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!
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. ✨🩷✨
After being interrupted in the weirdest way possible, AB spent the next few hours resorting and stacking. Without added speed, it gave him something to do. After which, he went through everything on Tracy’s slooooooow as hell 2006 Gateway PC. XP, not even Vista. It was simpler without OneDrive, Dropbox, or Drive. Quicker too. Anndddd ohhhhh, boy, the info one gathered. Maxine Bernice Bissette did, in fact, own Ink in Hell. Daddy supplied funds, however, as he did with everything else. The Wrangler out front, a shared phone bill, and Maxine’s monthly allowance. She had nothing of her own. AB dug in his pocket and pulled out a cherry Jolly Rancher. He unwrapped the hard candy and tossed it back. There was no reason to be a hundred years old and not have something going for yourself if you had means. At first glance, this woman had every opportunity to be independent. Why wasn’t she self-reliant? A woman who couldn’t take care of herself was unattractive. Personally, AB hated those who didn’t have a pot to piss in or two pennies. Much more, he couldn’t stand the ones who’d depend on him every waking moment. Being broke was not cute, baby. Sure, okay, she owned-ran the shop. But how much did it earn? Not enough. Not in Miami, and not for a spoiled female who lived comfortably with daddy her whole life. “A damn shame.” Sucking on his brand of crack cocaine, AB clocked the time. 2am. Roughly five hours of work. “Not bad at all.” Accounting was something AB liked quite a bit. He loved numbers and boring, monotonous work. Hell, why not? Living was boring, so why not find a career just as tedious? With this job, AB enjoyed the freedom. Having no boss and long hours, if he wanted them. It was more of a hobby than a profession at this point. AB dragged ass going through the paperwork and shit because he enjoyed it. Knocking around the candy in his mouth, he shot to his feet and tidied himself. Cuff links, vest, and lastly, his suit jacket. He willed the light off and promised to return. There were two tubs left and however many boxes. On his way out, he closed the door and hoped Tracy was near. AB had a question or two, nothing big. Just a few discrepancies here and there. Passing Maxine’s room, he sniffed and growled. She smelled amazing. Fresh gardenias and fucking Shalamar. Classic and clean. Then again, she was a poor commoner, a female who’d demand a band and diamonds just for breathing. He shuddered and stalked into the formal living, whereupon he sat on the sofa. Perusing Tracy’s home was boorish. Someone would come along, with lights blaring and the precious aroma of grilled meat piquing his interest. Maybe he had some ramen at home, or Ricearoni. Biting down on hardened corn syrup, he watched as two stooges came laughing through the front door. What was up with her and those glasses? Everywhere? God damn it, she had a lazy eye. For sure, something like that. Had to be, maybe a visual impairment of some sort. A subtle limp too, that wa—her thighs were throwing him off, but her not boyfriend stared. “Why you just sitting there?” he asked. “I’m waiting for Tracy.” “My dad is out back,” she laughed, “oh my god…” Biting her bottom lip, she shrugged. “Ya’ll are really high,” AB noted. “Nah, I’m coo’. Shorty trippin’ though.” Low lied, his brilliant stormy gray stare shone through slits. “I ain’t even got my half, muh’fucka’.” “Your what?” Low recoiled and made a dismissive noise. “Nothing, college boy. You don’t know nothing ’bout this shit. Aye, for real, your hair is fucking me up. It’s like a red light, hella abrasive and bright.” AB snapped his cuffs and thought to count from one to ten. He couldn’t, wouldn’t allow himself to lash out in this man’s home. “That cookie was too big, Low… Dammmmn.” “You lyin’, they made it with that whack ass Miami Heat.” Low chuckled and threw an arm over Maxine’s shoulder. “Shit was booboo.” “Miami heat? The basketball team?” AB asked. They exploded in laughter once again. “The basket—man, hell nah,” Low bellowed. “Mind the business that pays.” AB cracked his neck and sneered at a male way in over his head. A twenty-thousand-dollar suit and kind eyes fooled a lot of people. But Low knew what kinda man he was dealing with; he didn’t seem so dumb. “You’ll get real tired of fuckin’ with me. I promise you that.” Maxine rolled her neck. “Ooooo.” She snorted. “Anyway, where the steak at?” “Ah, Jaxon.” Tracy arrived, saving the day, but Low made an odd choking noise. “You’ve finished?” AB smiled and stood. “Yes, for tonight, of course. I’ll be back Monday bright and early at nine thirty.” “Splendid. Say, are you hungry?” He nearly refused but Jaya wouldn’t have it. “Come on, Jaxon, you can’t turn down the T-Bone. Low is a master on the grill.” “I am. When it come to the meat, I tear—” Maxine elbowed him. “I’d love to, but I—” “Love it so much, then eat it,” Maxine said. “Let’s not do this again,” Tracy said, eying her. “You know what,” Ab interjected, checking the Audemars. “I have some time.” The male clapped once in celebration. “Perfect, it’s such a lovely night. Shall we?” Everyone sauntered outside and AB was dead last. ‘Cause weeelll, ass was ass, and it wasn’t slim pickings up in this bitch. “What a fine entertainment set up you have here, Tracy.” Sitting at a long patio table tucked