Neon Red: Chapter 17

Low didn’t know which way was up as he yanked his boxers off the floor. He couldn’t focus or form a single coherent thought, and the male’s scent made it worse. Assssss hole. What was Low supposed to say now? Nothing, not a god damn word.
Low grunted and pulled on his underwear. Halfway decent, he located his sweats. The shirt was harder to find.
“Where is it?” He dropped to the floor, confused as to how it had crept under the bed. After dragging it out, he donned the cotton. Next, his glasses. Low squinted, hoping to find them quickly.
“My glasses? Man, what the—”
“Nightstand,” Red supplied.
Low whipped about, spotted and plucked them. Sliding his frames on, the world appeared with booming clarity.
He didn’t appreciate it.
“You going to hell with that suit on,” Low murmured.
“Pardon?”
“You heard me.”
“I assumed red was your color.”
Low frowned and patted pockets. “What you mean?”
“The Piru tattoo on your arm.”
There were several things wrong here. Red’s attention to detail was attractive. Low loved the suit and, yes, it was his color. Red, however, was getting a tad too close, and Low didn’t trust himself not to punch the elderly vampire in the face.
Lastly, that chapter in his life was closed.
“I turned over a new tree. Fuck a leaf. I ain’t banging no more. I haven’t since ninety-eight. Not that it’s your business.”
In a pocket, he felt for the waiting blunt and fished it out. Low ignored the male’s closeness and opened the oversized window.
He needed air, and Florida offered nothing stepping onto the patio. It was too damn hot for this shit, even with more rain in the near future. Precipitation gave no reprieve. Low’s lips hugged the blunt happily as he found a lighter and lit the tip.
Stress-free and hungry coming right up. As Low inhaled, Red disturbed his nightly ritual.
“You look like a French toast man,” Red stated, like he knew him or some shit.
“Wrong. I do waffles.” The hell was his goal, after hearing their whole discussion. To humiliate Low further.
It wasn’t being a bottom that bothered Low. Nah.
He wanted to fuck and get fucked, otherwise, for him, a proud verse, there’d be no point.
Low’s problem was how thoroughly Red obliterated him. At the end of the night, Low was a vampire. Halfbreed, but still a bloodsucker. Biology and instinct ran heavy in their species.
He felt manhandled and small. Dominated. Low shuddered and pulled from the wood.
“If it makes you feel any better,” Red sighed, “we are in the same boat.”
“It don’t.”
It did.
Knowing Jaxon felt like a cum slut, too,o made his chest swell with pride. It meant Low had laid some mean pipe.
“Maybe a little,” Low murmured.
He extended the blunt to Red as an olive branch.
“I’m working. The hell do I look like?”
“No need to get smart.” Low snorted. “Uppity ass.”
“Oh, okay. Mr. I’m working, don’t talk to me.’”
Low chuckled, expelling a cottony white cloud. Warmth coated him from head to toe, promising a good night.
“I can’t be distracted,” Low added. “I do real shit. I don’t be sitting behind a desk all night like you.”
“You think you got everything figured out, huh?” Red asked, facing him. Low minded his eyes and lifted them to the sky.
“Yeah.”
“Where’s the food and blood? I’m really starving. Like, I’m about to throw up.”
Low giggled as Max’s voice brought him back down to earth. He ditched the roach on the turnaround and watched as she searched for something. “Your phone is under the pillow, baby.”
“I dont remember putting it there.”
“You always do, though.”
“So what?” Max tossed pillows and squealed. “There you are. Okay, purse, glasses, and phone. We move.”
Low did the honors and grabbed her fuckin’ trash bag. Who needed a bag this big? She might as well carry a duffel.
“Huh.”
“Thaaank you.”
Of course, she paid Red no mind. They never did this, stayed after a threesome. It was weird, and she was nervous. Low knew every look, fidget, and tell.
“Alright.” Max donned her large, round hippie frames. “Solids, liquids? Where are they?”
“Why are you so flustered, Maxine?” Jaxon asked. The grin on him was devious.
She wrenched the door open and said, “I’m trying not to hurt you in some way, asshole.”
“You already shot me. Is that gonna turn into a habit?”
“I don’t know, depends on how you act.”
Low snickered as they filed into the hallway. Max had a mouth and an inexhaustible need to use it as a weapon. But so did Red.
“Play around if you want to, Maxine.” The male dropped down to her level and snarled. “I will snap your fucking spine in half next time.”
