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.

Neon Red: Chapter 9

Saturdays were a moment of leisure for Max. It was her usual night off, and she didn’t have to do anything. She hadn’t been back to the shop since last Tuesday and required the break. She needed a lot of immaterial things, but was thankful for a lot. There were others without food, shelter, or water. She tried not to complain about her life. Being grateful for abundance and comfort was only right. Growing up with her father, she used to be spoiled, entitled, and a complete snob.
All that changed when she turned forty-two and left home for the first time. Max got a glimpse of the real world and watched in horror as it collapsed around her.
The poverty-stricken were treated like animals, discarded and imprisoned for failing to become another cog in the wheel. And you know what? Fuckem’. The gov’ment and tight-lipped ass holes in their ugly suits and melted faces. They were part of a dying breed. Capitalism would be their ruin. The world would change one day, and not in their favor.
“Has he called you yet?” Ndari asked.
Max smiled and shook her head. “I did not give that man my number.”
“And why not?”
Driving down NW 17th street and jamming to some old school Wale, Max didn’t wanna get into that. But Ndari was one of her best friends. The girl knew when she was bullshitting. They’d spent the last thirty-five years together. She saw Ndari more than her own parents.
“You know why.”
“‘Cause you have some weird notion that he’s not so genuine.”
She gave Ndari a side-long glance and nodded. “I know guys like him. Okay, not just like him, but sorta. They’re all about god complexes and arrogance.” Max wrinkled her nose and snorted. “He’d probably make me wash his feet. ‘Sides, bruh, he’s a jerk.”
Her sister, by another mother, laughed. Ndari’s smile was bright and adorable. She may have been covered in tattoos and dripping in goth glam, but she was sweet as sugarcane. Thirty years ago, Ndari needed piano lessons, and Max, was a piano teacher. At some point, ‘cause the money was good, and Ndari would have it no other way, Max became her nanny as well.
“You love a good asshole, Maxi.”
“You not wrong, but they’re never good for you.”
“Nooooope, not in the long run,” Ndari said with a grin, her dimple piercing popping and glinting. “But they’re fun to play with. That’s why I smash em’ and trash em’.”
Max cackled as she parked just before the 95 overpass. “Come on, let’s get these boxes off.”
“Yup.”
After killing the engine, she hopped out of the Wrangler and rounded to the back. “I can’t believe we did sixty-eight!”
Pulling the hatch wide, Max was in high spirits. Setting a goal of sixty-eight bags and meeting it felt great. The rising number of kits wasn’t a good sign. But at least she found a way to help.
Max side-stepped from behind her truck and whistled. “You know what time it is!”
She shouted at a mixture of humans and vampires who came topside at night. She waved them over.
“Next week,” Ndari said as she grabbed a fully loaded care package, “I think I’ll drive. That way, we can bring more.”
Max gasped. “Yes, that’s a great idea.”
The United States was crowned the wealthiest, but she failed to see how when so many were unhoused. Those without resources and means were in high numbers. Most were human, as her species’ monarchy had swooped in and stepped up, but not every vampire wanted to be saved.
The first to show was Henry, a lovely vet who kept a few pigeons and didn’t like dogs. Which was why he hated Lionel; he had two golden doodles.
“Hello, Max,” he said, wearing a wonderful smile. Henry beamed, despite all else. “How are you?”
“I am good. And You looking sharp. Are those new shoes?”
“Oh yeah, donated, just my size, too.”
“Wooo, child, they look good. Here you go, baby.” Handing over the packed reusable bag, Henry leaned in for a hug, and she obliged.
“You gonna scare the ghost, Ndari,” he joked.
The girl recoiled. “Who do you think I aim to please?”
Henry cackled and went on his way.
“I’ll see you in a week, okay?”
“Right on.”
