Chapter 29: Of Queen and Men

After parking her truck in the garage, Nieema followed Hank through the mudroom. They kicked off their shoes, and she dropped her purse on the bench. Keys in the bowl, she grumped and carried onward.
Using her vampire will, she turned on the lights and opened curtains along the way. Their ranch house was expansive yet homey. She’d dressed every surface in artwork and lined each console with trinkets from around the world.
“I still think you went light on the man,” Hank muttered.
“He’s my cousin, sir.”
“A cousin who was spying on you.”
“Not me, Jasper.”
Nieema grimaced as they entered the kitchen, whereupon Hank wrenched patio doors aside. He shoved and pulled until a warm summer breeze greeted them.
Nieema loved fresh air. It was far better than underground stank and granite. Minerals and stoneware. Humans buried their dead in the dirt, below ground. Nieema thought that shit was hilarious, given how vampire covens preferred subterranean communities.
“Annnd, is that supposed to make it less cruel?”
“You’re right,” Nieema stated. “It doesn’t. But I’m not in the business of decapitation…anymore.” She nabbed the decanter resting on the island and poured. An aromatic blended wine made her fangs throb. “Long ago, during sword and sorcery, I woulda’ had his head. You know that. But times are different. I understand the value of life. Community service should suffice.”
Hank arched a brow, stealing the second glass of Grand Pa’nidere. He grumbled, lips to the rim.
“You just lopped somebody’s head off in cold blood.”
“We ain’t talking about her,” Nieema warned.
“You killed, Veronica!”
“She murdered fourteen vampires, Hank!”
Nieema gulped a glorious concoction and threw on some good ol’ fashion city jazz. The kind from back in the day. The music that lived in the very heart of her people. It roused spirits and pleased their ancestors.
Percussion, snares, and high hats. She closed her eyes for a beat, letting the music have the moment.
“Your soon-to-be bride snaked her way into the coven and gutted our folks.”
Her heart cramped, and blood pricked in her eyes. Dry wells stung with a dangerous vow. “How was I supposed to handle that, Hank? Huh? Because you know good and damn well if somebody hurts my family, they gotta die. And by my hand. I don’t play that shit! I would kill anyone who even thought to cross my family. My people. My kin by blood and name. Don’t act like you don’t know.”
Heat flared in her chest as she slashed a hand. Daring to send everything on the island crashing to the floor. Bulbs flickered, and the decanter rattled under her boiling fury.
“We been through the mud, boy. And now you acting like one person is above us. Don’t you fucking dare. I’m Queen of Ravensguard. It is my vow to protect and defend everyone who calls this place home.”
Hank’s steely gaze and curled lip wasn’t a good sign. “What if it was Buck?”
“Fuck outta my face with that mess!” Nieema swiped her glass and stomped past her knight. “Get the hell on before I go upside your head.”
“You don’t like how them tables turn—“
“Veronica used you.” Nieema gritted her molars and faced her illumine pool. “She poisoned you with a powerful love potion, brotha’. Think. You’d never put anyone above your honor. Not even yourself.”
“Ain’t no way,” Hank uttered, disbelief slicing into his anger. “I would have known, I—we were about to get hitched and all—nah. Hell no.”
Nieema cleared her throat and shrugged, eyes on her right hand. “I gave your blood to Maggie. She exposed all. It’s gonna take a minute for you to wake up. But the moment Veronica died, the spell was broken. You’ll come around any night now.”
“Bulllshit.” Her brother fumed as he traveled elsewhere on the ranch.
“Where are you going without shoes on?”
“To see a witch!”
“I love you.”
She didn’t expect Hank to respond, still in his feelings. This entire situation would haunt that old vampire in the months to come, and she’d be there for him when he cracked.
Doing away with one problem, she swigged her favorite bloodied wine and cracked her neck.
Back in the house, she replaced the glass with a rag and got to cleaning. Jaunty tunes and crooning made her night. She two-stepped, twirled, and dipped to horn-blowing melodies until she grew bored with housework.
Her night had just begun, but that didn’t mean she had to stay corset-ready. It was pretty, bedazzled, and hoisted them tiddies, but she was through. That was the beauty of working from home: one got to wear whatever they wanted. Nieema opted for a long, thin, leopard print gown and a headscarf to match.
At around nine, Nieema was focused on her patches. Head ducked, eyes on the needle. With quick efficiency, she worked on patches. Her sewing machine buzzing and whirring. It was a comfort she sought during those rough hours. When royal duties had her by the fang. After Veronica, she sat up in her office for ten hours straight.
Ms. Corvin was having a baby. Mrs. Briar wanted something for her grandmother, and Francis, the fire chief, needed a quilt for someone in recovery.
Music, hot bloodwine, and the humming motor calmed her nerves. After Veronica, she sat up in her office for ten hours straight. Before her, the last person she’d had to vanquish was Maudrin the Sordid. He was a nasty motha fucka who’d tried to kill her father. As General, it was her job to dispatch the Warlock, and she did just that. Three hundred years ago.
It was her last battle.
Nieema yelped at the feel of hands on her shoulders. “God damn you, Buckley!”
He laughed and kissed her cheek. “You were supposed to sniff me out, bloodsucker.”
She giggled and patted his hand. “You know how it goes when I’m up here working.”
“I do.”
Buck squeezed before release. He swaggered over to the tiny sofa, wedged between shelving units. He groaned and plopped down. Nieema assessed and smirked. He was agitated and darker than usual. Her husband couldn’t hide a damn thing.
She read the gum cracking for what it was.
“What did he want?”
He sighed, tugged free his braid. It lay across his shoulder, thick. The bound ends rested upon suede. It was time for a trim, and he’d hate it.
“Whatcbu think, Nimmy?”
“They can’t have you.”
“He knows.”
“Then, where we go from here?”
Buck flicked his gaze to the window and said, “I gotta take a trip.”
“Don’t you mean we?”
“Nimmy…”
She scoffed and picked thread from the ruined patch. Her perfectionism wouldn’t allow for faults. She cut threads and mused.
“We both know I ain’t welcome. But I’ll be damned to let you go without me. That family is unwell. What if they don’t let you leave? Or worse—oh my god. My blood pressure already taking a hit. Oooo chile. I swear—I’ll turn that forest into a marsh.”
“Calm down, woman. You gettin’ all flustered, and we know don’t nothing good happens when you’re stressed.”
“Baby, if you gotta take a trip, fin,e but I wi—“
“You signed a treaty, Nimmy.”
She tossed the thread cutter and cussed. Cooling the fire in her gut, she returned to the patch and sewing machine. Nieema tapped the paddle and steadied her hands.
“I’m the one who created that damn treaty, Buck. They get to keep them fifteen hundred acres because I say so. My daddy was due to burn the m, and that was his last option.
“If we hadn’t signed that damn thing, we’d be killed by overgrowth and fauna. Listen, if they wanna get to squabbling, then so be it. But I’m going, and we both know that’s the end of it. I gotcha, old man.” Buck affixed his softened, dark stare upon her and relaxed.
“You ain’t gotta tell me what I already know. I just don’t want to cause trouble, Nimmy.”
“That isn’t up to you. It’s on them.”
He sighed while she freed the finished patch and set another on the plate. Nieema situated it just right and muttered.
“Other than Palison, how was your night?”
“Not bad, I mighta broke the ice with her.”
Nieema smiled as he recalled Jasper’s training. She was a quick learner, but had no interest in tools. That was fine cause most folks knew what they were looking for. Nieema completed five patches while they conversed about the mundane. Kids, grand babies, the house, their shop business, and what was on schedule for Friday night in the dungeon.
Curls and coils of smoke soothed her better than any Jazzy track. His dusky lilt was the highlight of her night, making her heart swell with gladness.
She, the demoness, knocked on wood. Syrupy sweet notes preceded her.
Nieema focused on the double stitch and said, “I heard you bought a hammer. What do you plan on doing with that?”
“Building stuff. Whenever we actually get to it. I’d love to start breaking shit.”
Buck’s raspy, smoke-laden chuckle was delightful. “Day or two, and we’ll get started. You so impatient.”
“Not really.”
Nieema popped upward and drank in the woman. She’d changed. Silk and twill for cotton. A matching set. Soft, tight, and pink. Nieema had more to say than hello about how she stepped into the space.
Buck wasn’t a man with shame. He had no qualms with staring. Neither was on the same page, though her lack of tail irked.
Jasper strolled on into the office barefoot, anklets chiming with each step. She went straight for the binder loaded with commissions.
“I finished the orc piece.”
“Lovely,” Nieema intoned, not giving a fuck about the commission. “Where is your tail, ma’am?”
Buck grunted. “I was wonderin’ the same, baby.”
“Keep wondering,” the succubus clipped, turning plastic pages. “I might take about five more; the first made me anxious for more work.”
“How much you want for it?”
“Mmm, fifty—”
“No,” Buck hissed on a harsh exhale.
“Be confident, Jasper.”
“Seven—”
“I seen it,” Buck added, eyes locked on the demoness and her thighs. “Your low balling ‘bouta piss me off, ma’am.”
“Shit, fine. Two hundred.”
“Done,” Nieema chimed, happy to pay the woman. “Nice doing business with you.”
“Money well spent.” Buck wagged his pipe at Jasper and winked. “Worth every cent, Nimmy.”
Shock and awe, Jasper beamed, and Nieema loved the sultry curve of her mouth. Recalling the plush, pillow-soft kiss, she scoffed.
“It’s alright,” Jasper corrected. “Not my best, but decent enough.”
“So, what?” Buck sneered, a swirl of lavender clouds framed his menacing portrait. “You calling me a liar? I know art when I see it.”
“From now on,” Nieema started, foot on the paddle. She tapped and watched her stitch. “I only wanna hear you speak good of your projects. Because if you don’t believe in them, no one will. Oftentimes, a lack of confidence seeps. Your customers will notice. Now, tell me, Jasper, what is my husband hiding? There’s more to your moment, but he’s being coy. Maybe you can shed some light on your time with Buckley Sunside. Did my man behave himself tonight?”

Y’allllll, I don’t know what happened! I pressed publish on this thing LAST NIGHT! But tell me why I just looked to see how y’all are taking to it, to find that it DIDN’T publish. Also, I tried to publish it without a title… Listen, this is what I get for trying to do shit late at night right after I get off of work. *Crying emoji
Anyhoo, I hope you had a great weekend and have an even better week! See you soon, and as always, thank you so much for reading! Byyyyeee.