Shorty had them shades on, but Low saw peeped her glower. Jaxon tried to intimidate, and in a different setting he’d get lucky, but the spell done wo’ off.
“You mighty presumptuous, Jaxon. Assuming there will be a next time. As you heard we,” she gestured between them, “don’t do that. You know how it goes. This was fun…you seem great….so on and so forth.”
Red snapped back to his full height and spun on a chuckle. They followed, close behind. Low needed a bite immediately. Their journey down an empty hall remained quiet, save for Red’s noisy shoes.
The man was a force. His walk and talk demanded attention. And in a red suit, bruh had a way about him that made Low reminisce…Max slapped his arm.
“What?”
“Don’t,” She gritted.
“I ain’t do nothin’.”
She showcased a hand and shook her head. He wanted to assuage his girl with a kiss until they halted.
“I never seen a kitchen so dark, damn bruh. It’s like a mausoleum. Too much black.” Low hopped three steps and jogged to the flat, matte island. “Oh yes.”
Sitting down, he snagged a plate, and Max did the same. Low ran out of space, loading up on eggs, sausage, and potatoes.
So, of course, he grabbed another and dropped on it.
“You hate waffles,” Max said, too god damn loud. Not minding her own business, she popped her brows. “What are you doing?”
“Girl, you know I lo—” Laughter punched from his chest. “I love waffles. Mmmm. Yum.”
Low stole a quick glance. Red leaned ever so sexy like against the counter, handling a mug.
“I have never seen you eat them,” she added. “You like French t—”
“Shhh, shut up. I’m flipping it. Trying something new.”
Max shrugged. “Okayyy. I’m telling you, they’re good.”
No, they weren’t. Low hated them truthfully. Waffles got soggy quick with syrup pooling in soppy cubes. It wasn’t a horrifying experience. Never one to back out or cower, Low poured the sticky shit and shoved wet napkins into his mouth.
He gagged. It was a textural nightmare.
“Why don’t you just eat the French toast?” Red suggested.
Low hesitated, but surrendered. Fuck it. Without looking at the man, he pushed the waffles aside.
On a third plate, he stacked it with his tried and true. They went down easier because he lovvvved the mouthfeel and taste. When a glass of grapefruit juice magically appeared, Low downed it. He went in on eggs and sausage next.
“You do this for everybody?” Low asked. Making sure to set a keen eye on the male dripping in red.
“Yeah, it’s a common courtesy,” Red admitted, much to Low’s surprise. “Y’all not special. And Max, we are in agreement.” Biting into a danish, Red shrugged. “You don’t go back for seconds, and I didn’t ask for it. I’m good.”
“Cool.” Max snipped, focused on her food.
Low scraped up his French toast that held the bitter aftertaste of rejection. Double-dipping was against the rules. Their rules. And Low never overstepped. Individually, they were allowed to do whatever, but if by chance either found someone, then it was fair to let the other know.
Low never met anyone worth enough to let Max go. Nobody made him yearn for more, aside from her.
Saluting with his glass, Low smirked. “Glad we got it sorted.”
“Feel free to let yourself out.” Red checked his watch. “I’m done with Tracy’s financial business, so…see you around, I guess.”
Max considered Red for a beat and tilted her head. “Not likely.”
“You two have a good evening.”
Low nodded and scooped the last of his potatoes. Max giggled, but neither spoke for a minute. They left the house and were in his car on their way to the tattoo shop when he sighed.
“That was weird,” Low said.
“Riiiight? Talk about awkward. Jesus.” Max retrieved her vape and puffed. “I’m so glad he wasn’t needy about the whole thing, you know.”
“Yeah, yeah. Me too, but at least we ain’t never gotta see him again.”
“Who you tellin’, honey?”
Fun as it was, a recurring threesome was bad news for all parties involved. And Low, for one, didn’t have time for that shit. He had kids at home and bills to pay.

*All predators catch their death in my books

Hours later, AB found himself wandering about in a shoe box. It was an apt description for Joel’s house. The low ceiling was less than an inch above his head. He examined cabinets overrun by ants. They scurried to and from boxes like busy little soldiers.
He didn’t have much. Flour, baking soda, and salt. A blanket of dust coated everything, aside from one counter where a thick layer of grime waited to be scraped off with steel wool.
The house wasn’t in bad shape,e structurally speaking. It had good bones but needed to be bleached.
A pungent aroma of mold and rotted flesh made for one helluva cocktail. It added to the ambiance Joel’s nasty ass was going for.
