Page 9 of Missing Piece
He winced as another cabinet door slammed shut in the kitchen. Perhaps if I cover everything in pool noodles they’ll get the picture. He wandered into the den, eyeing the old fireplace that was ablaze for the first time in years. The wood stove beside it was also lit, a pile of freshly chopped wood right beside it. “Who got the wood?” he called to Luka.
He dumped Adam’s clothing and shoes on the coffee table that sat in the middle of the room, raising a layer of dust from its surface. It had been a while since any of them did more than pass through the den on the way to the kitchen and the room desperately needed upkeep. They had a house cleaner for a little while, but after Matteo had one of his episodes, she refused to set foot back in the house.
Vincent pulled up the crumpled t-shirt Adam had been wearing. It was still damp from how long Vincent left him on the ground while he debated with himself on whether he should bring the human back to his farmhouse. It had been years since he did this. He nearly talked himself out of it, too.
It was too soon.
But that boldness, the cocky attitude that so efficiently veiled Adam’s fear, it was fascinating. He’d be lying to himself if he said it didn’t make his heart beat just a little bit harder. And he smelled divine, even under the stench of alcohol and cigarettes that stuck to his skin. It reminded him of peaches.
He licked his lower lip, wishing he had even a smear of the human’s blood left there.
He moved over to the fireplace and hung Adam’s t-shirt over a hook that looked like it was left over from the previous owner’s Christmas decorations. It only seemed right to dry the young man’s clothes.
Vincent turned around as Luka and Matteo walked into the den together with brows raised at him. Matteo cocked his head at the pile of Adam’s belongings on the coffee table as he set down two rocks glasses, both filled with rakija and a layer of blood at the bottom of the glass. Vincent crinkled his nose at the smell of the rakija. If he wanted fermented plums, he’d just have wine, but he didn’t make a habit of turning down the brothers when they offered him some of their country’s alcohol.
«I cut the wood,» Matteo signed. «Humans get cold in this weather.» He ran his hand over his clean-shaven face as he looked down at the clothing, looking like he wanted to rifle through the items. Matteo and Luka were mirror images of each other, even down to the eyelid with the extra fold onone side, but Matteo kept his face shaved at all times, and his reddish-brown hair in a neat undercut and a bit longer in the front, but nothing like Luka’s mess of hair that was almost long enough to put in a ponytail.
«I would have gotten to it,» Vincent said as he grabbed Adam’s jeans off the coffee table and shook them upside-down. A wallet, set of keys, phone, and a large coin clanked onto the table. The pants were damp too. He took them back over to the fireplace, glancing back to see if either brother was signing.
«Probably in two days after the kid almost froze to death.» Luka laughed. The sound was hoarse and breathy when he laughed, as if the wind had a sense of humor. It was oddly endearing.
Matteo held the large coin up as Vincent joined them, falling back against the L-shaped sectional before reaching out for the glass of rakija. «3-0 D-A-Y-S,» Matteo fingerspelled. «What is this thing?»
Vincent gave him an incredulous look. «You run a kitchen and you’ve never seen a S-O-B-R-I-E-T-Y chip?»
Matteo held his hand up vertically, his palm facing to the side with his thumb tucked in before he motioned out in a line. “Sober,” he mouthed. «So he’s a drunk? I smelled liquor when I came in. Is he not sober?»
Luka shook his head. «No, apparently his problem was pills. Painkillers.»
Matteo frowned. «Did you two fuck that up with the shot?» His emerald eyes glanced back down at the coin in his hands, concern written across his face.
Vincent smiled. Matteo was such a kind soul, despite his propensity to push himself into volatile and violentoutbursts that had often required more than a handful of his friends to stop. It was one of the reasons he liked keeping the brothers close after all these years.
That and the fact that when Luka, Matteo, and their towering brother Petrov needed to get something done, they were unstoppable.
«The shot isn’t a painkiller. He should be fine,» Vincent said before he took a sip of the overly sweet liquor.
«He is very quiet. Why no screaming?» Luka asked.
Matteo nodded at his twin. «I was wondering why the air was so still. No screaming?»
Vincent shook his head. «No. New approach this time,» he said. He took another sip of the rakija, hoping to hide the uncertainty on his face behind the glass.
He must have done a poor job of it, because Matteo and Luka were looking at each other silently, seemingly communicating with only their eyes. He hated it when they did that like he wasn’t in the room. When he first met them, that was the only way they communicated, occasionally taking the time to write a note to their older brother so he would know what was going on. Vincent hoped that learning American Sign Language would help with the creepy psychic twin vibe they exuded, but it hadn’t gotten better in the slightest.
Matteo’s eyes widened dramatically when he looked back at Vincent. «Different? How so?»
“Not like that,” Vincent said aloud. He set his drink down so he could sign the words at Matteo. «I wasn’t even planning on bringing him here. It just happened.»
Luka rolled his eyes. «He was eye-fucking the guy even before he sat down at the club.»
“I was not,” Vincent said ashe signed. “He just had this look on his face like he was absolutely miserable before he even walked in. Have you ever seen a man look that grumpy coming into a club full of topless women?”
«Maybe he doesn’t like women?» Luka asked, raising an eyebrow at Vincent.
«Depending on how you want this to go, that could be interesting.» Matteo nodded at his brother before looking back at Vincent. «How long has it been for you?»
We’re not having this conversation today. Vincent poured the remains of his drink down his throat, suppressing a small shudder as the bittersweet liquid assaulted his senses. «How long has it been for you?» he asked Matteo, pointing sharply at him for emphasis.