He gave a thumbs up and trudged along. Next was Wilma, a chatty patty who loved gossip and had a lot to say about her daughter. The foul woman threw her own mother out. Max knew some by name and others not. For years, she traveled north, driving up to Overton on a mission.
This stretch of underpass had been home to a major homeless encampment for eons. The city cleared them more times than she cared to recall, but they always came back. And for most of them, it was home. Tents, boxes, and sleeping bags rode the sidewalk, flowing into the street.
Meeting her eye to eye, Olina, a fellow vampire, held a solemn grin. “Thank you, Max. I don’t usually ask for blood, but my old man’s not doing so good.”
Offering a bag filled with food, toiletries, cash, and clothes, she frowned. “What’s wrong with him?”
Olina shrugged. “I don’t know, but he’s been out of it.”
Ndari spun around and pulled a few bags of blood from the box. “Here, honey, take this. And is he sick?”
Max felt terrible for Olina and Carl. The couple were addicted to heroin and didn’t want help. Olina’s partner was a human pushing seventy. Every year, humans age and their health declines.
“Listen,” Max started, “I know doctors who study human medicine to navigate through our world. It helps a bit since our healthcare system is fairly new. At any rate, I can bring someone here.”
Olina nodded. “That would be great. His heart isn’t beating the same, and blood is sluggish. I know I’ll lose him soon, but I’m not ready to say goodbye.”
“I understand.” Max threw arms around the woman and welcomed Olina’s embrace. Upon their separation, she grabbed another bag. “Here, make sure Carl gets this, okay?”
“I will. Thank you again.”
Max just nodded, ‘cause none of this was to garner thanks. Someone had to do it. They deserved care and somebody to look after them. She didn’t have the ability or cash to help everyone, but Max was trying. Her Dad’s allowance lightened the load some. She was happy it went to those who were given a shit hand. Florida’s nonprofits and charities could only do so much with the state leaking money.
The 2020s started shitty and plummeted from there. Preternatural creatures felt a shift coming. A reckoning was due. As an immortal, you witnessed the comings and goings of everything.
It was only a matter of time.
That’s why Max chose to live how she wanted while the world still allowed such freedoms, though she had obligations. She enjoyed this part the most.
Interesting conversations they had with magnificent people had become the highlight of her week. Knowing they’d get a meal helped her sleep better during the day. Chillin’ in a million-dollar home and doing nothing for anyone was a disgusting way to survive. Even her Father gave money to various charities. He’d never come on a run with her, though. Everyone else did, which made him look like a jackass. Jaya joined Max three times a month. Jordan committed two weekends, and Low came along with her whenever he was off on a Saturday, which wasn’t often.
“So, after this, I gotta go back to the shop,” Ndari stated as she offered Garth his bag. The man wheeled his way over and snatched it. He despised Ndari, detested Max, too. A human with a vampire prejudice was hilarious.
“Garth, you should talk to Carrie and Olina.”
He tried to spit on the ground and failed, most of it gathering in his salt and pepper beard. That toothless snarl and furrowed brow worsened.
“You blood suckers are fucking animals.”
“We love you too, Garth.”
“I was in the Gulf War!” he barked, pointing a gnarled finger. “He bit me, right on my ass!”
The same story each week. Max thought it was funny every time, too.
“He bit you on the ass?” she pandered.
Ndari shrugged. “Or in…the ass?”
Punching his thigh with an arthritic fist, he scoffed. “On my ass! And sucked the blood right outta me.”
“That’s the best place…” Ndari said, “to suck blood.”
Garth’s enamel-free jaw flexed as he backed up in his wheelchair. “Semper fi!”
Max gave him a high salute. “Safe travels, sir.”
As he turned away, she sighed. No matter how evil Garth was, she enjoyed him, too. “We haaaave, thirty-three left. Hopefully, the cops stay elsewhere this time. Who up next? Oh, Betty…oop, okay now, I love the pink wig, girrrl! You know how I am about colors!”