In the sink, dishes waited, and had been for a while. Creeping around the tiny four-burner stove, AB grew nostalgic.
A quaint, one-bedroom abode with low-hanging beams and plank floors. Candlelight, instead of bulbs, and the smell of freshly baked bread replaced decay.
AB and his mother lived in dozens of hovels and holes. But every so often, they lucked out. Acquiring enough coin for an actual home or cottage, with a fireplace and a roof. Where AB rested on a soft palate and not the ground.
Squeezing through the hall, the floorboards squealed until he reached the living room.
A lawn chair, a mounted forty-inch, and an empty beer can weren’t exactly inviting. AB hit a one-eighty and sprinted upstairs, where death settled on his skin.
He stepped into a room that should have housed a bed, a dresse,r or even a desk.
Being dangerously close to eight hundred years old, AB had seen it all and done enough. He didn’t have aversion to blood, gore, or homicide. But even he had to hold his breath and turn away.
Caked layers of Lysol, Lyme, and baby powder didn’t help.
“Fuck,” he whispered, taking in the scene again. AB growled. Vampires, at best, were decent, and some had the balls to do something compassionate, like save lives. Thanks to decades of dilution, humanity helped calm and tame their inner proclivities. AB worked hard to control his own issues. Massacres and serial killings were frowned upon. Most vampires didn’t give a shit about who they killed.
AB only snuffed two women, and he had to, ‘cause they wanted to harm his mother. Two Behld witche,s soaked in black, blood magic, wanted his mother dead.
He couldn’t let it be.
AB didn’t have a code or nothin’, but he was raised by a woman, and held them in high esteem. He tried not to kill innocent men, but they tasted the best. In his days of overindulgence, brutality, and debauchery, he happily dined upon plump dignitaries with fat pockets.
They were drained of blood and funds.
AB used his dick and addictions to make the most of this life. But children were always off limits. No amount of money or blood was worth vanquishing a soul so young. His dark past was a safe space for nightmares, but AB never, ever touched kids.
Dropping to a crouch, he stared at the little bodies, ill-wrapped in tarp and tape. They were so tiny. Decomposing toes and hands. There were twenty-eight missing children in this room.
“He’s downstairs,” Ines said with a bite. The male had kids of his own, grown and in the world doing adult shit. He refused to look inside.
AB shot upward, crossed creaking woo,d and snatched two duffels off of the floor. Pacing out, he coughed as the odor stuck to him like bad cologne.
When he reached the bottom, he tossed the heavy bags in front of Joel. Mr. Liston sat in the lawn chair, as his legs had a motor attached. He chewed on fingernails with pupils big as dimes. Sweat beaded on his waxy, tight skin.
“You lookin’ bad, Joe.”
“I’m—I was only taking a little. You’d never notice.”
Ines took residence on the last step and paid witness.
“But I did. You must be smooth out your rabbit ass mind if you think I wouldn’t notice when five bricks of Brown Sugar go missing.” Lowering to his haunches, AB looked up at Joel and smirked. “I keep note of every ounce, because it’s mine. And stealing from me won’t be tolerated. Furthermore, your ass is high as a kite.” Standing tall once again, AB leered. “If you use my shit?! You pay me! You polished off two ounces, so where’s my motha fuckin’ money, Joe?”
“I don’t have any money an—” He looked back at Ines, but AB slapped the bitch back around. Blood splattered all over his shirt.
“This is Gucci, you sick fuck.” AB growled, shaking his head. “You stole my product, refused to pa,y and now… You ruined my favorite shirt. Bitch…” He chuckled and studied the mess. “You know, humans have one life, and don’t live past a certain point. But us, we are so much fun, ‘cause no matter what you do, we breathe. We are sturdy, solid. I mean, unless you cut our head off… or have halo bullets on-hand.”
Ab strolled over to the four-pane window and peered at the moon. “Torture ain’t no fun with humans. You push too hard, they break and wither. Not us, though.”
“Please, AB,”
“Four years you’ve been on my payroll and I,” AB purred, pinning Joe with a searing glare, “I paid you well. I give everybody raises and shit to avoid situations like this. But youuuu Joe, are greedy. So, we’re gonna see how much that stomach can hold.”
AB nodded at Ines. He hopped to it and sprinted out the door. Staring at Joe, AB smiled. “I’ll kill you for stealing from me, but I’ma have some fun for what’s upstairs.”
“Don’t you judge me. You’re no be—”
“I what? I ain’t never hurt kids.”