Neon Red: Chapter 13

AB worked a lot as late and through the weekend. He stayed home last night to regroup and relax. Tonight was fully booked, with plans aplenty. Ones that called for black on black. Givenchy broken logo joggers, a tank, and Balenciaga speeds. Monotones made sure an assortment of gold pieces became the highlight of his outfit. Neck, ears, fingers, nose, and wrist. He was dripping in twenty-four carats and wasn’t shy about it either.
Sex was pretty close to wearing fine fabrics and jewelry. Acquiring luxury brands damn near made AB orgasm in any given boutique. The high he received from shopping was intoxicating, and it didn’t stop at Kiton. No. AB just loved buying shit. He was an impulse shopper. Tupperware or Dior. Brand made no difference. Especially during long trips to Five Below.
He needed an intervention for his addiction. Such wonderful things he found at TJM. God, the priceless doodads. A box made from recycled barn wood? Yes! He desired it. A mirrored owl figurine? Yeah? Big-eyed dogs embroidered onto a pillow? Fuck yesss!
Sucking down a lung full of a Moonrock blend, AB checked mirrors. Was he being ghosted? It was a date or anything, but common courtesy and all. He’d been parked under his place of work for the last thirty minutes. A text came through at around 4 pm, agreeing to an outing. AB hit back with a location.
Seeing as they were still strangers, he offered to meet at Brickell Condominiums. Low texted thirty minutes ago. How long did it take to…well, he had no idea where the man lived.
Holding a creamy cloud, AB clutched his phone, eager to send another text when a rumbling engine and bass-heavy music alerted the senses.
I’m Da Man? Yeah, E-40.
Releasing smoke, he noted a sedan six spots down as Low parked beside him. Before hopping out, AB grabbed his FOB, device, and blunt pouch. With everything in hand, he emerged from the great value ride.
“Well, God damn, Red!”
Low’s size was a surprise, to say the least, being a halfbreed and such. They were neck and neck, almost. Non-threatening, he considered AB and smirked.
“I shoulda wore my Give-inchy too. Tryna look cute, tuh. You can’t see me, though, on your best night.”
Low rounded to the passenger side and listed against the classic big bawdy.
AB couldn’t speak with a blunt between his lips. He observed smoke streaming from his nostrils. AB didn’t want to laugh in the guy’s face, but he was clearly delusional. Poor soul. It don’t get any better than Jaxon Aubrey. Was Low ugly, unseemly, or drab?
No.
Absolutely the fuck not. Even in a t-shirt and sweats. Gray.
Pulling the backwood, AB signaled to the chunky boy downstairs. “You plan on using that?”
Low reeled. “You checking my shit already? I usually like some conversation and—”
“The gun, dumb ass.”
“Aye, watch yourself. And only if I have to.” He shrugged, opening the door. “Can’t be too careful with headhunters running about. Let’s go, Red. That summer moon is shy.”
When Low slid in, AB stepped to the driver’s side and eased behind the wheel. “Whoooa shit.”
The woodgrain was smooth and crisp white interior butter soft to the touch. Smelling like flowers.
“Wait.”
“Boo!”
AB flinched like a pussy when the female sprang up. He gave Max and Low more than enough to amuse them.
“Oooo, the salty, sassy alpha be skittish.”
She was a delightful sight, but her glasses were an irritant. After a quick hit, AB smirked.
“Maybe it’s your face,” he said in good humor, ‘cause she wasn’t ugly either. Far from it, actually. Max had silver screen old Hollywood beauty on lock, but those tattoos launched her into the ethereal. AB loved ink on everyone. As he glanced at a snickering Low, Max hollered from behind.
“Don’t be messing with me, Irish Spring,” she hissed. “I am not in the mood. I’ll shove my taser right up your ass.”
AB stabbed the dash in search of good music and took her ‘threats’ with a grain of salt. She was five-two, maybe three.
“You hella annoying, to be honest.”
“I aim to please, Jaxon,” she chimed.
“You better believe her.” Low paused to light his own wood. “She done tased me a few times.”
While AB messed with Bluetooth shit, she yammered on. Cautionary tales or whatever. Max had a pleasant, silvery voice, so he tolerated her loquaciousness.
“There we go.” AB grinned.
Max screamed in celebration, and Low coughed, spewing smoke. “Muh’fucka! Is this Whitney Houston?!”
“I know that’s right!” She clapped. “Low only plays rap garbage all night. This is real driving music.” Max giggled on all in his ear. “You like Whitney, Big Red?”
“I love Whitney.” AB glanced at Low, putting the Chevy in reverse. “I dare you to speak ill of my late queen.”
With the blunt back in his mouth, he turned up I’m Your Baby Tonight and floated onto the street. The Monte Carlo SS was a magic carpet ride.
“Listen, I ain’t got no issue with Whitney, but damnnnnn.” Low toked, then spoke on release. “You a cold-blooded alpha, bruh. How and why are you cruising around bumpin’ this? And, you white.”
“I’m Irish.”
He cackled, but AB grimaced.
“Where can I…” Low tapped underneath the stereo and revealed an astray. “Thank you. And what does my complexion have to do with anything? All that shit is inconsequential. Music is universal; it’s for anyone who wants to listen. There ain’t no restrictions.”
“That’s true,” Max added as a foul, manufactured blueberry odor assaulted him.
“What is that?”
“My vape.”
AB smacked his lips. “It stinks.”
“I hate it too,” Low muttered.
The city was alive with those coming and going. It was 10:30 pm, and most were on their way home or off to get into some shit. They were the ass end.
“You live in Brickell, with all those other rich folks?”
“No, I work there.”
“Ooooh, right, right. Your accounting office?”
“We call it a counseling office,” AB corrected, but had zero intentions of talking about work. “I have to hand it to you, she rides great. Smooth as silk.”
Low chuckled and puffed for a minute while Max sang along to Mark Morrison. Music was AB’s first love as an adolescent. That’s why he liked everything; hell, Vivaldi might play next. Perhaps Stevie Nicks, Korn, Nat King Cole, Michael Bolton, Etta James, or The Beatles.
His playlist was on shuffle.
“Low built this car.”
“For real?” AB asked, fully invested in Low’s response.
The male’s wry smile spoke before he did. “Not built. I restored her a little. You know, put something fresh on the body, and got up in them guts…” His glittering storm gray eyes swung over right on time. “I fixed what was broken, but I’ma replace the block in about two years.”
AB nodded, ignoring the sexual undertones in his statement. Smashing for Coconut Grove, he hit a few lights, but kept things nice and easy.
“Aye, make a U-turn right quick,” Low suggested.
“What?”
“Just do it.”
Once able, AB doubled back and whipped the bitch.
“The hell going on.”
“What’s wrong?” Max asked.
“I have no idea, but we being followed. Seriously, I’ve watched them tail us for the last ten minutes.”
Retrieving his blunt, AB laughed and made another U-turn.
“What you doing?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Low bolted upright, looked at Max, then pegged him with a hard stare. “I don’t know you, and ain’t nobody finna put my shorty in harm’s way, fuck you mean.”
“They’re with me.”
“The tail?” he blurted.
“Yeah.”
“The hell you have them fa’?”
AB inhaled his Moonrock skittle mix and entered Coconut Grove.
No need to divulge sensitive information this early on. He wasn’t even sure if it’d go past tonight, but who knew at this point, right? His passengers were a desirable hodgepodge of gardenia, Bergamot, and Shea butter. The aroma was erotic and enticing. It’d been years since he had a menage. God willing, he’d have another soon.
Max appeared in his peripherals and stared. “How old are you? Where are we going and why are people following us?”
AB snorted and said, “You ask too many questions and haven’t answered mine.”
“You ain’t asked me nothing.”
“I will.”
“Okay, how old are you, whe—” She lurched forward as they came to an abrupt halt. “You ‘bouta go on my list, Irish cream.”
“I’m seven hundred and twenty-three, and getting older every night.”
Low hacked and leaned forward once again. “You the oldest vampire I’ve ever met. Holy shit. I thought you were like, three-fifty, four hunnit or something.” His eyes traveled from north to south. “I mean you well kept, though, Father Time. You are older than this country and the Declaration of Independence. You’re older than this whole state. The dirt we walk on, you older than—”
“I get it! Oh my god.” AB snagged his blunt, killed the engine, and tossed keys to Low.
“Oh fuck! You almost hit my dick, be coo’, bruh. I know you don’t need yours no more, ain’t no way it still works, but mine is fine.”
Max cackled like a hyena. He found the sound unappealing yet adorable.
“This shit will get old, fast.”
“Awwww.” She patted his shoulder, and he loved the contact but shrank away in irritation. “Poor alpha feeewings hurrt.” She giggled again. “Move, so I can get out.”
“Ask me, nicely,” AB growled.
“No, move.”
“I said, ask me nicely.”
Low jumped out of the car, groaned, and pushed his seat forward. “Let’s go, baby, I ain’t got time.”
“Ha!”
Max cocked a brow as her ‘friend’ offered a helping hand. Ab followed, intent on setting some motha’ fuckin’ boundaries.

Goooood evening, y’all. I hope you’ve had a phenomenal week! I’ve been editing mostly and adding to Patchwork. If you don’t know what that is, it’s my fantasy serial. It’s lighter than this and lower stakes. Anyway, this week we get a glimpse of The Troublesome Trio. I had A time writing their story, and you’ll continue to see why. I know this chapter was short, but you’ve got quite a bit coming in the next two weeks (maybe sooner). A little action, SMUT, and Maxi antics. Once again, I’d like to thank you for still being here. Stay amazing and hydrated, y’all. See you next week, bookies. Byyyye!

Chapter 28: The Swooning Succubus

Bone marrow melted, and the body had transformed into a pyre. She’d never been taken so ruthlessly. Buck was relentless and thorough. Her lips tingled, and pussy wanted to consume him. Every god damn inch. Jasper would damn well let him sleep in it.
His soul and desire worked in tandem to destabilize her. To provoke her. It was glorious, though, new and frightening. Their fleeting moment mimicked the minutes she’d shared with Nieema.
The Queen coated his tongue; they danced well together. Not only had Nieema’s flavor caused a flurry of sensations, but it had also made Jasper crave Buck. The thought of them pelted her soul with smoldering pleasure.
Jasper had almost burst in her slacks from the vision. Did she need a release? Yes. What Buck and Nieema beckoned would be her ruin. Jasper was certain that when this man took her wholly, she’d writhe and wither, sniveling for another.
This was cause for hesitation.
His heady passion was delicious. It satisfied and worsened her pangs. But she’d never been this bad off. Never so exposed. Wanting a man to such a degree was unbecoming for succubi. Her sisters would’ve tried to bury her in soot and drake ash.
“What the hell and highs are doing in my god damn store?!”
Leaning against the counter was an oak of verdant waves, freckles, and a fiery opal stare. He was a ravishing creature, Jasper wanted to know.
She extended a palm quick, fast, and in a hurry. “Jasper. I run this place. What do you need?”
He smelled of honeysuckle and fresh waters. His soul was brighter than the midday sun. He tasted like candy. This was a gorgeous man she’d love to sip on, though his upturned nose was telling.
He didn’t trust anyone and definitely not Jasper. She dropped the hand and clapped once, sliding over to a shelf filled with weird shit she didn’t know how to use.
She left the men to stare at each other. Bad blood and taut ties. They were family, too. Estranged kin, Jasper presumed. He was the palest man she’d ever seen, so perhaps they were cousins.
She would rather not be nosy or eavesdrop, but didn’t have a choice. Noticing unkempt shelves, she decided to tidy up while trying not to listen.
“Im’on ask you again, why—“
“You work here?” The man asked, judgment sharp enough to cut his tongue. “Why would the Queen’s consort waste his time working among commoners?”
Jasper scoffed, minding her business. She situated boxes of screws and nuts. Counted tubs of putty and swiped a finger through a pat of dust.
She took to reading. Fill, scrape, washers, caulk, wrench, drivers. Most of this shit could’ve been written in Rakish.
Bored with it, she ventured around the corner and found a row filled with hammers. Jasper perused, looking for something that fit her personality.
She spotted a pink one and snatched it. “Oooooo.” Noting the price, she cursed. “Hay!” Jasper grabbed two hammers and stalked toward the store’s owner. “You want to explain this to me?”
She showcased the tools, and both men blinked. The interruption had come at a bad time, but this needed sorting.
“What?” Buck gritted.
“This pink one is twelve dollars, and the other is ten. They’re of the same brand and size. Why is the pink one more expensive?”
Buck lifted his chin and nodded. “Funny that. Feel free to change the price. I don’t see the point. Brands be doing funny shit. Our last manager left us high and dry, but they didn’t pay attention to much. Good eye, Jasper. Set the price, and I’ll approve it.”
She hummed and smirked. “Thank you.” Twirling on her heels, Jasper listened for a moment.
“Palison, there ain’t no need for you come on up here. It won’t change my mind.”
“I understand that.” Palison sighed. “Believe me. You’re already a king. Why Her Majesty wants to stay here, in a podunk, middle of nowhere, outhouse of a town I’ll never—“
“Fuck you!” Buck bellowed. “Stupid ass bitch. Don’t run your mouth about my home. I’ll put you through it, Palison. See, you always think you better than everyone else—”
“I don’t think, I know I am.”
“What a diva,” Jasper muttered, taking her leave. Heading to the back, hammer in hand, she whistled but halted at Palison’s response.
“Half brother!” Buck countered. “And I don’t even know you. We met one other time, and it was in Lightbridge for that gala thing.”
“Brother?” Jasper whispered, standing near the EMPLOYEE ONLY door.
“This is true,” Palison said. “But as our kingdom’s courtier, it is my duty to speak with you face to face. We have two choices here, Myrrhnelle.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“It’s your namesake.”
“Nah. Never been. It’s Buck.”
“Very well, Buck…you either ascend or relinquish your crown to Thedius, in person.”
“Why can’t we just do a video call or some shit? Everybody doing it these days. I don’t gotta be there.”
“A video call? You want to cede through a fucking—Soil of Soul be with me. No.”
“Why not?”
“There are formalities, and we, as a people, stick to them.”
“That’s the whole problem.”
“You don’t have a choice in the matter, Buck. It’s one of two things: death. Take your pick.”
Jasper tutted and shook her head. More political nonsense. She’d escaped Undervell to avoid this bullshit.
Good thing this was a Buck problem and not a them problem. She had little hope. Fucking the Sunsides was inevitable. A good time would be had, but it’d go no further.
She’d never again trust anyone to do right or give her heart and soul. It was a death trap that had nearly killed her once.
Jasper’s therapist would’ve been upset, but she was free to love or not. That was the beauty of being her own person. It’s the whole reason why Jasper was here and not under her father’s shiny, gold-plated hoof.

Hey y’all, if you recognize the holidays, I hope you had a good Memorial Day weekend! With another holiday over, I present to you, chapter 28. I should know this, buuuuut, it’s a different chapter in MS mode.
Anyway, Jasper and Buck have come to that moment. The one where the unwilling gives. Where they meet in the middle. One person takes what’s offered while the other wants nothing more. THIS IS MY FAVORITE PARRRRT! Ugh. I love how Buck and Jasper are damn near evenly matched. They see eye to eye, all the while butting heads.
This chapter was short. But the next will be long and SPICY! I can’t wait. Anyhoo, as always, thank you for sparing a moment or two on Patchwork. Your support is priceless. See y’all next week and have a wonderful night. Byyye!

