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!
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.
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.
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.
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. ✨🩷✨
“Ndari, he’s in my house. I swear to god.” Max paced in her room, kicking clothes and shoes from her path. “I can’t believe this, so he—” “Yes! My dad hired him as a private accountant.” “The chances.” “Right,” she said, stunned that her father appointed the man who just asked for her number as a joke. It was a jest. Maybe a bet of some kind. He was definitely pulling her leg. The scarred one. Puffing on her vape pen, Max stared at the latest painting. The results were shit. She tried to capture Low in a state of euphoria and failed. He’d love it, but she was gonna burn this piece of awful or throw the ruined lambskin in a wood chipper.. “I just can’t wrap my mind around this. My Dad didn’t know, bruh.” “It’s nuts, babe. He’s fine, though.” “As hell. And he look soooo good in a suit.” Shaking her head, Max inhaled blueberry-flavored smoke and spoke on exhale. “I can’t even be in my own home right now.” Ndari giggled in her ear. “Why?” “Because I don’t need him humiliating me.” “Whyyyy would he do that?” “Caus—” A beep sent Max sprinting for her phone. “Oh shit, it’s Low. I gotta go.” “Alright, hon, keep me posted.” “Will do.” She tapped the green circle and answered with a smile. “Wus up, baby?” Low’s voice stoked all them feel good vibrations. “You are never gonna guess who is at my house.” “Ronald Isley.” “I wish,” she snorted. Being older than him, her cougar ass could give Ronny the ride of his life. “Nah, Red.” “No, Teddie, cut lengthwise len—yeah, like that. Who?” Rolling her eyes, Max groaned and threw the pen on her vanity. She dropped into a chair and examined the mermaid on her neck. Her hair needed shading. A brighter purple. Maybe fuchsia. “Red, as in big ass, fine ass Red.” “Ohhhh shit, did he follow you home? Hol’ up. Is he stalking you?!” She laughed and said, “Nope, my Dad just put him on, bruh. I guess he’s an accountant or something.” “Whhhhat.” Low scoffed. “A calculator corporal?! How somebody like him work a pussy job like that? What a damn shame. Aye, I’m finna come over.” She nodded, fiddling with her septum ring. A new one was indeed on the way. “I heard that. Bring your fine behind on. I need you here with me in case he tries to hit my line.” “You might as well giv—” “Hurry up, Low!” With a tap to her earbud, she killed the call and shot to her feet. Max jumped to it, ran ass in the bathroom on a slide, and dashed to the closet. There were only minutes to spare since Low lived nearby. In her dressing room, she lost the SpongeBob onesie and exchanged it for something decent. Purple leggings and a cropped, sleeveless mock-neck thing. Feeling cute, Max sprayed her throat with Shalamar and slipped into a pair of furry slides. Back in the washroom, she put the straightener to use real quick. It may have been time for a cut. Too long and too much dye was required. With her hair done and bone straight, them deadends touched her waist. She didn’t wear it straight often; her curls were too healthy for that. Plus, dual tones popped after a wash and go. “Okay.” Back in her bedroom, she marched to the dresser and ripped open the top drawer. Its deep belly was filled with sunglasses. She had a menacing stare, as some have said. Max was an old woman who had come to love certain things about herself. The eyes were a sensitive topic. She still had issues accepting it. Her mismatched set was worse than back-rolls and a wonky leg. Some glasses were tucked into cases, both hard and soft. Others had no case at all. Her collection was a colorful menagerie of generic no-name, Prada, and Ray-Ban. She had about a dozen that were well over fifty years old, and ten she had bought days ago. Max re-upped on shades damn near every night. Online or in-store, somehow, she had a new pair daily. Max went for steampunk dystopia. The metal rimmed goggles would block peripherals, but so be it. They were also highly reflective, which she loved. Once donned, she slammed the drawer and twirled. Low lived nine minutes away, and given how he drove, she should have known better. The man barged right in and froze. Max dashed for the canvas, stood in front of it, and smiled. “Get out! I’m coming.” “What is that?” “Nothing.” “You lying.” Stepping over her clothes, he grabbed Max by the shoulders and lifted her like one would a toddler. “Haaayyy!” she shouted. “I’m ‘bouta mess you