Low bounced out the whip and rushed into Tracy’s house, gunning for the kitchen. He had a long day and forgot to eat. A brotha was starvin’ for everything. Midday escapades did that to you. It was them smoke and fuck kinda hours. Nothing like what he did with Max. Some girl and their best friend left without saying bye, and he’d never see them again. Minutes after leaving last night, he barged into the noname DM’s and made shit shake.
In the kitchen, Low searched for anything. A bowl…a mixing bowl and Fruity Pebbles. He left the bag of bootleg brand cereal out and grabbed whole milk. Thank god Jaya bought real shit. Even Max liked plant-based. “What the fuck is uh oat milk?”
Grimacing, he poured and ate standing. Low listed against the counter while eyes rolled and stomach celebrated. All was going well. He was chilling and eating breakfast when the sound of expensive shoes interrupted his quiet moment alone. When Mister Jaxon -hilarious- appeared, Low suddenly appreciated the intrusion.
A man who knew how to dress knew how to use what he had. Red walked in like a bag of money, confident, and Alpha. A fresh aqua Cologne and whatever was underneath. Low couldn’t put his finger on the scent yet…maybe Tuscan Leather. It worked, ‘cause Red was old as fuck.
“Look who it is, Elliot Collins.”
Jaxon recited his gov’ment as if it were a slur. Ohhhhh, he was feeling some type of way about their talk last night…riiight. Low wanted to say something stupid, but not on duty. Had to keep a clear head. Doing so was hard, given how Red stared.
“Wus’ good?”
“You’re in front of the coffee.”
Behind him was indeed the espresso machine, a Keurig, and an olden times twelve-cup coffee maker. Scooting to the right, Low returned to his cereal and paid Red no mind. For two seconds.
“My fault.”
Jaxon looked dashing in suspenders, ruby cuff links, and Ferragamo loafers. Low always wanted some nice shit, at least a belt or a tie. Must be nice.
Spooning more of the multicolored fortified grains, he inched to the left again. The guy was entirely too close for comfort. Low was working, god damn it, but his tongue craved far more. To speak obscenities and threaten this here male with a good day.
“You don’t have much to say tonight, huh?”
Low shrugged. “Not really.”
“And why is that?”
With the subtle hiss of the espresso maker, he glanced at the accountant. “You making yourself at home, I see.”
“Says the one eating a ridiculous-sized bowl of cereal.”
“I basically live here.” Low slurped and gulped milk, then spun to grab the bag. “You don’t.”
“I was told to make myself at home so…”
Low carried his pebbles and bowl to the breakfast nook. He sighed aloud and sat at a cozy table set for a family of three. He didn’t enjoy holding his water or mincing words. It was unnatural, going against his grain. Low also hated being in close quarters with people he wanted to fuck when there was no fucking going on.
“What’s crawled up your ass?” Jaxon inquired as the sound of metal and porcelain chimed in his ears.
“I’m working,” he spat, pouring cereal.
“Working?”
“Yeah.”
“So you do work for Tracy. I saw a few account transfers under your name. What is it you do for him?”
Punching his sweet breakfast down with a spoon, Low matched his gaze. “Bodyguard.” Eating and clocking, he watched Jaxon’s perfect brows arch in surprise.
“Why would he need a bodyguard?”
“That, is not your business.”
Dropping eyes back to his meal didn’t stop peripherals from doing their job. Low sensed and noticed Red’s advance. He leaned on the island, which put a mere three quick steps between them. “So about that test drive…”
This motha fucka here, swear to god.
Low smirked, chomped, then paid Red the attention he demanded. “Yes?”
“Does your invitation still stand, or am I too uptight?” The question slipped out, and them eyes were devilish as he sipped a fine espresso. The way they shone like 24k gold was unreal.
“I guess, maybe.” Low wanted to say something else, but he wasn’t even finna think it. Instead, he took a few bites and shrugged. “On my next day off. So, Wednesday.”
“Wednesday it is.”
“You got a card or somethin’?”
Red set his cup down and dove into those soft slacks. He plucked a card holder, snapped free a crisp square, and offered it.
grLow yanked it. “Classy, for a card.” He ran the stiff material under his nose, made deliberate eye contact, and inhaled. Daaaamn, his natural eau de was fire. After a delicious whiff, Low tucked the invitation in his back pocket.
“What is that?” Low asked, then tipped the bowl and swallowed every drop of milk. “Your scent, I’m trying to place it.”
“How’s that going for you?”
Low chuckled and shook his head. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think Mr. Gingersnaps was flirting.
“I’m working,” Low recited again. As he rose, Tracy, with his signature brisk step, entered the kitchen.
“Tracy, is Max here by any chance?” Jaxon intoned. “I wanted to commend her on the cake.”
Pouring himself a hefty cup of joe, Tracy sighed. “I fear she is not. My offspring is galloping around town. She stays gone most Saturdays.”
In passing, Low ignored how Red tracked his every movement. He betta knock it off, ‘fore he get a passport to Chocolate City. Many, many moons ago, Low had been repressed by what society and religion.
Such idiotic and disastrous restrictions didn’t suit him. All genders were welcome, ‘cause Low wasn’t picky. Age was non-negotiable, however. They had to be fifty-five or older. Them youngins gave him the willies. But race, ethnicity, gender, and species didn’t mean shit.
Did Low have standards? Yes. Preferences? Hell no. Low was too god damn old for that.
“What a shame,” Jaxon replied.
Low rolled his eyes, noting how Red’s tone and vernacular changed around Tracy. Guess errybody code switched, even saditty white folk.
After throwing his bowl in the dishwasher, Low made a diligent effort not to glance at Jaxon and failed. Wondering how long his di—hair was when unbound.
“We’ve got a big night,” Tracy said. “A few errands.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“I assure you, it’s anything but.”
Jaxon’s smile was unsettling, sneaky. It wasn’t something Tracy would clock. Low, however, has met hella snakes. He knew their tells before striking prey.