Neon Red: Chapter 12

Low was in his element. Standing over the six-range Viking, he tested his famous gravy. “Mhm. Can’t get no better than that.” Some spent money on cars, jewels, and watches. Nah, he loved plants and kitchen appliances. Subzero, Vikin,g, and Mielie. They were Boujee and pricey, but when you were a homebody, you needed reliable shit. And in this age of obsolescence, expensive goods tended to last longer… as planned.
On the menu for tonight was slow-cooked garlic pork roast, fried cabbage, truffle mashed potatoes, and homemade French bread. Not his loaf, but Max’s. The female baked her ass off but could not cook rice. Washing hands, he nodded at the boys who were in the living room, lounging like they had not a care in the world.
Low turned the warmer and timer off. “Ashton, can you set the table?” He heard a whistle and shuffling. “Teddie, kill the game boy. It’s time to eat.”
“Yup, I’m super hungry.”
“I know the feeling, bruh.”
Mitts on, he retrieved a loaded pan filled with sizzling meat from the oven and marched to the table. “Ohhhhhh, Low, that looks amazing.”
“It’s finna taste better too.”
“I believe it. I told Ron you make the best shrimp and grits in Florida. He said, ‘hell nah, my mama does.’ So, I said ‘bet’. You have to make some shrimp and grits now.”
The boy talked a mile a minute and took no breaks unless he had to breathe. “How you volunteer me like that?”
“Simple. I know yours is better.”
Ashton rushed around carrying utensils, cups, and condiments. He loved setting the table, but Low knew it was more so outta habit. Pops made damn certain his sons set the table for their entire lives. Low had done it ‘til moving out at a hunnit and twenty years old.
Sides joined the main dish, and seconds later, they were seated. Low ate breakfast or lunch with them, depending on how he felt. But supper was to be eaten at the table. No matter what, at some point during the day, he enjoyed a meal with his siblings.
“Hands.” Palms up and outstretched, he gripped the smaller ones. Bowing their heads, Low waited for Teddie. It was his turn.
“Lord, we thank you for the food you allowed us to have. And thank you for giving my brother the know-how to cook it, and in Jesus’ name, bless those who are without bread. In Jesus name we pray, Amen.”
“Amen.” Low paused talking to stack protein on his plate. “How’s gymnastics going, Teddie?”
His brother smiled and passed around the mashed potatoes. “I’m second in ranks.”
“That’s what’s up. You been going at it all month. See? Practice makes what?”
“Perfect,” Teddie sang.
Theodor was a happy teenager on the cusp of manhood. Sixteen, innocent, and never been in the streets or seen a gun. Their parents did well until the moment they left.
“I have a shot at the championship this year.”
After loading his plate, Low clapped palms with Teddie. “I know you gon’ make it. And if you keep going. You’ll get that scholarship, too.”
Teddie beamed, his brown eyes shining with pride. “I know I will. It’s about manifestation. Max told me—”
“Here we go.”
“What?” Teddie frowned with a mouth full. “She’s right. A positive mindset works. You stick with it and make things happen. When you realize how powerful your own thoughts are, the faster you can wipe out negative energy.”
Low laughed and shook his head while chomping on potatoes. Looking at Ashton, he ran a hand over his short, pre-dreads.
“And what about you, boy? How are you doing in the band?”
Ashton nodded, dropped his fork, and signed.
It’s going good, though, I’m still kinda bad. I think the violin is my instrument. I really mean it this time.
“Are you sure?” Low asked with a smirk. “You ain’t tried drums yet.”
Ashton shook his head and signed.
Nah, too noisy. You know I love classical strings. I just had to decide. Cello, violin, flute, clarinet, trumpet. I got the piano down, thanks to Max. But I’m sure it’s the violin for me. I like how it feels in my hands. It speaks to me.
This little boy was fourteen and growing too damn fast. Ashton was seven years old when they were abandoned. Now, he wore braces, stood five-foot-seven, and talked about girls. Pretty soon, he and Theodore would be grown men.
Time ain’t stop for no damn body.
Low smiled, flashing fangs. “Whatever you do, it’s gonna be great, Ash. Once you learn a skill, you excel. I’m proud of you.” Glancing at Teddie, he said. “Both of ya’ll. I just wish I could be there for competitions and recitals. I’m sorry about that.”
The middle brother shrugged. “You always say sorry for things you can’t control, Low. You didn’t ask to be a vampire who has a sun allergy. It’s the weirdest thing. Don’t you think, Ash?”
He nodded and signed. It makes no sense. And then, one day, I’ll be allergic too. But I’m more of a night person, anyway.
“Yeah, but you remember,” Teddie shoveled cabbage and snorted. “You remember when I put garlic in your room?”
“I do.” Low sipped his cold, sweet blood happily and smiled. “That was when I first told you, right? Yeah, yeah. Y’all wanted proof so bad. You put garlic under my pillow and about burned me to death.”
He side-eyed Ashton, ‘cause that sneaky boy got him fresh out the shower. Low walked into his room, and Ash ripped the curtains aside.
Ashton rolled his eyes and signed. I believed you afterwards.
“Yeah, I would hope—”
The doorbell interrupted their chatter. Standing, Low checked the time. 9:30 and barely vampire hours, but he had called for Mrs. Piper to watch the boys, since they ain’t know how to act. Hitting a u-turn, he jogged out of the kitchen and hustled for the door. “Max?”
She waved from beyond the glass.
“Hay, baby. I was just about to text you, too. I was finna hea—what’s wrong?”
Her feet dragged along with her face. Maxi was a positive ball of happy-go-luckiness. Sometimes, her never-ending jubilation got on his last damn nerves. But when Low closed the door, sadness clogged a dark silence as her forehead met his chest.
“What’s the matter, Max? Talk to me,” Low said, his demand terse. Linking arms around him, she mumbled. “What is it?”
He stepped into the bar area, entrance adjacent, and sat on a stool, pulling Max onto his lap. “Woman, you gotta speak up.”
Low hated it when she was sad and blue. It didn’t feel good on the inside. Cupping her cheek, he yanked off the frames and tossed them on the bar-top.
“I’m getting married,” she muttered, about ready to cry. Low heard those words, but the loud racket behind his ribs made it tough to make out.
“You what?”
“I’m getting marrieeeed.”
Hands dropped away as he recoiled. Who would have thought he’d care this much? Low remained willfully ignorant for years. He refused to scrutinize what had blossomed between them for his sanity, her mental health, and the job. They had an agreement, an arrangement that worked great, but…
“When did you meet somebody?” he asked, unable to look at her. Staring at rows of top-shelf liquor and hanging martini glasses was a better game plan. The sudden feeling of betrayal had him fucked up. It was unwanted and ridiculous. They were grown adults who set boundaries from the first time they…
“Low?”
“You said we would tell each—”
“Oh, my god. No, I didn’t meet anyone.”
He cut back to Max with questions. “I don’t understand.”
“My dad did this.”
He jacked to his feet and paced. “What the fu—what the fuck?!” Linking fingers atop his head, Low halted and gawked. “Are you playing with me right now?! Max, don’t play. Please don’t.”
“I’m not. This guy named Matthias came over, and basically, I have to…”
Some shit hurt Low’s feelings, other things turned his pillows red. Then some issues and dilemmas made a man wanna rip his own heart out. And to be trill, this was the second time Low felt the latter. As Max explained the whole ordeal, he wanted to vomit. What was finna happen? Was Raymond Lawry going to take her away? Would they move out of state? The bleak thought threatened every bite he swallowed.
“Is everything okay?” Teddie asked. His concern called Low’s muddled mind into the present.
“Uh, yeah.” He nodded. “It’s fine. Max, baby, you hungry?”
Shaking her head, she smiled. “Hay Teddie.”
“We have mashed potatoes.” He knew how much she loved the spud.
Ashton ran in next, slipping on socked feet, and slammed into her.
“Hi, kid,” she chimed as the boy pulled her into the kitchen. “Guess I’ll have a bite.”
Both of his brothers were taller than she, but it never stopped the woman from babying them.
Low was about to flip. Like, he needed to smoke, or he’d kill one of his children. Not the boys, but a plant. They were his kids. Well, not all. Some were closer to him than that.
“See.” Teddie showcased a tub crammed with slices of bread. “He even let us have some. Cause you know he’s stingy with it.”
“It’s mine, the eff you mean.” Low barked. Max gave him the nastiest scowl in return.
“No.” She snarled and said, “I will tear you up. Y’all can have as much as you want, and if you like, I can make another batch tonight.”
When they sat, Low cleared his throat. “Mhm, nah, I’m heading out. Which means you are too.”
“I don’t wanna.”
“You do.” He smirked.
“Where are we going?” Max asked, handling baked goods. She smeared butter on its fluffy white top.
He shrugged. “Don’t know. I ain’t the one driving.”

Good evening, y’all. I know it’s late, but it’s still Friday! This is a win! Also, I am writing this half asleep, but I did it. I really hope you have a terrific weekend, and per the norm, I want to thank you. If not for y’all, I wouldn’t keep doing this. Your time and interest mean everything. Have a wonderful Memorial weekend, loves! Byyyyeee.

Chapter 27: Want All’at Smoke

Close quarters and molten delight. Buck wasn’t one to push or the sort to add pressure until within the arms of promising darkness. He let folks live and die however they wanted. There were too many petals to pluck. Why worry himself silly over one fragrant flower?
It was no secret that he was for whoever wanted him. Be it man, woman, or them, he’d be there. Slipping between walls and digging ‘em out. He wasn’t picky. Buck had a good woman with great pussy he tasted with every swallow.
“There ain’t much to it,” Buck said, smoke puffing and curling. He applied another price sticker and glanced at Jasper. “You got it.”
“Surely.”
“How many jobs have you had?”
“Not many, but enough.”
“You like dealing with people?” Buck asked, plucking his pipe from the shelf. “And don’t be shy. Consider this an interview.”
“Thought I had the job already?”
Gold flecks sparked in her eyes like agitated fireflies. Jasper’s unbidden attention yanked at his soaked roots.
“I need some personal info to put on paper. Mater fact…” Buck brushed past the demon, and she chuckled while he was left to burn. Her scent dared to raze his soul. “Step into my office.”
He sauntered between stacks and units. Shelves cluttered and dusty. Nieema hated the task and refused to handle it. The aroma of sawdust, mulch, and metals reminded him of them early days. When the hardware store was their only means of making ends meet.
Buck smiled and trekked onward, across twelve hundred square feet. Their first baby had grown up and out since times of old.
“We gotta fill out that application and such. Got health care and whatnot.”
The back of house wasn’t shit but a bathroom, office, and an adjacent break room. They cut wood outdoors because Buck couldn’t stand the sight. They weren’t sentient trees, but watching the work made his ass itch nonetheless.
“Let’s see here.”
Buck hustled to the bookshelf, set his pipe next to a fussy ficus, and located the folders. He snatched one and dropped it on the desk.
Jasper was a cold piece, feet kicked up atop glossy mahogany. Ankles crossed, she rocked in the chair, hands on her soft belly.
Buck grunted and smacked her loafer. “You don’t pay for nothing. Feet off my shit.”
She cackled and snagged the folder. He picked a pen from the holder and offered it. Jasper snatched the damned thing and locked her scorching stare upon high.
Buck matched her indignation. He smoked in silence and gathered much from her quick script.
“I don’t take to demands well, Buckley.”
“Sumn’ else we got in common, huh?”
She flipped pages and continued, eyes on the application. “Your wife is beguiling.”
“I agree.”
“Nieema was respectful and forthcoming. Intent on fucking me.”
Buck grunted and ambled, mouth to the teak tip. He waited a tick and stared out the single four-pane window he’d installed nearly two hundred years ago. Still held up, much like his marriage.
“You tryna make a case or convince me of somethin’?”
“I don’t want you to think I came onto her. Or that I sought to do anything with your wife.”
He scoffed, clouds undulating as he pivoted. Jasper finished her duty and leaned in the chair.
“I wouldn’t care if you did.”
“Understood.”
He sniffed, smirking. “What’s your plan now?”
A dire wolf might deem her smile a threatening show of fang.
Buck loved this part.
He adored them self-assured types. A pretty woman to step on his neck and make him beg for pain. The sweet dame who’d clutch his nuts and make him pray with reverence.
She’d do it to ‘em. Buck believed this succubus to be kind, personable, and everything her kind wasn’t, but she had the beating pulse of a domineering demon. One he could trust to do him right when the occasion called.
“I don’t want complications,” Jasper asserted, rising. She pressed forward and rounded the desk, seeking to devour Buck right on up. Her magic spilled and pooled between them. Fine florals, sweet nectars, and spice. He inhaled every note and became a glutton within seconds.
She settled on his tongue, coiling around Nieema’s essence. The richness roused his old bone and wood.
Buck inched closer as she grabbed his pipe. He watched, fascinated. Jasper pulled with ease and exhaled. Smoke billowed, framing her strong features and capped horns.
The succubus pushed his most prized blend through her nostrils and said, “I’m at a point in my life where all I seek is peace. What y’all bring to the table is trouble, and I don’t want it. I don’t want anyone in my face. I don’t want to be paraded around by king and queen.”
Buck shivered as their proximity forbade another breath. Breast to breast. Heaving and creaking under her sheer demonic weight. The air was thick with it. Lust, desire. It laved the skin. He growled and bore into her gaze.
“I don’t want my business in the street.”
“You got my word,” Buck rasped, drunk on her presence and scent. She hadn’t pulled a single succubus card, but he was ready to drop for it. Crawl and kneel for a crumb.
She paused for a second hit, and squinted. “I don’t want expectations.”
“There ain’t none.”
“You aren’t easy to read,” Jasper said, grinning. “I find this to be both thrilling and terrifying. It’s sickening how undeniable your darkness is. Heavy, potent, you carry on the wind and strangle me. I’m choking on it even now. Don’t make me regret this, Buck.”
“Never.”
She placed his pipe on the desk and sat on it. “You may touch me now.”
As if the soil demanded him to, he heeded her words and closed the distance in half a second. He locked an arm around her waist while his width forced her legs to part.
Buck claimed Jasper’s mouth and demanded entrance. She gave. Allowing him the pleasure of exploration. Sweeter than morning dew and honey tree sap.
He threaded claws through her short hair and gripped strands. Jasper responded in kind. Lighting him ablaze, she fisted the fabric at his back. A telling heat pulsated on his bricked dick.
Succubi came on strong as hell and turned that ass into a fiend. He wanted to be seated within her. Deep and burning between her luscious thighs.
He growled while she hissed from the belly. It was packed with deadly promise. Buck wanted her bite. He craved her fang-filled kiss and loved how she took to him.
Desperation fueled their fire. Flint to parched tinder, he was ready for conflagration.
“Hello?!”
The holler ruined their moment. Buck rumbled, furious with the world. He snapped her head back, and she yanked herself free. A beat later, teeth and fangs penetrated bone. She’d struck him quicker than a pit snake.
To cool his ass down and keep from nutting in his pants, Buck escaped her clutches. He stumbled into the shelf and patted at the bite wound on his shoulder. Blood seeped, staining his t-shirt.
“You ain’t shit!” Buck yelled, rushing to pluck a tissue from the box. “It’s seven in the evening and you biting motha fuckas’. This—you know wh—I got something for you.”
Jasper laughed, pleased with herself. She leveraged weight on her palms and shrugged. “Who says I want it?”
“Don’t get cute.”
“I’m not.”
She slid to the floor and said, “I have plans with the wife.”
“Mhm. Yeah. I bet you do.”
She arched a brow while Buck blotted. He loved the sting, tug, and burn. Jasper had no idea how close she was to getting fucked out in this god damn office. He would have, but something about it ain’t sit right. Buck was going to give this demon more than a quickie in the back of his hardware shop. She deserved more than that, and he was more than happy to give her time if need be.
“After you, ma’am. I got customers.”
“We have customers.” Jasper winked in passing and exited on her high horse. “I want my first check on Friday.”
“You can want it all you like, don’t mean you gon’ get it. The hiring process takes time.”
“I need the money, Buck.” She spun about, walking backwards through stacks. “I’m serious.”
“You want me to spot you a few—“
“No!”
Jasper fussed about not taking handouts anymore. He truly didn’t give a fuck and wasn’t about to let the woman talk him down. She’d take his money and like it.