up.” She kicked his thighs and growled until he put her down. “Max…this is fire.” “No. It’s not. And I didn’t even want you to see it. Asshole.” She scowled and sneered. “You’re invading my privacy. Bringing your bad energy in here. I just smudged my space.” “I’m taking this home,” he whispered. She tried not to grin and failed the mission. Of course, he wanted it, Low loved her art. “I messed up some on the grill part. Don’t think I got the correct shade of gray for your eyes either.” “It’s fine, perfect even. But put it somewhere else before Tracy comes up in here.” “Right.” Max loosened latches and plucked the painting. She stashed it in her closet for safekeeping and hurried back. “Okay, now get out.” “You need to clean your room,” he barked, kicking her things. “This don’t make no damn sense, Max. You a hunnit years old, bruh.” “I’m a creative! I don’t have time to clean, now go.” Shoving his butt with a foot made him stumble and laugh. She closed the door and was met with her father’s displeasure. “Elliot, I didn’t know you were stopping by. Tomorrow night, we have a run to make.” “Sure thing. Just text me.” “Excellent. And why are you wearing those in the house, Maxine? Is it because of our guest?” “Duh,” she replied. “After the stunt you pulled, please. I will lock your bank account.” Tracy had the capacity to be a reeeal jerk. “Sorry, Dad.” “Hm. Elliot, would you care for a bite, libations?” “No, I’m good, Tracy.” Her dad nodded and turned on his heels. Low leaned into her ear and whispered, “This is why I said you need to move out. He treats you like a child. And what stunt? What you do now?” “Nothing, and shhh.” He mumbled and cussed. Low hated how cooped up she was, and how Tracy forgot her age sometimes. Her father had been strict and judgmental her entire life. And yeah, her mental state took a blow every single night. But right now, Max didn’t have many options. There was more at stake than her pride. “Come on,” she ordered. Tip-toeing ahead, Max fought a rising urge to giggle like an idiot. She stopped, looked back at Low, gripped the handle as tightly as possible, and twisted. It turned silently, thus allowing her the ability to peek into Tracy’s office. She couldn’t see anything. “Where is he?” Low asked and was too damn loud. “Are you trying to get us caught, shut—” The brass was ripped from her clutches and god damn, his zipper was in her direct line of sight. Snapping upright, Max retreated, bumping Low’s hard body. Red was a lot bigger. She was stuck between two males who were well over six feet tall, and being five-three, she was positively dainty. “What the fuck are y’all doing?” Red asked. “Don’t be rude,” Low commanded. “We was coming to say hello, witcho mean ass.” Red filled the doorway, just like Low. And her homie wasn’t even Pureblooded, hm. Not so big now, huh. Max felt better for Low, honestly. Purebloods thought they were superior to all others, or so she was told. Never talking to one on a personal level, until now. His fierce, golden gaze traveled between them. “Are you two joined at the hip?” he intoned. “Do you go everywhere she does?” “If I did? What business is it of yours?” Max smiled and pursed her lips. “That’s right, so what if he follows me like a stray?” “Hol’ on, Max. ‘Cause you taking the shit too far, per usual.” Jack, Jacob, crap…what was his name? “Look here, Jack,” Low interjected. She found it hilarious when they did shit like think the same but on different wavelengths. “Only my mother calls me Jack. Don’t say it again.” Low chuckled. “Wait. Is your name Jack? For real? I didn’t even know.” “She knows my name.” “I don’t.” “I told you my name.” Max grimaced, twiddled her matte black nails, and clicked her tongue ring. “I forgot it. So…” “She ain’t good with names.” Low snorted and knocked on Max’s skull. She swiped and smacked his hand. “Her short-term memory is terrible, bruh.” The male cocked a brow and said, “You forgot my name? I don’t think that’s ever happened before. Listen, if you two are only fucking—” She shoved the strapping stag while Low shushed him. “Get your hands off me,” he balked, wiping the stain her hands left behind. “Sorry. Look, don’t go saying that out loud, okay? We are not together. Me and Low. Not a couple. And definitely not, fucking.” “Annnd, that’s your name? Low?” Low ate it up. “Ohhh yeah, it’s on my SSI card.” “You got a problem,” Red clipped. “So do you.” This was weird, but Low’s expression made their standoff quite interesting. She’d play Red like a god damn violin if need be, and if big Irish over here was feeling froggy, it was about to go down.