“I will leave you to it.” Jaxon started toward the exit, then hit a one-eighty. “If you need me, I’ll be in your office.”
“Good man,” Tracy approved. “Uhm, Elliot, is Hollister there?”
“He’s meeting us.”
“Great. Good, good.”
Two cups of Colombian and one A-positive later, he and Tracy were on the 826, heading north. Back to the spot where they conducted business. ‘Cause the adage about shitting where you sleep was real.
They were halfway there when Low grew curious.
“Tracy, how did you hear about Jaxon?”
“Through a friend at the office.” Glancing at him made the male do a double-take. “You don’t think we can trust him, right?”
“I wouldn’t go that far.” Low shrugged. “I don’t know him, but I would be wary. Stay about. Don’t say too much, and do not let him intimidate you.”
Tracy dismissed the statement with a hard scoff. “Oh, please, not even my father intimidated me. I can promise you, Jaxon Aubrey is not a male I find the least bit threatening.”
Low believed it. Calm and stressed, Tracy may be, but the athletic and scholarly male had balls. His finagling and hustling required a strong spine. Which sometimes, Low hated, ‘cause Tracy used those same traits when dealing with Max. He treated his daughter like shit. Similar to a warden, Tracy gave commands and made demands. Low was in no position to say anything. Not with mouths to feed and tuition to pay.
“Please, he’s an accountant for fucks sake.” Tracy had a point.
Owning a spot in Doral’s gated community was a golden ticket. Again, must be nice. Perry, the night guard, let them pass, and Low waved.
“I wonder how many we have tonight.”
“It’s a drop off?” Low asked.
“Indeed.”
Riding the roundabout toward Tracy’s abode, water surrounded them. A lake flanked all properties. Low wasn’t sure if they were man-made or what, but it shooolll was rich. Some quiet shit he’d love to have one day.
Crawling up to the spot, he hung a lefty into the driveway. “Alright, we have rou—”
“No time.”
Tracy hopped out while Low stabbed the garage opener. From there, two vehicles hit a k-turn and backed in. The three-slot setup had more than enough room for both trucks.
Low stayed in the car and waited for the signal. A high whistle was his cue. He concealed Tracy and their guests by closing the garage doors.
As Low emerged from the Range, Hollister rolled up. The country boy drove a well kept 1948 GMC. Low, a self-taught master at restoring rusted hunks of scrap metal, fell in love with the five-window truck. ‘Ol boy came in hot and loud.
After ‘disturbing the peace’, Hollister leaped from the cab, donned his hat, and stomped over in a pair of snake skin boots.
“Sorry, I’m late. My son took his first steps today.” The male was alight. “I had to capture the moment. My wife was beside herself.”
“Nah, nah, don’t apologize. Some things can wait. But your child’s first steps are once in a lifetime.”
“Thanks. So, what we got?”
“Drop off.”
“Nothing too big, I like’at.”
Hollister held the lead as they stepped into the house. Tracy and his supplier were already seated in the living room, going over formalities.
“Ten?” Tracy asked.
Low interrupted to retrieve some info. “Ten what?”
“Bodies.”
Paniera was a gangly middle-aged human with peppery hair and dark, inset eyes to match. He was one of twelve who worked for Tracy, and an important piece. Messengers and delivery boys were vital in this business.
Humans didn’t give a shit about details, and their love for that all-mighty dollar took precedence. Mortals were greedy for money, power, and youth. Men and women micro-managed what little time they had and made each second count.
Low respected their resiliency. Survival, by any means, was a value both vampire and human shared. So, when you needed to get shit done, ask a human drowning in criminal offenses and debt. How they got paid mattered naught.
Hollister hissed. “You brought ten witchya?”
“No.” Paniera shook his head and said, “But I will have them. Next week.”
“How the hell you do that?” Low questioned.
“Yeah.” Tracy’s gaze narrowed. “One or two has been the norm for years now.”
“There’s an influx of men from overseas. Another crack down on organized crime is underway, think… political.”
“Holy shit,” Hollister blurted.
Tracy glowered, crossing his legs. “What’s happened? Are these men guilty of something? Because, as much as I despise you all, I will only sell barbarians. The very worst earth has to offer.”
“Yes, heinous crimes,” Paniera answered with a slimy smirk. “These blowhards got wrapped up in a sex trafficking ring. Little girls, boys… the manifest was long. My guy wants them to disappear.”
This was some deep state type shit, and Low’s thoughts spiraled from the expose. Killing pedophiles was a hell of a good way to spend a night or two.
He might keep one to play with.
Paniera pulled a flask from his jacket pocket and popped it open. “The media are spinning it as imprisonment and solitary confinement,” three swigs later, he continued, “but, somebody more powerful wants them wiped off the planet and living in hell at the same time.”
Tracy mulled for like five seconds before nodding. “Yeah, I’ll have your payment ready upon delivery.”
“Great, and same as always. I’ll text you details in a few days.”
“Good man. Now, let’s see my merchandise.”
Low led everyone down the hall, past the kitchen, and into the mudroom. He pressed a thumb to the fingerprint reader, a thing he had to coerce Tracy into getting. A little extra security never hurt nobody. He needed more, to be honest.
Locks clacked, and they shuffled into the garage. Low met Paniera’s henchmen at the rear and opened the hatch. A naked man lay hogtied and unconscious.
“What’d this one do?” Hollister asked.
“Killed his mother and sister. Violated the deceased and drowned their dog.”
Low snarled. “That’s fucked up.”
“The other one?”
“Oh, he’s a nasty son of a bitch. He sold his infant twins to a demon.”
“Oh, my god,” Hollister growled. He wrenched open the other trunk and yanked out the savage.
“Well, let’s get them clean and ready for the slaughter.”
Tracy sang, as they’d deliver these vile muh’fucka’s unto hell and make some money in the process.