Happy Tuesday, I know it’s a day late, but bookie, the 9-to-5 is gnashing its teeth. Taking a chunk right out of my ass. Buuuut, we persist. We keep it moving and march forward. Just like Buck and Jasper! We have arrived! First kiss for both husband and wife. They’re cute as hell, and I’m still discovering new things about them.
Jasper has no fight left, and I feel her because Buck is some fine shit. Big, bold, and dark. We love us a morally gray forest daddy, don’t we? I know I doooo. Anyway, I love how they’re not taking each other seriously while being nothing but themselves.
Jasper isn’t one to fuck around, and Buck ain’t either. He loves to be handled with care, but make no mistake, he can and will make demands.
I’m anxious to get these three alone. And the moment I publish this, it’s off to see about them. With that, I will bid you farewell. Until next week, folks, have a wonderful night. And don’t forget to drink more water, watch your favorite show, and get some rest! Byyyye.

Neon Red: Chapter 11

The following night, Tracy checked his reflection once more and tugged the pocket square. Pressed, extra starch. He swiped a hand over his taper fade and snapped cuffs. For many a night, he considered himself the best. Trudging through mud to get where he was required a strong mind and will. He’d been born into a scholarly family. Doctors and teachers. Of course, an education couldn’t hide one’s skin color. For countless years, he walked this wretched earth and experienced things his child would never understand.
If his father hadn’t stolen those bonds, there was no telling where they’d be right now. Though finding out his own son was dyslexic had been a blow. Tracy’s father thought him a lame, unintelligent, and disposable. At least he left his mother with money and means to provide. In his youth, Tracy was lost, working odd jobs, longing for an intellectual path. To do something worth a damn.
That’s when he met Bernice. She was by far the most gorgeous woman he had laid eyes upon. She was a learned gal from Nigeria. Smart, kind, and patient. She helped Tracy overcome his literacy issues; thus, their love story began.
“Beginning of the end.”
A knock called for his attention. Striding down the hall, connecting the vestibule and his bedroom, he noted Jaya’s presence.
“Are you sure you wanna do this?” she asked.
“I am only trying to do what’s best.”
“You honestly think this is best?”
He couldn’t stand it. Her disappointment and knitted brow. She wasn’t fit for an expression so sour. Jaya was divinity embodied and warmhearted, but had no right to question him.
“I do. It is a beneficial merger.”
Jaya’s laughter wasn’t that of joy. “A merger. What is happening to you, Tracy? You are fucking with her life.”
Averting her judgmental gaze, he marched to the wet bar and did his ultimate best at preparing an old-fashioned.
“She will be grateful.”
“This is not the 19th century. It is unacceptable.”
“To whom? There are plenty around the world who practice such things.”
“Yeah, and it’s wrong.”
Tracy sighed, dropped ice, and faced Jaya. Beauty remained despite her fury. Verily, she raised the girl, so her protective nature was predictable, but she wasn’t Maxine’s mother. He was reminded of that every night.
Swirling his drink, Tracy stared into the chilled, brown pool. “Max is my child, not yours.”
He matched Jaya’s vexation. Her glare glinted behind welling ruby tears. He strongarmed an aching desire to comfort her.
“I know what’s best for my child.”
She scowled and left in a hurry. There was an unmistakable pain in the center of his chest. An agony he’d come to live with. Stuck in a sort of purgatory he himself built from the ground up. Tracy still mourned his beloved and wanted to honor her, even in death.
But this was killing him. This silent, personal storm. The suffering never ceased. His hands trembled, ice rattling in the glass. “Stay the course.”
Tracy growled and launched vintage crystal across his room. It shattered on impact, taking his antique standing mirror with it. Shards dangled at odd angles. With pieces missing, his reflection fractured. The world did this to him. Life and death were both something to fear.
Tracy didn’t wish to die, but wasn’t sure if he wanted to live anymore, either. On a spin, he grabbed his dinner jacket and tweaked the pocket square. On his way to formal living, Tracy plastered on a smile.
“Ah, Matthias.” Tracy extended a palm, and they shook like proper gentlemen. “I do apologize for my tardiness.”
The male released and inclined his head. “It’s okay. Your gracious staff kept us busy with a phenomenal slice of hummingbird cake.”
“Oh yes.” He gestured to a younger male sitting on the couch. “My daughter made it. She knows her way around an oven.”
“Magnificent. We do love a cooking woman.” Matthias Lawry was a grand vampire of some three hundred years. A rich pureblood with an old maroon gaze, money, and connections. He stood tall and confident. His son, Raymond, on the other hand, was nonplussed. Matthias cleared his throat and yanked the boy’s arm. “Get up and shake the man’s hand.”
Raymond grinned, offered a greeting, and committed to it. Tracy had socks tighter than his grip. “Hello, Mr. Bissette.”
“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Tracy added
“You too.”
Like pulling teeth, the boy wanted nothing of it, which was understandable. “Please, have a seat.” When his guests returned to the sofa, Tracy took a load off in an armchair. Crossing his legs, he started in. “So, Matthias, has Raymond been informed?”
“He has, and my boy is ready to meet Maxine whenever she is ready.”
“That’s wonderful. She should be along shortly. I’ve told her to take the night off. Max typically wakes up around ten or so.”
Matthias smiled kindly, while his son sat deflated. His body molded into the cushions as his shoulders drooped. He should be grateful. Because of this, they were all better off. Tracy only knew of one other vampire who sold heathens to the highest bidder, and he stared at them.
Matthias Lawry was an asset, and they’d make more money working together. If there was one thing Tracy loved more than his late wife… it was currency, and their topic of discussion. They spoke of stock markets, what to sell, and when. Who were the best investors and who offered the best rates overseas.
“Dad.”
“Oh, Maxine, I’m glad you’re awake.”
Ohhhh, how fancy. She could have spruced up a bit. Her hair looked as though it’d been windswept, there was shit in her eyes, and for the love of god… a Winnie the Pooh onesie. Maxine was an adult who wore footie pajamas. Perhaps he should have told her beforehand, but Tracy had much on his plate. And with her, this approach was best; she had nothing to contemplate.
His daughter would choose wrong every time.
“Maxine, this is Matthias, and his son, Raymond.”
“Okay.” She shrugged.
“Matthias and I have decided you two might make a lovely pair.”
The girl looked at Raymond, then slowly turned towards Tracy. “Dad, can I talk to you alone, please?”
“Absolutely.”
“Excuse us.”
“No problem.”
Tracy followed Maxine into his clean office and shut the door.
“Dad, I am not ready for a relationship. It’s kind of you and all, but I don’t need you to set me up.”
“It has been five years, Maxine. It’s time you find another husband.”
Her arms crossed and brows gathered. “I don’t want another husband. I don’t ever wanna be married again. I don’t ever, ever want—”
“You can’t hide away forever. What purpose will you serve if you are not someone’s wife?”
She winced as if he’d shot her. “What are you saying?! A female, or woman, is not born with wifely duties strapped to her back. We are more than dolls to look pretty, cook your food, and grow babies.”
“Watch your tone.”
“Or you’ll freeze my accounts, I know.”
Tracy held his tongue and sat in an old chair he’d bought in 1972. Things weren’t made the same anymore. Including women. A girl in Maxine’s position would have been over the moon some eighty years ago. His daughter was from that time, but she’d lost all sense and grabbed this modern age by the balls, as it were. She fit in with them, conforming to this generation and what they called freedom of expression.
“You know what we have at stake, don’t you?” He watched her peruse shelves full of books he forgot to read.
“I can’t forget.”
“You wanted in Maxine, I let you. So, I’ve got another job for you.”
Her multi-colored irises were magical in nature. One Red, the other quicksilver, they were striking and unique. He and his daughter emerged from the womb imperfect, but unprecedented. Tracy loved her eyes because they shaped her into someone special. Alas, the dual pigment haunted him as well.
When Maxine was born, he became filled with a renewed sense of purpose and an immeasurable amount of love. Sadly, in the same moment Maxine opened her eyes, Bernice took her last breath.