Low swung a telling eye to Max, stomped around the red-haired monster, and collapsed onto the lived-in oxblood armchair. This was a fun experiment. Scanning Tracy’s new office, he smirked. “Daaammmn, it’s clean in here.” “It is,” Max said, clearly amazed. “There are books on the shelf. Oh my god, did you do this?” “Your pops is a slob.” “She got it from him.” Low threw in his unwanted two cents and grinned. Predictable of her to snarl and hiss. “Don’t show out in front of company, Max.” “So she’s not always like this?” “She is, I just ignore it.” “Now you’re lying,” she snapped. Low smiled and showcased the golds she loved so much. Within the awkward silence, he pulled free a book and cracked it open. “I’m more of a Langston man myself. I don’t like non-fiction.” After a few boring words leaped from the page, Low closed the hardback. “You’ve read Langston Hughes?” He pushed the leather-bound novel back in its place and nodded. “Yup. Listen, what we told you, keep that to yourself. ‘Ight?” While Red’s attention darted between them, again, Low considered their new acquaintance. “Ohhh, so daddy doesn’t know.” The male smirked as most demons do and stuck both hands into pressed wool pockets. “He wouldn’t approve, or something to that effect. I get it. Sad. What a way to live. But if you two—” “No.” Max refused for a third time as she dropped to a crouch. “Holy crap, you’ve been busy with his finances.” “She’s free to fuck whomever, as am I.” Low carried on their conversation, keeping his voice all the way down. He couldn’t afford to lose this job. “We, aren’t a thing. She do her, I do me, etc.” Taking another L wasn’t on the calendar for this year. “That’s amusing and—don’t touch that,” Red yelled, spooking Max. She flinched and knocked a perfect pile of eight by eleven folders on they ass. Low thought it was hilarious, but Red, did not. Purebloods were high-strung, arrogant, and bat shit. He’d been around them his whole life. Aged Purevian males, in particular, were the worst. On the other hand, a big ol’ angry vampire was fun to poke. Also, they’d occasionally put you in a sleeper hold and smash until you slipped into a coma. “Oh my god, I spent an hour on that shit. I’m gonna lose it. You are costing your father money right now.” “So, he good, he can pay for it,” Max stated plainly, glaring at her house guest. “See, I can fix it.” “Maybe don’t touch anything else.” Red became rather agitated. Low caught a notion that this here male was a neat freak, on some ‘dont leave no fingerprints on my glass’ type shit. Red squinted, flexing his sharp jaw. “I feel like you’re gonna make it worse.” “No look, I can do it.” Max gathered papers with a cute smile and stacked them. “Maybe I can be a receptionist.” “Where?” Red asked. “Harley Davidson?” Low cackled. “Cold blooded, bruh.” Max was tough as boiled shoe leather when provoked and had an angry streak to match. You know, ‘cause she was so tiny. The small ones always had something to prove. They were mad, ferocious spitfires. That’s why he loved short women. His shorty wasn’t insensitive, but she’d make damn sure to hurt your feelings. And as Max painted on a fake smile, she shoved another pile. Then a second. She emptied folders and shuffled them shits like dominoes. “He he he, funny times over, Carrot Top. I can still tase you.” Standing tall-ish, she shrugged while the fair-skinned vampire flushed a brighter shade of red. His hair wouldn’t be outdone; it was the same hue as a ripe pomegranate. “Do you dye it?” Low asked. “What?!” The accountant snapped and scowled at Low. “What are you talking about?” “Your hair?” Low gestured to his own durag. “Do you dye it to get it that red?” “No.” “Wild. It’s heavy white people shit. What is you? Irish or Scottish?” “He’s magically delicious,” Max belted. “A bowl of L-” “I swear to god, if you say—” “What are you going to do exactly?” Max canted her head and grimaced. “Are you an abuser? Because if so, that’s deplorable behavior.” “I got pahtna’s who can fit you with a toe tag for nothin’.” Low wasn’t playing with them words. “Believe that. So the choice is yours, pretty boy.” Red anchored a steely gaze upon Low and tweaked a brow. “Are you threatening me, halfbreed?” Thinking about it, Low admired the coffered ceiling, his boot-clad feet, then Max. Meeting Red deadass in the eyes, he nodded. “Yes, I am.” GQ here was a paper pusher. A Pureblood, sure, but still just an accountant. Age didn’t correlate with wisdom. Old heads were often taught quick lessons by a hungry YN who’d do the most to eat. Red didn’t seem the type to scrap with the likes of Low. Most halfbreeds cowered under a Pureblooded male’s scrutiny. Not him. Low wasn’t intimidated by no fucking body. “Wus good witchu, pimp?” Low asked, knowing the dapper white man wouldn’t comprehend his query. As his eyes narrowed, Red smiled and popped them dimples. That was some sexy shit to say the least. Mister number cruncher pivoted and refocused on Max. “Get out.” “You’re in my house.” “I’m in your father’s house, now get, out.” “I can make him fire you.” “I don’t care,” Red said. “By