at that V-line disappearing below the waistband because Vincent smirked at him. “What are you looking at?”
“Nothing. I’m tired,” Adam lied, closing his eyes.Your back got ripped open like a Christmas present yesterday and the first thing you think about is how hot the monster in your bed is. This is beyond fucked up.
“You’re a terrible liar.” Vincent tapped his shoulder. “Let me help you up.”
“Fine.” Adam winced as he rolled onto his side, his back burning. Vincent’s hand pulled on his shoulder, sitting him upright as the stitches threatened to tear through skin. At least those cold hands felt good against the fire in his back. But as he leaned forward, he jerked back, the horrible pain in his ribs made him feel like he was being ripped apart no matter which way he moved.
“Just wait, go slow,” Vincent said softly, pulling the blanket back.
“Why would I do that? I feel like a million bucks,” Adam muttered, trying to ignore the throbbing around his eyes and lower lip. He glanced down at his feet, surprised to see his prosthetic still attached, the false foot covered with a sock. He’d expected Vincent to take it back after all the trouble he and Ophelia had found, or at least chain him up again.