Max wouldn’t like whatever he had to say. She dropped into the armchair, waited for her father to speak, and picked lint off her onesie. Helluva night to wear this thing. She loved onsies. They made her feel safe and warm, like a security blanket. She carried a fluffy crochet blanket Jaya had made her for fifteen years. Tracy made her burn it. The day they started making onesies for adults, she got in on that and never looked back.
“Matthias is a runner, like me.” Tracy asserted.
“Nope, not gonna like it.”
“He’s wealthy.”
“So is his son.” Glancing at her dad said yeah, she was right. “What does this have to do with me?”
“You and Raymond are going to marry.”
Max’s stomach hit rock bottom and lurched as she slammed her eyes shut. A vile, slow burn accompanied the rapid beat of her heart. “I have my limits, Dad, I can—”
“You can move on with your life. Be who you once were.”
“I can’t do this.” Pinning a blurry gaze on her father, Max begged him. “Dad, I can’t. I don’t… this isn’t right. How is this fair?”
“Life isn’t fair, Maxine.”
Max linked arms tightly across her seizing chest once more and wanted to puke. “I know you hate me, but I don’t deserve this.”
“I don’t hate you,” he refuted.
“You do, and that’s fine, whatever. I’d hate me too for what I stole from you. But I don’t know how to apologize. You shouldn’t keep holding it over my head, this… this is too much. You are stepping over a line here.”
Tracy Bissette had a stick up his ass. He was high-strung and unflappable. Serious, judgmental of others, and nagging. He was strict and rode Max behind since she learned how to talk. But her father was never cruel, until now.
Max had to know why and how he’d even think to agree.
“After everything I’ve been through…” she whispered, just about ready to curl into a ball.
“No fault of mine,” Tracy spouted. “I warned you about that boy, Maxine. I told you to seek help. I have said many things you chose to ignore.”
He was right, but the past had nothing to do with the present. “How can you sit up here on your high horse and jus—”
“I have no choice,” her father ground out.
“Yes, you do.”
Tracy was ever composed with a highbrow and stiff back. She’d never seen him truly smile or express real emotion, negative or positive. Right now, however, he was undone. Fidgeting, twiddling with the blotter, and drifting off into space.
“Matthias is a runner who will not accept competition. This is more of an insurance policy; if we don’t abide, well… his wife is a US senator, and now, he knows what we do. Things can go from congenial to shit quickly. Do you understand?”
“Oh my god, he blackmailed you.”
“Indeed.”
She saw anger on her father’s face, real anger. Lip twisted into a snarl and fist tight around a personalized letter opener Jaya gifted him with last Christmas.
“I don’t understand.” She shook her head. “What does he have to gain from this?”
“My compliance, Maxine. A joining of our families would mean peace. It’s an old strategy to avoid war, but still relevant. If you don’t do this, that’s it. You will have to leave the country.”
A giant batch of ifs-ands-buts frothed within her brain matter. “I can’t leave… what about you?”
“It’d be prison or death.”
She couldn’t breathe, and the urge to vomit worsened. Leaving wasn’t an option. Jaya, Ndar, I, and Low would be left behind— “I can’t leave.”
Meeting her father’s speckled green eyes, he nodded. “I am aware of your love for Elliot, Max.”
“I’m not—”
“Don’t lie to me. It’s unbecoming. I’ve known for some time. However…” Tracy’s demeanor shifted. Going from fury to an upturned nose and a judgmental tone. He released the letter opener and started typing on his computer.
“I will never approve of it, never. He is a fine male, but unfit for my daughter.”
“That’s not your call. You don’t even know him.”
“He’s a convict with three strikes. He served time at Alcatraz before his transition, Max. Under the watchful eye of the US government. Elliot is a gang affiliate on reserve. You’d be insane to think I’d invite him into our family with open arms.”
She’d been born in the wrong century.
Women were free to choose. Be who they wanted to be. When sexuality evolved into something they needn’t be ashamed of. When they had more to gain in life than a last name. When you existed for yourself. Max watched as women held powerful positions and made men fall to their knees. She watched as one became president of the United States. They still had a long way to go, but women were being freed from societal shackles.
They were free to be.
Except for Max.
If it wasn’t her father’s almost tyrannical hovering, it was someone else’s. She left one prison, barely escaping with her life, only to wind up in another. When the fuck was Max going to be her own person?
The answer was never.
“Maxine, we both know your choice in partners has led to ruin on several occasions. Do yourself a favor by marrying Raymond. He’s a great male with an education.”
“Fine,” Max snapped. What other option did she have? None. It was either this or leave her dad to die. And you know what? She was a punk. ‘Cause no matter what, she loved her father. Not to mention, he’d suffered enough thanks to her.
“When is all this supposed to happen?” she asked, unable to look at the man. Her head hung low, and her spine folded.
“I’m not sure. It’s up to Matthias. But you could spend this time getting to know each other.”
“Alright. Can I go now? I just need a day or two, please.”
“Sure, it’s a lot to handle, I know.”
She shot to her feet and sprinted out of the stuffy office. Her legs were mailable. Where rigid bone had been, there was putty. Max stepped into her room and collapsed onto a mountain of clothes. She heaved as a cold flush washed over her. Nothing came up, thank god, but her lungs worked overtime. Her chest pumped harder to no avail; no oxygen was to be had. The room spun, twirled, and twisted as the sound of her heart broke through everything else.
“Oh, Maxi.”
Hearing Jaya’s voice, she looked up as tears erupted from dry wells. “Momm…” she moaned, and reached for her. Maybe she crossed a line, or whatever, but Max was so god damn broken. Needing safety and someone who understood, she wanted Jaya. The woman didn’t waste a second. She joined her on the floor and wrapped Max in a nurturing embrace.
In her arms, she wanted to sleep away the bad dream, or nightmare. Max had no will to beat away a rising sadness, and Jaya gave her time. She held Max tight and rocked her as any mother would. The slow, steady motion and warmth helped to calm her down, eventually.
“I’m so sorry, Max, I tried talkin—”
“It’s not his fault.”
Lying on her lap, Max inhaled the familiar scent of fresh air and lemon. For almost a hundred years, Jaya took care of her. Tended to every diaper and bottle. She’d made Max dresses, and learned the proper way to care for 4a hair. She was there for every milestone, scrape, and complaint. Jaya had a say in Max’s life. She had every right to make her voice heard, but Tracy would never… he was stuck in the past, and unable to see this angel for who she was…
Max’s mother.
“He told me Matthias blackmailed him.”
Jaya gasped, causing Max to open sticky, heavy lids. Turning onto her back, she studied the ceiling. “It’s either this, or he’d snitch.”
“Oh, my god.” Leaning in, Jaya kissed her forehead. “I don’t even know what to say. You are in this mess because of your dad. To be honest, Maxi, I don’t know how much more I can take.”
“Don’t leave him, please. I wanted to be nosey. I wanted to do something dangerous. It’s his fault for allowing me this far, but it’s mine for ever asking.”
Her decisions never led to anywhere good. Time and time again. Grown was a relative term. Max was incapable of not fucking up, and despite being upset and crying out, she blamed no one but herself.
“I am terrified of being married again. Of being owned and rendered property. I don’t wanna be duped into hell…”
“Look at me, Max.” When she refused, Jaya forced their eye contact. “Not every man you meet is Kyle. Don’t make the mistake of putting his face on them.”
“I already have.”
Jaya shook her head and pulled Max in. Flush against her ample bosom, she cradled her like a child. “Oh, sweetheart…” she sighed. “All I ever want is for you to be happy, Maxi. And I won’t leave this family until you are.”
“You are my family, Jaya.”
“I am, and I’ll always be here for you, but your father…”
“He loves you.” Max croaked the words, and she almost started crying again, but for Jaya. It was tough to witness and took years to understand. Their stolen glances and coy smiles. The way her father cared for Jaya while keeping his distance was tragic.
Max felt so bad for her. Being in love with Tracy Bissette had only led to dinner for one. Her father’s heart was encased in glass and steel.
“I know,” Jaya murmured. “But I can’t live like this forever. Torturing myself has run its course, love.”
Max wiggled free of her warm hold and grabbed Jaya’s hands. “Every kid wants to see their parents together. I always thought it would happen. I’m so sorry.”
Jaya was an Afro-Portuguese beauty queen, of some two hundred years old. Tall and thick, she got attention from every guy on the street. Poor thing had soccer mom style and loved her Velcro sandals, but god, she was ethereal. Tracy was a stupid, stupid man.
“As my matron of honor, you’re gonna have your hands full.”
Jaya giggled with bubbling tears in her eyes. “Really?”
“Yeah, you are my Mom after all… if that’s okay with you.”
She nodded. “You’ve always been my daughter, honey. Now, we gotta do something about this outfit. That boy wants to say hello.”
Max put on a half-cocked smile and shrugged. “Maybe I’ll dye it purple and turquoise. I wanna be hideous as possible,”
Jaya laughed, and Max joined her with a hysterical cackle. Life wasn’t great, but lemons and lemonade.

Hi y’all, I hope everyone had a good Monday! Day job is kicking my ass, but I am still here. Still pushing these chapters out for y’all. And what a chapter it is. So, by now, I know you hate Tracy. I get it. He’s not my favorite person either. He’s one of those parents who are hell on earth but will also do the most for their child. Tracy is that parent. Does this excuse his behavior??? Noooo. Poor soul believes he knows best. Sad. Anyway, I felt so bad for Maxi. I wanted to slump Matthias then and there. No lie. I remember cussing his ass out while writing this scene. Whew, chile. Anyway, it’s about 11pm and I ammmmmmm sleepy. I’m gonna turn in now. As always, thank you for reading. You are a good human who makes a difference in my day-to-day.
I hope y’all have a good week and see you sooooon. Bye, loves.