all means.” After two long strides, his wide frame fell into the squeaky executive chair and rocked. “No sweat off my back. I’ll get paid for my time regardless.” Low slapped his thighs and pushed off. “Let’s go, baby, ‘fore he has a cornea.” As he opened the door, Max paused and threw a salty look at the tight-ass accountant. “Don’t get testy, Big Red, I’ll take it to hell and rip your dic—” Low yanked her mouthy self by the collar. “I’m gonna kill you!” Holding her two feet from the floor, Low glanced at the vampire. “Don’t worry, she’ll warm up to you.” Max screamed and kicked as Low closed the door. “Put me down!” He dropped her. “Gently, would have been nice!” “You want that man to murder you? ‘Cause if you keep talking, he finna pop off, then I’ma retaliate and thhhhen I’ll get pinched. Who’s gonna take care of my brothers? See the snowball there?” Max grumbled and stalked to the kitchen. Low followed and stopped at the fridge for a quick bottle of B-positive. “You so ill-tempered,” Low said. “I’m not.” “Please lie to somebody who don’t know you.” On the counter, he found sugar and snagged it. “What you do earlier, anyway?” “I accused him of stalking me, and I guess I said something about calling the police. Then I questioned his intellectual status.” Low laughed curtly, shoveled a tablespoon of C & H, and poured it in his blood. “Whew, you might regret this.” Five more were added before he twisted the top back on and shook it. Facing Max, who sat on the island enjoying a blueberry scone, he winced. “Disgusting.” “It’s a delicacy.” “Anyway, he’s feisty, bruh.” Cracking the top again, he swigged, and Max shuddered. “You are the only vampire on the planet who adds sugar to blood, and drinks it cold. You committing a sin and upsetting our bloodsucker ancestors.” She shook her head and bit into a real cardinal sin. “Like, it’s abominable what you be doing. Weirdo shit.” Swallowing, the revival began. He liked sweet blood, okay. What was so wrong with that? Low drank cold blood for hella long. Back when he was living on the streets, and it was hurricane season… a living hell. You break into the blood bank and take what you can get. True, it’d be easier to bite any old body, but he vowed a long time ago to never hunt again…ever. “Says you,” Low deadpanned, “Who deep throats anything blueberry.” “Yeah, and? That’s normal. It’s good for you too.” “When you add refined sugar, flour, and butter, that healthy factor is out the window.” She shrugged. “It ain’t for a lack of trying.” Max giggled and stuffed the rest in her talented mouth. Fuck, he hated sneaking and creeping. Lying to his employer wasn’t a safe bet, but such is life, right? After finishing sixteen ounces of revitalizing power, Low rinsed the mason jar and put it in the dishwasher. “I hate the sunglasses, they ugly.” “Much like you, fat head.” He double-backed and stood before her. A war raged within as he fought an urge to kiss the ornery devil. He loved the tiny stud in her full and fluffy bottom lip. Low never felt it when it was pressed to his. And when she wore the black lipstick he loved? Max was untouchable. “I don’t like that neon yellow durag. You look like a highlighter, bitch.” “Why you gotta put extra on it every time?!” He frowned. “Do I ever call you a bitch? Nah, you’d be hollerin’ if I did. You get on my ghat damn nerves.” Max popped a shoulder and jumped off the counter. “It depends on the context, Low. And it ain’t extra when I’m telling the truth.” “Shutcho mouuuuff, stubborn ass, that’s your problem, bruh, you talk too much.” Following her onto the patio, Low figured he probably did look like a lost puppy. “I swear, you ‘bouta make me smoke…” “Annnnd? Bye!” Max scoffed, whistled at Jaya, and smiled at him. “We got steaks up in the deep freezer. You wanna grill some later?” “Sounds like a plan.” The back and forth never ceased, but there wasn’t a soul he felt more comfortable with. As Max cheered on Jaya, for a record-setting lap, his stomach dropped. If Tracy ever found out, it was a wrap. He’d give Low the boot and make damn sure Max never spoke to him again. Tracy let him know early on that Maxine was off limits. Forbidden. But Low ain’t listen, and the girl wouldn’t take no for an answer. Their vibe thrived from the start, shaking it was hard. Both parties tried and failed. More than once. They decided mutually to cut ties on four separate occasions. Shit flopped. So, he and Max said to hell with it. Letting worrisome thoughts go, he trekked back into the house, in search of the high-priced T-Bone’s Maxi loved.
Oooooookay, this is chapter 7! If you missed it, just know, I posted the wrong one last night. What a mess, I know I already said it, but I am so sorry. Anyway, this is where we are at. I like to call them the Troublesome Trio. If you stick it out and follow their journey, you’ll understand why. These three are headache-inducing, cute, adorable, aggravating, and have sooooo much to learn. I hope you enjoyed their not-so-meet-cute. Anyway, I really hope y’all have a splendid week. I’ll see you in a bit. Thank you so much!
J. T. Frost 