That’s a wrap for this week, folks! I hope y’all had a wonderful week and have an even better weekend. Going forward, I want y’all to remember, this is a dark romance. Keep that in mind. The MMCs have their *ways* (mostly Jaxon). They’re morally gray with a dark gray lean. Not jet black, but not cinnamon rolls either. Most of the darkness comes from the world around them and what they delve into. It can get bleak at times, and even I was like, “Bruh, what???”. And Max?! My baby love. She is sweet, caring, and deserving of MORE! Anyhoo, as always, thank you so much for spending time here. You could’ve spent 5-10 minutes doing anything else, but you didn’t. You’re an amazing human. I know things are fucked up at the moment, but honey, WE WILL PERSEVERE! Remember to read that book, watch your favorite show, and DRINK MORE WATER, BOOKIE! Byyeeeee. ✨🩷✨

Zombie Bake-Off By Stephen Grahm Jones

Per usual, SGJ delivers gorey vibes, fun, and cringe-worthy scenes! This being my third title by him in under a month, I have something to say about his style. I don’t hate it, in fact, I think it’s great. But! Don’t jump me! I think his horror is kinda cozy. It feels like it’s cozy, dark, fiction instead of straight horror. Granted, I have a lot more to read by SGJ so my opinion might change. For now, yes, it’s cozy and dark.

Now, onto the book! Let me be clear, Movie zombies scare the shit outta me. The idea of zombies is terrifying and I used to love Resident Evil, Doom, and Zombieland. One nightmare changed that for me. Anyway, this is my first zombie novel in fifteen years and I loved it! I think zombie fiction might bring me back to this world. I don’t know, we’ll see.

SGJ is heavy-handed with them icky vibes. I mean the description of brain-eating is ON POINT.

SPOOOOILERS AHEAD!

I enjoyed the characters and their journey. I knew Johnny T. had to go, and after Kent’s confession, I was hoping for him to have his head lopped off.

I wasn’t happy about Tiny Giant! I didn’t want him to turn or die. I screamed, “Nooooo you poor thing! I hate this so much!” But this isn’t a fuzzy found family romance so I was SOL. I wanted a kiss between Xombie and Terry! Again, as someone who reads romance pretty heavily, I needed it! (a me problem) But, I love the pinch of cute we got from them.

That is my one complaint. Other than SGJ breaking my heart with Tiny Ginat, I have NO NOTES! 4.5!

Happy Halloween Boils and Ghouls!!

I am back with my October faves recap! I had quite a time with SGJ as you can see. Since reading Only the Good Indians last month, I have picked up more of his books. I think, from what I’ve read, folks either love his style or they hate it. I am on the love side of things. It’s kinda comforting honestly, to see an author do what the farquad they want I adored It Came From Del Rio immensely, It was compact, dark, and sad as shit. I loved it. The short stories?! I have something to say about them individually, but I’ll save that for another time, y’all.

As you know, my faves list isn’t complete without romance and smut. If you like it, HAY FREEEN. If you don’t, fine but do not judge my taste based on what I choose to read.

Midnight in the Grove is a sexy romp and a sequel. Do not read this cute Black love story if you ain’t read the first.

Last but not least, Horrorstor! Uhmmmmm…yeah, no, I don’t wanna go to an Ikea ever in my life. Grady Hendrix will make light of the most dreary circumstances and think it’s hilarious. I don’t know how many are familiar with Backrooms but Horrstor reminded me of that. And it freaked me the HELL out!