Patchwork & Pitchforks: Tidbits

Chapter 26: A Queen & Her Knight

Tuesday’s weren’t for the weak. Nieema hated slow days more than off days. After five hundred years of working, moving, and shaking, she didn’t know how to relax. The only down time she had was in Bucks arms or tucked away in their dungeon.
If not for him, Nieema wouldn’t have a reason to sit ass. She was a mother, grandmother, and queen of Ravensguard. This kept her from lazing about.
June through August was her least busiest time of year. Come November, she’d be knee deep in charity work, quilt making, embroidery commissions, and festive requests that should have been scheduled months prior. December was all about the Solstice and Christmas. When Nieema jumped from town to city, checking on her people.
She had civic duties, paperwork, and housing to procure, not to mention the occasional visit from territory leaders. So, Yeahhhh, holding up in the hardware shop made her feel useless, antsy. She coulda’ been doing something productive. Instead, Nieema reclined behind the counter, scrolling on her phone. While searching for yarn, thread, and other shit she didn’t need, her night brightened.
Feet kicked up and ankles locked, she smiled. “What can I get you, fine folks, tonight? I got a discount on sandpaper and caulk.”
“What I want ain’t on them shelves.”
“I know that’s right.”
Nieema glanced at the door as he entered, Jasper trailing. And oooowee, was she a sight. Pressed, slick, and classic. There was nothing more attractive than a person who dressed to impress. She smelled better than a fresh hotty toddy.
Cinnamon sweet and dark, their scents mingled. Jasper accompanied Buck’s earthy woods and high allspice so well. Their tangled aromas made her more than curious. She enjoyed the sublime fragrance and wanted to speak on it, but decided not to. Buck’s words echoed in her skull as Jasper avoided eye contact. She hung back and perused.
Nieema dropped legs and admired her husband.
“Where you been?” Nieema asked.
“Dorthy wanted an introduction.”
“Hm.”
Nieema didn’t have nothing nice to say about the woman, so she wouldn’t address it.
“Other than that, what you get into?”
“Nothin’.”
Buck popped his gum and sniffed, sliding behind the counter. He scooted on over to the POS and tapped on the screen.
“Buckley, you got ‘bout two-point-three, and I do mean it.”
“He done pissed me off!” Buck piped. “Hawke is a red-beaked vulture, tell you what. He prayed on Jasper’s naivety and kindness. I couldn’t have it.”
The drawer popped open, and Buck got to counting the till. Wasn’t but fifty-seven dollars in it. They made the most money on weekends.
“You spooked that man. His brother texted me about it. Said he rushed home in tears. Thinks we gon’ have him beheaded.”
Buck laughed and said, “Lucky I don’t.”
“You hush. Wild boy.”
“Damn straight.” Buck cast his gaze downward and lingered. “Where’s my love?”
Nieema giggled as he descended. His crushing, breathtaking kiss roused her thirst. Nieema had half a mind to drag his fine ass to the back, but figured it rude, given their company.
After nipping his lip, she stole a drop or two. He grunted and pecked her forehead.
“Why you so quiet, woman?” Nieema asked, looking for Jasper.
She’d ventured off, disappearing between shelves and stacks. “It’d be a shame to interrupt.”
“Is that right?”
“Nimmy,” Buck warned.
Jasper sauntered on over, hands in her pockets. Her sashay was nasty, and so was the wolfish grin. Jasper wasn’t so shy or skittish now. Nieema sensed her draw. Succubi fed on desire, lust, and love. They thrived in a passionate environment.
“Dining on me and mine, are we?”
“Shhhhit,” Buck hissed.
Nieema crossed arms atop the counter and matched Jasper’s molten gaze. She was bold and unabashed, towering. Gold winked and gleamed against her gorgeous red complexion.
Jasper was a cold piece and had to know it. Bad as a bitch and sneaky.
Arrogance wafted as she peered. “I don’t have much of a choice with y’all. You freaked out.”
“You ain’t seen shit yet,” Buck said.
Nieema snapped her fingers. “You just told me—boy, shut up.”
“Well.”
He slammed the drawer and sighed. “You know how to work a register, Jasper?”
“Of course.”
“Good. Get over here and show me then.”
She stalled, squinting. “Say please.”
Nieema chuckled at her statement. Buck was the wrong one to try. He’d stroke that ego and make you feel so goooood. Finessing an unprepared dame was light work for the king of Nieema’s heart.
“Please,” he drawled, eyes glinting beneath the rim of his dusty old hat.
Fuck, Nieema wanted to give him neck right now. Drop the knee and choke.
Jasper’s confidence swelled. It was all in her face, in her smile and high chin. Nieema clocked her sure stride and square shoulders.
Poor soul thought she’d won.
“Well, since y’all are gonna do some training. I’m gonna head out. Got some business to handle.”
Nieema snatched her bag from under the counter. “Before I go, Jasper, I wanna apologize—“
“Will you be free tonight?” Jasper interrupted.
“Uhhhh, yeah. I can be.”
“I’ll see you at the ranch. We’ll talk then.”
“We sure can. Ten-thirty?”
“Done.”
“Perfect.”
“Indeed.”
Nieema checked on her man, mirth shaking him loose. Maybe he was right about patience and whatever the hell. True, Nieema wasn’t the one trying to smash last week. And yes, she’d been telling Buck not to jump the line, and hell yeah, she was fuckin’ hypocritical.
Jasper wouldn’t be ignored. Instincts told Nieema not to forsake this woman. She listened to her gut and intuition without fail. They were never wrong. If a vampire had nothing else, they had base instincts. It was a matter of survival.
Life or death.
“You two behave, and Buck, I need you to get the collards. I’m not gonna ask again.”
“I know.”
“You say that, but I asked you on Monday to pick them up. Farris just harvested them for us since yours aren’t ready. Don’t embarrass me!”
“Go on, now, Nimmy. Take yourself somewhere. We busy!”
“You ain’t busy yet, Moss Balls.”
“Nimmy, god damn it.”
Nieema cackled as Jasper asked about the term of endearment. On the way out, she eyed the duo, and they smiled. It was a delicious vision. Buck in proximity to Jasper.
Brushing fabrics with inches between them. The implication made her shudder and exit. She needed the cool rush of a late summer breeze. With fresh air came clarity, reminding her of what she needed to do before heading home.
Strolling down Everrose Street, she plucked her phone. With a tap, she dialed Hank. Folks smiled and waved. Nieema returned their friendliness in kind as her knight and right hand answered.
“Huh? What?”
“I need you to meet me at Lita’s.”
“Are you good?”
“No.”
“On the way.”
Hank had been her blade and shield for centuries. They’d traveled the world and fought; bled together. She’d dug trenches and nearly died beside the vampire. Nieema knighted Hank some five hundred years ago. He hadn’t left her since. He was family, but family didn’t always get along. He was mad about that wild bitch who tried to slaughter everyone in the coven. There was only one way to stop her. Axe and salted rainwater.
Hank was pissed, no two ways about it. He wasn’t happy with Nieema or Buck at the moment. It wasn’t his fault, though. Love potions were horrid and had lingering effects even after the victim was cured.
Hank suffered greatly at the hands of an unwell necromancer. Soon, he’d come out of this fog and see the truth.
Until then, Nieema had to deal with his scorn. Mad as a soaked burrowing bear he may be, the man would come when called. He knew to drop the shit and stand on ten toes. When it was time for knightly business, he was there post haste.
It came as no surprise when Hank rolled up and jumped from his truck ten minutes later. Serious as ever, no nonsense and alert. He joined Nieema at the table she dined at.
Next door to Lita’s was Indigo’s finest vampire dive. It catered to their kind with a menu vampires appreciated. Blood was the main ingredient. Powdered, spiced, cold, hot, mixed, pure, or tap.
The meals were fresh and hot, made to order.
“What you got there?” Hank pursed his lips and snagged a corn puff. It was similar to a double-fried hushpuppy dripping with grease. Cornmeal, flour, and coagulated blood. Of course, most nutrients were lost after frying, but it tasted damn good.
Nieema got three dozen and a medium, sugar blended a-positive. Frothy and refreshing, she sipped as Hank stole a puff.
“You can get your own.”
He grumped and chewed. Hank had a grandfatherly air about him, though he had no kids and never married. The thought often caused her pain. He’d put his whole life into serving. Nieema wanted more for him, but they’d argued about it enough.
“What’s going on, Majesty?”
“Don’t do that.”
“You queen ain’t you?”
“Hank, you can be mad all you want. But that won’t change what happened.”
He garbled and stole his second puff. “You talking to me like I don’t already know. What you call me for, huh? What’s going on?”
Nieema punched down her drink with the straw, considering her next words carefully. She didn’t know the whole story and had no intention of running her mouth about Jasper.
“Juel might have…been paid to keep tabs on our new house guest.”
Hank recoiled and blinked. “Cheryl’s boy?”
“Mhm.”
Hank stroked his beard and nodded, attention fixed on the bustling crowd across the street.
Some new space movie was released two days ago, so the cinema was packed. Free ticket Wednesdays and unlimited popcorn kept Spalding’s in business.
Its glittering marquee made her nostalgic for times past. Buck had taken her to the movies for the first official date. Back then, films were silent moving pictures.
Nieema refused to give her money to them big theater chains. No way, no how.
“What you tryna’ do?” Hank asked, mid-sigh. He crossed his arms and glowered. “I don’t know what we can get him on. He wasn’t stalking.”
“How you know?” Nieema snipped, crunching on ice. “He been watching her comings and goings. Off in the cut somewhere, eating sour candy. Sounds like stalking to me.”
“You gonna detain him?”
“No.”
“What am I here for?”
“This is official royal business, okay? You gotta be with me.”
Hank shrugged and snagged another ball. “Alright now! You gon’ lose two fingers fucking around with my food.”
For the first time in a while, Hank grinned. “Hurry up and eat so I can get back.”
“What you got going on?” Nieema considered the old vampire. “Why are you in such a rush?”
He sniffed and scrunched up his face. “My chickens. I gotta keep an eye on ‘em. That furry devil done killed ‘bout three. Nimmy, it’s bad. That man ain’t got no kinda handle on his beast or friend, I don’t know, hell.”
Hank was mighty flustered. “Who’s beast?”
He flicked a hand and snapped fingers. “Wushisname, uh, Jasper’s brother. Uh, Kit? His cat is wild, feral, and a pain in my Black ass.”
Nieema chuckled as Hank prattled on about the chaos Kit’s cat had caused. Apparently, it was possessed. A demonic kitty. How adorable, she thought.
“Well,” Nieema started, “I wish you luck, but don’t be acting a damn fool.”
“I ain’t.”
He lied.
“Yeah, right. Don’t badger Kit and leave his cat alone, you hear me?”
“Shit,” Hank cussed again, mumbling about his coops and such. “I’ll try, but Nimmy, I can’t lose no more hens.”
“I hear you.”
Hank shook his head and sighed. “You almost done? God damn!”
“Shut your rickety ass up.”
“Don’t make me knock this shit over,” Hank warned. “I’ll do it!”
Nieema eyed him and pointed two talons at his mug. “I’ll break my foot off in you—“
“I’m ‘bouta go,” Hank snapped. “You playing with my time, woman.”
Nieema laughed and finished her drink. Hank helped her polish off the puffs and even tossed her trash. With their snack date done, she headed next door.
Lita’s was one of two hair salons in Indigo Plains. And folks loved Lita’s cause; Marshay braided better than Princess, who had a chair at Wax. Nieema preferred Lita’s, mostly cause it wasn’t so prim.
Hot irons and food scented the air. It was a welcoming aroma she found comforting. Every last chair was taken. Folks looked mad and defeated. They had appointments, for damn sure, but time was of no value the second you crossed the threshold.
“Look who decided to show they face!” Marshay bellowed, eyes on the hot comb she held with care. “You come up in here after taking them braids out for no damn reason.”
The owner of Lita’s, named after her late mother, tapped somebody in the temple.
“Girl, you got nerve. You bet not fall asleep in my chair!” Marshay lifted her carmine stare and tweaked a brow. “They were fine, Nimmy. Shit. You be wasting my time.”
“Look, here, you know I gotta switch shit up. Don’t know why you mad.”
“Tuh, do your own hair from now on, then, Queen.”
“You so huuuuurrrt,” Nieema grimaced and pointed at Juel. His chair was second to last. He sat in it, eating. “Listen, imma buy you lunch, Shay.”
“I want a bottle of Venwae.”
Nieema cocked her head as Juel dragged tail. “Venwae! The fuck who you think I am. That’s top-shelf blood, ma’am.”
“Nimmy,” Pat called from his spot by the dryers. “You hear about the mall shit?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“Huh? You heard about the Voaremont inviting the Chieftain over for supper?”
“Juel, bring your behind, now!”
“I’m coming, I had to put my food up.”
“What you mean invited?” Nieema looked to Pat. The man nodded. “Invited how?”
“You know how invites work, girl.”
“He can’t enter Ravensguard without my say.”
“Wellll, you better talk to the Voaremonts’ and the orcs about it.”
“I plan to.” Nieema glanced at Hank, who was already tapping on his phone. “Get that motha fucka on the line.”
“Already done.” Her knight exited the salon with the phone to his ear.
“Juel, baby, let’s take a walk.”
“I didn’t know you were with her, I—“
Nieema clasped a hand on the back of his neck and peered into butterscotch brown. Juel was a good boy and probably didn’t mean harm. But, he was still on the wrong side of this here situation, and Nieema wanted to know why.
“I didn’t ask you to talk, quite yet, honey.” Nieema started their journey and released her nervous cousin. “Don’t worry, Juel. I ain’t gon’ bite you. But I will need you to talk, and it’d behoove you not to lie. Start from the beginning and tell me how you got

Hello, y’all. I know it’s a few days late. I am sorry for that, but I wanted to give myself some breathing room. I wrote a few more chapters and don’t feel so…behind? I looooveee staying ahead by a couple of chapters, but I paused for two shorts that I had to get out of me!
Anyway, we are back on schedule, and here they are. We have a lot to come, and I know y’all are waiting for Buck and Jasper to have their moment. Soon, I promise.
There will also be side quests!
As y’all know, I’m a panster. And this panster loves external conflict. I’m still gonna keep stuff low-stakes, this won’t be high, world-ending shit. Nahhhh. But there will be a dash, sprinkle, pinch of political intrigue. I can’t stay away from it…apparently.
The Voaremonts’ ain’t shit. I’m going to let y’all know that now. And yeah, the surname is…Mhmmmm. Not an accident. And with their mall comes trouble of all sorts.
What else? Oh! Jasper’s cursed house is still cursed as hell, and we will get back to that in a bit. Because it’s FUNNN and I like where this is going.
Anyhooo, thank you, thank you for being here with me. Your support makes my day. Have a lovely weekend! And remember, drink water, eat that god damn muffin, and sleep more. Byyyyye.