“They wanted it, they begged me to love—”
Ab’s backhand found Joe’s face. The assault sent him careening. On his side, the male choked on his own blood. “You the worst kinda vampire there is. We don’t have many taboos, as you know.” He rammed a Nike boot into the asshole’s stomach, making the prick heave. “But we all agree that children are out of the question. No siring, no feeding, no killing…and definitely, no…touching! Ah, Ines, you’ve come with gifts.”
His old friend entered, carrying a box full of things that made him happy. “What do we have? Boric acid, sulfuric acid, pliers, drills, and hammers? Nice! Arsenic, molten silver. Oh shit, I can’t touch that. Uhmmm, ooo mercury! You know, I’ve taken a sip of this. It’s got a citrus tinge. Oh! Bella Donna. Ines, you shouldn’t have.”
Keeping a fanatical eye on the sick bastard, AB dropped to the floor, punched through his mouth, and ripped out that slick pink muscle.
“I don’t need you screaming.” Gurgles and moans filled the silence. “Drill.” He pushed Joe’s lanky body over, popped the button on his jeans, and unzipped.
Ines handed AB a Craftsman,n and once the males member was free, hands tried to intervene. “No! No. You weren’t shy with those kids. Why be bashful now? Move!” AB smacked his drunk fingers. “That’s why you got a small dick, Joe! Open wiiiiide.”
The head of him winked just as Ab kissed it with an auger bit and pulled the trigger. Joe worked hard to holler, but Ines held his mouth shut.
Mr Liston thrashed as the spiral bit dug deeper, shredding skin and muscle. Blood oozed over AB’s knuckles as the drill worked like any food processor might.
Eating him raw and tearing his urethra to shreds. Ab enjoyed the carnage and freedom. Droplets whirled, and mangled pieces landed on his face. Tiny chunks of meat covered clothes and speckled the floor.
“Look at that.” AB giggled. “Pate.”
He removed his hand and sucked the pureed fixin’s from each digit while Ines yanked Joe’s molars out. Just in case. He went for fangs, and his green eyes disappeared to the back of his skull.
“He tastes like shit,” AB admonished. He spat and grunted at the foulness of tainted flesh.
“Yeah, all those drugs. Now you’re gonna be high, dumbass.”
AB laughed. “That’s the least of my worries. I wanna work him over slow. Like a pot roast. My dogs will love the bones. Chauncey has a thing for femurs.”
“I thought he liked tibias,” Ines said as he popped the cap on a tub of bleach. “Yeah, that one dude up in uhhhh, Tallahassee, who robbed you.”
“Ohhh no, yeah yeah. Chauncey did like his tibia, god. He gnawed on it for weeks. I’ve gotta flay em’ good this time, though, and roast the bones so there’s no residuals. No bad stuff for my babies. Okay, down the hatch, Joe.”
Ines poured bleach into his pie hole until it overflowed. He’d wake and drink it eventually, but a little Bella won’t hurt. At least not yet. This was another all-nighter, but of the bloodiest kind. It gave AB something else to focus on. Because the alternative irked his fucking nerves.
AB dropped Bella into Joe’s mouth. It mixed with bleach. Soon after, odd fumes percolated. “Maybe we should wear masks. Where are you taking Char for your anniversary?
“Oh shit, you’re right. Last time we passed out. I still got some in the trunk. And as for Char, she ain’t getting nothing. I’m taking her co-worker, Tonya, out instead. The bitch has got knockers like you wouldn’t believe. Hair platinum and legs for days.”
“You’re a piece of shit, Ines.”
“Eh, it takes one to know one.”
“You are most certainly right.”
“The wife ain’t going nowhere. She knows I get curious. We’ve been married for eighty god-awful years. Her yakking about money and whatnot cost her another anniversary. Maybe the old bag will shut the fuck up from now on.”
The male cackled in his crackly, husky manner and ran outside. Ines was a four-hundred-year-old Bostonian. He smoked like a chimney and used pomade in his hair. His style remained in 1960. If Ines didn’t wear a knitted shirt and trousers, something was wrong.
His buddy, as if he was auditioning for the next Scorsese mob picture, was proud as hell of it too.
“Okay, here. I got a whole box of N-95s from—”
“Don’t speak it, please.”
Ines grimaced as they put on masks from another time. Years Jaxon wanted to forget. Humans weren’t the only beings who had a shit time. Set and ready, he and Ines got busy. This was a great way to end a night.