Neon Red: Chapter 10

Mondays were hell and grueling. AB’s lack of motivation wasn’t a surprise. He’d been ready to throw in the towel before leaving the house. Despite wariness, there was a twisted mystery in the Bissette household, and he was intent on unraveling it.
He wanted to agree with Ines and would have two days ago. Fleming’s prime cut came second to what he’d been served the other night. Subpar it may be, but AB was hungry, so he stabbed another slice of rib-eye with truffle-poached lobster. It melted in his mouth. Still second best.
“It’s okay,” AB muttered.
“Okay?” Ines barked. “You got the most uppity taste I know. We’ve been coming to Flemings since it opened. Speaking of, how’d you manage an after-hours lunch at 12 am?”
“Yes, can you pray-tell how this happened?”
AB glanced at his nearest and dearest lawyer, Brandon Thomas. The accomplished attorney had seen Jaxon through tons of drama since 1987. His father and grandfather handled legal affairs until the day they died, then it was up to Brandon. And he was the last Thomas standing, seeing as his only child died in a car accident four years ago. She was an up and coming estates lawyer who graduated top of her class. That was some sad shit. Three generations’ worth of Howard Law ended with Brandon.
AB smiled and snagged a glass of Barboursville; it ain’t Opus, but hit the spot nonetheless. Plus, he was on the clock.
“Blue notes can buy anything,” AB mumbled. “Even time.”
“Yo, what’s eatin’ you?” Ines asked, cracking another crab leg.
“I don’t know, maybe it’s this fuckin’ case.”
“Ehhh, don’t sweat that shit.” Brandon dismissed the comment and poked leaves.
The poor guy had high cholesterol or something. He couldn’t fuck with high fats, so his only option was a nasty, filthy, sordid salad. AB didn’t understand all that human shit, but Brandon said diabetes and heart attacks ran heavily on his mother’s side. Which was the leading cause of death in African American males.
Sad, sad as hell. AB would rather eat a leather belt than touch leafy greens or vegetables in general. He drank them in smoothies loaded with fruit. But chewing and swallowing? Absolutely not. And yeah, he’d eaten boiled leather once or twice.
“How do you suppose I do that?” AB asked, fighting vexation. “This bitch is trying to frame me, Brandon. Like, she’s accusing me of kidnapping and attempted murder.”
His nerves took a hit from the realization. The monarchy did not play around with heinous crimes, and they shouldn’t, but Jaxon didn’t touch that female. Well, he did, cause they were fucking on the regular. But never with dubious consent, and he never tried to kill her.
“It doesn’t matter.” Brandon shrugged, pushed up his glasses, and squirted lemon juice on his rabbit food. “We have irrefutable evidence. She was hysterical and toxic, often seen throwing things, abusing you, and destroying property. During your relationship—”
“We weren’t…”
Both sets of brows cocked, ‘cause even they knew he was full of shit. Ines spoke on it first.
“You’d better get a grip, brother. Whetha’ you wanna believe it or not, you and Lianne were playing house. She had clothes, a toothbrush, and underwear there. Come on.”
AB sighed and went for a pile of onion rings. Sitting back, he admired the empty restaurant with its white linen and mellow lighting. They took up residence on the second floor, ducked into a corner, away from prying eyes and nosy pedestrians. For the most part, out of sight from everyone not in the building.
He had four men downstairs, two posted out front and a duo by the emergency exit. Dining alone in a densely populated area like downtown Miami came with risks, ones he didn’t wanna take.
AB was never by himself, not truly. He’d be remiss and thickheaded to show such arrogance.
“Well, I don’t claim a relationship with her, but if it helps plead my case, then so be it.”
“There’s the spirit,” Brandon replied.
“You got digital evidence on this bitch. She’s in your house, committing a few crimes. During the time of the alleged incident, you weren’t even home, AB. This shit is open and close.”
“Ines, leave the law discourse to me,” Brandon said. “I wouldn’t say open and shut.”
“Then what?” AB snapped, appalled by his response. “The hell you mean it’s not? I have more than enough against her lying ass. Plus, she’s unstable.”
“Yeah, she is, but you have more important problems.”
“Like what?” The attorney flicked a gaze to Ines, and the two grimaced. “What is it?”
Ines cleared his throat, wiped the buttery residue from his chin. “Paola isn’t returning my calls.”
Jaxon dropped his knife and fork. “I’m sorry?”
“She’s not answering.”
“Excuse me, did yo—”
“There’s a supply issue. We’re getting texts from everywhere, from everybody.”
AB cracked his neck and stared at Ines, whom he considered a friend. Best friend, to a fault. “We were on schedule for last Wednesday.”
Ines nodded. “Yeah, that’s true. And I though—”
“You assumed what?!” AB shouted, rattling utensils and expensive crystal. “After damn near a week! You should have told me after she ain’t deliver mother fucker!”
AB growled, swiped his plate, and sent everything crashing to the waxed hardwood. The world collapsed. Red reigned.
A hand went for the bottle of wine.
He stood over Ines and dried his hands with a dinner napkin. AB sneered, looming. Ines sat on the floor, holding a blood-soaked cloth to his gushing skull.
“I want you, to schedule a meeting with Paola, Ines. I don’t care how you do it. People have paid in advance for what I supply, you know that.”
“You fucking her!” Ines spouted. “You call her! It’s probably something you did anyway.”
AB’s eyes flared. “I’ll rip your god damn tongue out, and I think of you as a brother. Shut the fuck up! Get me a sit-down, now!”
Throwing the napkin, he rammed a loafer into the idiot’s shin.
Brandon nodded. “I’m working on it.”
“Good, and Ines…” AB pointed at the dumbass on his way downstairs.
“I know, shit.”
“You better!”
He made haste through the kitchen, waved at the chef, and was let out through the back door. Silent boys in black followed him all the way to his Hyundai. Most big dogs came and went under the radar.
Upon getting in the car, he fought a fiery impulse to smoke. Stress was eating his brain good tonight. Funny how things went from great to shit so quickly.
Last week, AB had planned a trip to the Emerald Coast. Now, he was knee-deep in simple, yet unavoidable problems. Forcing anxiety to ride in the back seat of his throbbing head, he stabbed start, and peeled tires.
In the rearview, a raven sedan gave him space but remained in sight.
AB hated the hovering and skulking, even if he had been the person who hired them. It was due time to throw up some defenses. Nights of walking around wide open like a commoner were done. Those days were over, but he still didn’t like them up in his shit. They were always a few yards behind and stayed there until being told otherwise.
AB took his time traveling back to Tracy’s abode. He needed to ease up on the irritation without influence. Oooooh, God, was that tough. Turning into the driveway, he counted one vehicle. Her Wrangler and Mr. Bissette’s shitty Avalon? Absent.
He didn’t wanna be bothered tonight, and crossing the threshold, AB relished the quiet.
The door was unlocked, which meant Jaya was zoomin’ around the house, cleaning as if company was on the way. She mostly picked up after Tracy, ‘cause he loved leaving dishes everywhere. He also lost his phone quite often, forgot where he put a mug of coffee, and misplaced his Kindle regularly.
Ab avoided all contact, hurried into the office, and closed the door. He was liable to snap for no good reason, and Jaya didn’t deserve his foul mood. Dropping to the floor and onto his ass, Ab grabbed the last file box and got to work.

No, no, no. Done with everything, Max tossed an empty Monster can at her TV. It landed on a mound with the rest of its dead aluminum comrades.
“You punk ass! Why are you camping?!” she shouted into the mic.
“I have a vantage point.”
“No, the hell you don’t! How are you a veteran with these tactics? Huh?”
The man in her ear spouted off with gamerbro vocab, and she tuned it out. Nobody was ‘bout to spit shit at her. Max won three tourneys and came in fifteenth during the last international championship. First-person shooters were where she expressed her anger. She hurt no one, besides a noobs feelings. Granted, Max believed in spiritual healing and had strategically placed crystals around her room.
Clear, rose, and smoky Quartz, by the dozens. Amethyst and Tourmaline. Citrines and turquoise. She wore copper and moonstones on her hands and a Selenite necklace dangling from her neck. She wholeheartedly believed in meditation and the work affirmations put in. But sometimes, video games were therapeutic too. Gaming was another thing her father didn’t approve of, so she excelled at it.
Ndari was at the shop, Low was working, and honestly, Max should have been as well. But Mondays were for the birds. When 10 pm approached, she walked into her Black-owned business and left ten minutes later.
She drove straight home, put on her jammies, got on the game, and stayed in the same spot for hours. Her sitting area was a cute corner, surrounded by windows she never opened. The alcove was homey, with a floor rocker and a fifty-inch TV hanging on the wall.
“Oh my god! Can you get off your ass and help us?” Max yelled into the headset.
Life wasn’t easy every night, and at times, no amount of meditation helped. Memories were both a gift and a curse. Dreams and nightmares played in concerto while she sloshed through another depressive episode. Max had forgone therapy, assuming all mental woes would be settled with holistic remedies. On second, third, fourth thought, maybe a shrink annnnnd her spiritual lifestyle could mesh. One uplifting the other. Unlike this group of misfits lacking on the job.
“I’m done with ya’ll, I’m over it.”
“Max, don’t leave.”
“Ahhhh, go make me a sandwich.”
“Please donnnn’t. We’ve been playing for like five hours.”
“I was just about to go in on them bitches, bro.”
As more refusals rang in her ears, she whipped out another Monster and popped it open. Drinking like ten a day was fine. Going into cardiac arrest wasn’t a death sentence, and it happened once. She lost consciousness for sixteen hours and woke up peachy keen, aside from minor palpitations.
After gulping half the carbonated medicinal elixir, she burped and dropped out of the match. “Kiss my ass,” Max murmured. “They can lose by their lonesome.” She wasn’t adding a royal ass beating like that to her roster.
Throwing the controller, she shot upward and wanted food, ‘cause it was the ever-present anesthetic. Gaining and losing weight was a chore for every vampire. Both endeavors required copious amounts of blood and a strict routine just to make headway. She’d forever be a pear-shaped woman who carried over two hundred pounds, mostly in her bottom half, and gladly too.
Max wenched her door open and marched onward. She dashed through the kitchen and aimed for the pantry. Standing in a treasure trove of goodies, she was delighted by the options. There was so much to choose from; Jaya had a knack for shopping. “Sourdough bread, Doritos, fruit snacks, donut holes. Meh, oatmeal raisin cookies too.”
Hands and arms full, she spun out of the Snack House and kicked the door shut.
After unloading her treats on the breakfast bar, she found a plate and topped it with green olives, salami, and cream cheese. “Bone apps a teets.” Max slid onto a stool and smiled at her spread. “Dinner of champions.”
Mouth watering, she slathered the bread with cream cheese. Her stomach growled, adding the dried salami and olives. “You ‘bouta to get fuc—“
Max froze mid-bite and snapped eyes up to the microwave. 3 am. “Oh, god damn it.” Why was he still here? “Oh no.” Noisy, tap dancing shoes alerted her to an approach. “Well, shit on a stick.” She kept her head down and chewed cautiously as he turned on the lights.
“I didn’t think anyone was here.”
She shrugged when he spoke and mm mm mm. He might as well bottle his scent and sell it for top dollar. The thick, woodsy aroma screamed of a strong male. What was that? Tuscan leather? Yeah, like the Tom Ford cologne. It was close enough and held some weight, too.
“I been here,” she muttered.
“For how long?”
“You nosy.”
Jaxon chuckled while she smirked at her plate. “My bad. You know, I think this is the first time you haven’t worn shades. But I gotta say, the cat ear headset is cute.”
Max snatched the thing off and grimaced as she dug for Doritos. Spicy Nacho and cream cheese went well together, which was why she dipped and ate, bearing no shame.
The sound of something being poured filled a stagnant silence. “You mind sharing the chips?” Jaxon asked.
“Go ahead, it’s a free country, ain’t it?”
“Some would beg to differ.”
His voice was smooth as sweet whipped butter in a hot skillet. He had a deep, caressing timbre that kissed your inner thighs. The type of lilt women tended to swoon over and throw it in a circle just to hear. Max was that woman, but she’d be damned to admit it. This man knew he was sexy. No need to pump his head up any more than it already was.
She thought Jaxon was ‘bouta get his shit and go. Assumed he’d toss it into a bowl or perhaps a cup, but his big ass pulled out a stool. Chiiiile, as he sat down, her old heart got to jumping.
“This flavor is actually my favorite. Spicier the better, I always say.”
“Yeah, I like ‘em okay.” She nodded, biting into the bread. “I don’t like being the butt of a joke,” Max heard herself say and regretted it.
“Excuse me?”
“I don’t like being humiliated or pitied. So you can cut the shit.”
Jaxon scoffed. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”
“Yeah, right!” she belted, plucking a donut from her plate. “I am out of your league.”
“Whhhhat?” he chuckled.
She groaned. “I mean you…you are out of my league.”
She couldn’t talk right. Tongue tied then a muh’fucka. Max had never been with a white boy. What the fuck was she doing?
“Out of a what? You know, Max, when two people talk, sometimes, generally, they look at each other.”
Ripping off the wet band-aid, she met him in the eyes. “There. Better? Happy now? Go on, be aghast.” Max was appalled by her own behavior, and so was Jaxon. He stared, while she stiffened, stuck on stupid.
“This, is why you wear the shades?”
“Aw, you want a cookie? Smart man.” She grunted and returned to the spread of junk.
“You do everyone a disservice by wearing them sunglasses.”
The sentence turned into pig Latin. Her gaze darted back to Jaxon and stayed. First off, his vernacular. And second, what he said…
“Come again?”
“You heard me, and I’m not into repeating myself. You gonna eat that other, whatever you made?”
Max shook her head. “No, feel free.”
Jaxon snagged it but frowned at the olives. Picking at them, he hissed. “Terrible. How can you digest this?”
Momentarily distracted, Max scoffed. “What do you mean?”
“Vegetables, I hate ‘em.”
“Damn, yo piss must stink.”
He barked, exploded in laughter, and she drank in the scene with glee. Jaxon was a masterpiece, showcasing deep dimples and long fangs. He smelled scrumptious and had a baddie in his pants, she was sure of it. Priority number one for Max on any given night was to get dug out. She preferred it seven days a week.
Wanting every piece except the heart was the issue.
He simmered and sighed. “You got the kind of rowdy attitude that I hate, goes against my grain. Blunt and rude for no reason.”
“Like I care about how you feel. I’ll take my food back.”
Jaxon’s head whipped around so quickly she flinched. His holier-than-thou arrogance spewed from every orifice. “Do it. Go on, give me a reason to fuck you.”
Max crackled like a witch. Loud and ugly, she laughed. “Who you talking to, pimp? You only get in on this if I say so, and like I said, you outta my—”
“What the fuck does that mean? I don’t got a goddamn league, mama.”
“Piss off with them pet names. You don’t know me, Jaxon!”
The front door slammed, and she whispered, “You better watch your mouth, Red. Or I’ll tell my daddy.”
“I don’t give a dam,n and as a matter fact, fuck your Dad—Hello, Tracy.”
Max did her very best not to giggle.
“Oh wow, what do we have here? You two must have a little picnic going, I take it?”
Jaxon smiled, maybe, and said, “We sure do, and Max here was nice enough to share.”
“That’s excellent. Getting along better, I hope.”
Jaxon glanced at her, then nodded. “Swimmingly.”
He was a great actor and liar, putting on a show as if he were an amiable fellow. But no, he was not, far from it, and didn’t his edgy behavior wet her pants—oh, no.
The moment Low sauntered into the kitchen, Max slumped. He wore her favorite shirt. The quick-drying number was thin, stretch,y and hugged his bulging frame like spandex. It embraced every cut and slab on his chiseled abdomen.
The guns and holster thingy made him dangerous. He was so fine.
She was in a conundrum here.
“Oh look, it’s Bevo Lotty,” Max jested.
Low shook his head. “I ain’t in the mood for your shit.”
“Play nice, kids,” her father cautioned, as he shoved leftovers in the microwave.
“That’s too bad, ‘cause I’m in quite a mood myself.”
“Go shave your mustache or something, shorty.”
Hearing a snicker from Jaxon wasn’t fair. Squinting at him, she smirked. “Dad, do we have any Lucky Charms?”
His broad smile flatlined, and Low chuckled.
“I have no idea, Maxine, I don’t eat that trash.”
“Oh.” Diving for the donuts again, she was proud of herself. “I’ll check later.”
“Good, good. I’ll be in my room.” Tracy grabbed a tray, something to drink, and found his way out. Low watched him go and waited for the customary door slam to slide over.
A cute, teeny-tiny smile accompanied the twinkle in his eyes.
He swiped an olive, reeking of mischief. “Why you wasting these?”
“He don’t eat veggies,” Max said.
“What kinda grown ass man don’t eat vegetables?” Low asked. He popped the orb into his sweet mouth, and she gawked.
“I don’t.”
“That’s nasty, your piss prolly smell like battery acid.”
Jaxon cocked a brow and said, “I make up for it with fruit and smoothies.”
Max shrugged. “Hm, that ain’t so bad, you eat pineappl—”
“He wanna test drive the Monte Carlo shorty.”
Her gaze drifted to Red as he pinned his on Low until they found Max again. “I do. But for now, I’m gonna take my ass home. I’ve had a long night.”
The big ol’ male dusted his hands off, rose to six foot whatever, and towered. Max gulped as her neck craned and pussy mewled. Golden weaves of shimmering thread. Jaxon’s eyes were impossible and unearthly. Then again, he was a vampire…an aroused one at that. He wanted to poke somebody. Hard to figure who.
Max wondered if he was into men.
“Have a good day, both of you.”
With that, Jaxon brushed shoulders with Low and disappeared. Leaving echoing loafers in his wake.
“This ain’t no good, Low.” Max worked on an olive and met her lover’s sexy half-lidded gaze. The vintage Versace frames set off his Cuban link chain that often smacked her in the face.
Low smiled. “Baby, we both fucked.”

Helllooo, and happy Friday, y’all. I hope everyone is doing well, or well as expected in this cluster fuck. I’m doing good, just finished another short. Hoping to publish in July. Other than that, nothing much is going on. From June to September, I’ll be editing. Y’all, give me all your good vibes. I’ll need them. Now, onto the chapter. This is where everything starts to unfold. We’re learning a little more about Jaxon and what makes him tick. I told yall, he’s not to be fucked with. I said it! He’s got good intentions buuuuut…I mean, you saw what he did to Ines. He’s got shit to deal with and none of it is good. Now, Max, my love. She’s got her own demons and all of them haunt her. Not only is she living in the present, stuck in an unhealthy environment, but she’s also dwelling in the past. My poor girl has been through a lot. And Tracy is not helping one bit. But! Here comes Mr. Aubrey with his sex appeal and charm to lift one’s spirits. He doesn’t stand a chance with Max and Low. They are a pair. A package deal, and lo, how AB will suffer. Well, let me go and read, game, or write (idk what I’m doing yet). I need more coffeee!! Anyway, thank you so much for stopping by, and see y’all next week. Have an amazing weekend.

Chapter 25: A Demonic Dilemma

From room to room, they traveled and talked at length about decor. Jasper had never thought about her space to such a degree. Color palettes, woods, textures, lighting, and focus points. Turns out she knew Jack shit about her own wants and desires.
She’d never been asked so many questions in her life. Favorite color, time of day, and animal preference. Was she nocturnal or more of a morning person?
Thirty minutes into their walk, Jasper was comfortable and ready for the work to begin.
“I don’t want black in here either,” Jasper said, standing in what would become her gaming room. “I want chill vibes but happy. This is where I’ll be spending the majority of my time, so I’m going for comfort. Relaxation, you know?”
Dorthy nodded, scanning the space. “Muted shades of purple, blue, and indigo.”
“Yes!” Jasper pointed at her and said, “Exactly. Blackout curtains and sexy art.”
“What you mean by sexy?” Buck asked, arms crossed and booted foot propped just so on a ratty box.
“Artistic nudes.” Jasper pinned her sights on the man and advanced. “Neons, paintings, and whatever else Dorthy can cook up. I love the female form.”
Buck scoffed, chewing his cinnamon gum. “Guess you and me got somethin’ in common.”
Jasper smirked, inches between them. She sighed and flicked his hat. Buck’s fixed attention called her bluff while his scent and soul tempted a starved succubus. He was thick on her tongue, sweet, smoky, and nutty. All things she didn’t need.
As his gold fangs gleamed, Jasper shoved both hands into her pockets. She met his molten gaze. “I fear we have too much in common, Buck.”
“I know exactly who to call,” Dorothy tapped on her phone and muttered. “No hologons. I’m thinking sconces. Straddling the hearth. Focal lighting will be perfect.”
“Rugs,” Jasper announced, snatching free of his enchantment. She spun about and sauteed towards the exit. “I want fluffy rugs. No carpet. Just area rugs and shit.”
“Perfect,” Dorthy piped from behind. “I’d love to keep the old personality of this home. Woods, sitting areas, and the sun room! What would you say to stained glass?”
“Isn’t it colorful?”
“Indeed.”
Jasper stopped on the main level and shrugged. “Whatever you think is best, I’m down for, as long as we stick to no black. No stone. And natural light down here. I want cozy, not drafty, lived-in, not sterile. I wanna feel like I’m walking into my place of peace and happiness.”
Dorthy beamed, nails clacking against her screen. “It’s been sooooo long since anyone has given me this much decorating freedom.”
Jasper leafed through Dorthy’s portfolio, loving the work. Her home was in good hands.
“I trust you, Dorthy.”
Buck grumbled, and Jasper grimaced. “What the fuck? You’ve been doing this all day.”
“You got enough, Dorthy?” Buck clipped. hands on his hips. He stared out the bay of windows and sniffed, clearly annoyed. “We gotta get going.”
“More than enough, I’d say.” Dorthy extended her palm, and Jasper shook her delicate hand once again. “You are a dream client, Jasper. It will be my pleasure to bring your vision to life. If you’d like, feel free to e-mail me pictures, art, or decor that speaks to you.”
“You’re going to get sick of me.”
“Doubtful. The more you find, the easier my job will be.”
Dorthy gathered her briefcase and purse before heading out. She cleared her throat, and Buck gave a stiff nod in return. Blood was cold and sour between them. Jasper was curious,s but it wasn’t her business.
“Glad she’s gone.” Buck shook his head, watching the woman get in her car. “She cheated on my great-grandson.”
“Ohhhhhhh.”
“Mhm.”
“It makes sense now.”
“She ain’t no good, but what do I know?”
“Why did you want her to help if—”
“She’s still family and the mother of my grandkids. Two of whom are still in school.”
Jasper wanted to speak on how his emotions faded from gray to blue to pink. He was proud and protective of his family. She found his unabashed display of love and how he wore it on his shoulder refreshing.
“You adore your grandchildren.”
“Every last one.”
Buck cracked his gum and stomped for the door. “Let’s get on.”
“Where are we off to now?”
“To see your realtor.”
Jasper winced and followed the man to his car. She thought he was joking until they pulled up to Hawke’s office ten minutes later.
“You’re serious.”
“As a god damn digger bear in spring.”
“Oh shiiiiit.” Jasper hopped out of the vehicle and kept with Buck’s pace. “You think he knew about the state of my place?”
“Yup.”
Jasper’s face heated, and the base of her horns itched. Clenching her fist,s she bit her tongue. There was no need to barge into his business and start a scene. It wasn’t that big of a deal. She didn’t want to inconvenience anyone or—
“You got three seconds to start talking!” Buck stormed into Hawke’s office and loomed. Jasper waited beside him, keeping her lips sealed.
Hawke’s big yellow eye flung to her as he dropped his phone. “What uhm—what can I—uhm, what do you need Bucko?”
Buck planted palms on Hawke’s desk and growled. Jasper’s breath hitched, and stomach caught fire. She flushed with heat and grinned as Hawke grew anxious. He was ripe with apprehension and fear.
“He’s scared,” Jasper added.
“What you scared for Hawke?”
“I—I—what can I do for you, Ms. Marrow?”
She scowled, ready to flay this man. “What can you do for me? How about you start by telling me why you let me buy that cursed fucking house?!”
“Cursed?” Hawke showcased his sweaty palms and trembled. “I don’t know nothing about a curse. That house has been—”
Buck leaped over the desk and landed in front of Hawke. He smacked the man’s ruddy cheek and kicked his chair into the file cabinet.
“You fixin’ to lie to me, boy?” Buck hiked his chin. “I can smell them tall tales. Lie again and see where it gets you.”
Hawke was a mess of fried nerves as he stammered. “Look, I don’t know who they were, but somebody left me a note!”
“A note?” Jasper queried. Bile rose to the top and bubbled.
Hawke nodded, glasses slipping down his nose. “Yeah. A note and ten thousand in cash. They told me to email you the listing directly.”
“Shit.” She cursed, rubbing her forehead. Jasper knew damn well who gave him the note. “This can’t be happening. I thought it was a normal notification from another realtor site.”
“It was, sort ot. I just sent it to you personally.”
Buck situated the tip of his boot on the chair, between Hawke’s legs. The man blanched and stuttered.
“Why was you looking to sell that haunted piece of shit anyway?”
“It’s easy money!” Hawke squeaked, eyes glittering with a promise of tears. “People love flipping houses. They love a project, but they never stay there long. In the end, I still get paid and always have a listing. But I swear, Buck, I don’t know nothing about a curse. On my Mama’s life, I didn’t know.”
It was important to note how humid the air surrounding Buck had become. Jasper sensed his roiling nature and tapped his shoulder. He shoved the chair, making Hawke yelp.
“You will give Jasper that ten grand you got. Every fuckin’ dollar, you hear me?”
“Every cent.”
Oddities persisted as he sneered. She clocked them quickly. Thorns on the pads of fingertips, the vine-like tattoos twisted and slithered beneath thin cotton.
Jasper’s interest piqued as the potted plant on Hawke’s desk wilted and died as Buck vacated the office.
“You’re an asshole,” she asserted in passing. “And I want it by Friday.”
He nodded, and she snapped her fingers, forcing the gentleman to take a nap. He wouldn’t even wake to piss. It was payback for being a creep.
Jasper exited the establishment with confidence and unstable emotions.
Buck leaned against his big old car and puffed on a pipe. It was quite the dignified sight. Where she came from, males who mattered smoked from pipes. They held themselves to a higher standard and dared not roll their own ashleaf.
“Smells good,” she said. “What is it?”
“My special batch. Dusts, powders, florals, magical minerals, and my wife’s hot honey.”
Jasper folded arms atop the roof of his gorgeous ride and observed. “I’m sorry? Did you just say—”
“I like how she settles at the back of my throat. The smoke brings out her flavor real good.”
Buck’s easy, cool response and dominance disturbed her. Jasper should have been the one in control, taking the reins and telling Buck where to go. It was quite obvious he wasn’t her usual case.
Claw clicking on metal, she observed.
His attention wasn’t coy or playful. Smoke swirled and framed his ravishing, strong features. “What’s on your mind, Jasper?”
Speaking to that would’ve been a dire mistake. One she was unwilling to make.
“You’re disgusting.”
Buck smirked. “I don’t wanna be nothing else.”
“I’m sure.” Jasper huffed and opened her own door. After slamming it shut, she fought to steady her pangs. She was famished and craving as if she hadn’t nibbled on the man for hours. Undervell gods, be with her. Buck was dense and full-bodied. His desire ripe, dripping with want. She could appease, play him well, and satisfy without touching, but the intimacy of it all scared her.
“Where are we going now?” She asked, voice rising above the loud, rumbling engine.
“The store. We gonna do a little training and see if you got what it takes.”
“For what?”
“To run shit. We need somebody who does well under pressure. Someone who can provide excellent feedback and communication, service when time calls for it.”
Buck’s eyes drifted from the road to Jasper. He held firm and switched gears. The air was taut and humid.
Jasper would not be swayed or pushed. “We talking customer service or something else?”
His smile and smoke lingered. Jasper liked every base note. Cherry, vetiver, and something unique. She snickered, knowing the undercut’s source.
One thing about Buck Sunside, he cherished and adored his wife.
This important detail, among others, rs made him the sexiest man she’d ever met.
“Thank you.”
“For?” Bucked asked, annoyed.
“Helping with Hawke. I didn’t think it was actually this bad, but—” Thinking about Trevor left her flushed and cold. “You didn’t have to, but you did.”
“Funny how you think coming to your defense was a choice. As a grown man with status, means, and might, it is my duty and honor to help those who are unable. Not that you aren’t capable, Jasper.
“It’s just, I know succubi intimately, and you, darlin’, are warm-hearted. Strange. Unlike your sisters in many ways. Hawke preyed on your goodness. That old bird is, in fact, a vulture shifter who can’t wait for some easy pickings. I ain’t gon stand for it.”
His conviction and potent lust worked against her. Jasper didn’t want this man or any other. This was the fallacy she’d repeated to herself daily. It was to keep her afloat. The hunger in his eyes was more than she could bear. Jasper set her gaze beyond the window and decided on silence.
If Jasper dared to speak another word, she’d make Buck pull the car over and bury himself between her clamped thighs.