under a cedar pergola, AB was actually impressed. He noted bottles of wine, bread, and various sides. Potent spices, mesquite, and peppers scented the humid night air. They had ample lighting and smooth jazz; it was a nice touch. Everything dinner guests needed, with a built-in TV, full-sized grilling area, and room for twelve. “Thank you so much.” Tracy grinned, admiring his well-tended backyard. “Interior design is a hobby of mine.” AB placed his bag in the chair next to him and said, “If that’s the case, then I think you should start taking clients and build a portfolio.” “Oh no.” He waved a hand. “Pipe dreams earn no living.” “Pipe dreams can and will earn a living if you’re passionate enough,” AB replied, removing his jacket for the second time. Maxine nodded. “Word.” She sat opposite him and giggled her ass off. “That’s right, Dad. Passion breeds success.” “I don’t think that’s it.” Low added, but Maxine rolled her eyes. “Shut up!” “Use your inside voice, Maxine. For God’s sake. We have company. Mind yourself, girl.” Jesus, Tracy was a nightmare. No wonder she used her body as a canvas. Rebellion appeared in many forms, and he bet money her pops hated tattoos. “Sorry, Father,” she amended, adding bass to her voice. “Meat coming right up!” Low shouted from behind Max. He glanced at AB. “Hope it ain’t too sweet.” “You’ve never made it sweet, Elliot.” Jaya was minding her own quiet business. On the phone and smiling about something. “How long have you worked for Tracy, Jaya?” AB asked, stirring a bit of conversation. “If you don’t mind.” She looked at Tracy and didn’t speak until he nodded. “Since nineteen-twenty-one.” “That is a long time.” So Max had been waited on hand and foot since birth. A nanny. Jaya was Max’s nursemaid, what the fuck. He kept a bout of hysterical laughter to himself. “It is, but I think of them as my family.” She shrugged and beamed. “They are my family.” “Awwwwww. I love you, Jaya.” “I love you too, Maxi.” “Dear god.” Tracy’s disgust shone on his tight features. “What is that smell?” Jaya’s attention cut to Max. “Yes.” AB grimaced. “What is it, a skunk?” “Nah, it ain’t that,” Low murmured, handling the steak platter. They smelled hella good, too. “It ain’t that stank.” Max and Jaya snorted, but AB missed the joke. “Well, it’s strong whatever it is.” The man smirked, showcasing a mouth full of golds. Even his fangs gleamed. “I’ve come in contact with more pungent aromas. This one is subtle, but it almost stinks.” “Elliot, what are you going on about, man?” Tracy looked up at him while a slab was dropped on his plate. “The smell, Tracy.” “Oh yes, I may have to call pest control.” Max giggled and went for the bread. “What is this? Sourdough, yeessss. I love bread. Mostly cause you can put butter on it.” A 24-ounce T-bone was dropped on AB’s plate; juice splattered. He gaped, staring at his vest. A six-thousand-dollar Taupe Kiton vest, which he had waited two weeks to have tailored, was now stained. This motha fucka had a death wish. “I’m so sorry,” Low intoned. “I didn’t know it was finna hit like that.” “Elliot, that was quite rude.” AB chuckled, unwrapped his utensils, and snapped the dinner napkin. “It’s A-okay.” Glaring at the male, AB smiled. “Accidents happen.” Low sniffed and moved on. “Are you sure?” Jaya asked. “I can get some club soda.” “Oh Jaya, I fear that’s Vicuña.” The pity on Tracy’s face spoke of a man who understood AB’s pain. “Club soda would compromise the material. I hope it comes out in the dry cleaning.” “I’m sure it will,” AB said in a delighted tone to shield broiling anger. “What do we—” “You don’t want no sides?” Low nitpicked as he sat next to his not girlfriend. Who mind you, was an inch away from turning her steak into a pillow. “No, I’ll take bread, that’s enough for me. Tracy, are you not hungry?” “He’s vegan.” AB winced at the unexpected, curve-ball response. What terrible vampire etiquette. “Is that right?” “Yes,” Tracy said. “The environment is being attacked. And we will be here long after the human waste reaches their expiry date. If we don’t do something, we will be left with nothing.” “What are we gonna do when they die?” Max asked, as it seemed she’d come to. “That is too morbid a subject, Maxine.” Her father’s words were terse as he cut into a… tofu, cauliflower, bean… steak, thing. What the fuck did vegans eat? “Such discourse is not fit for a gathering of this nature. So, Jaxon, are you from Miami? Well, you know.” “Uh, do you mind?” He pointed at a tempting bottle of Cabernet. “Oh no, of course.” AB gripped the neck, poured a decent drop, and loved how it’d been aired beforehand. Tracy was a man of class and culture. “No. No, I am not from Florida. I moved here about eight years ago. I was born in Ireland, moved to London, and then to the States. I’ve been here siiiiince… seventeen-ninety-five.” “Before its inception?” “Yeah, my mother and I hopped a Spanish vessel and wound up in Cali. But she lives in London now.” “Californiaaaaa?” Max sat amazed, and it offered AB more insight. Bet his left nut she’d never been out of state. “Yes, it was a long time ago.” Slicing into a superb slab of beef, he changed topics quick as hell. “Tracy, you’ve been a busy bee.” “Indeed, I’ve acquired a lot over my lifetime.” With an immaculate sliver of beef on the fork, he shoved it between his lips, annnnnnd, heaven sent. Damn it, Low made a mean steak. Succulent, with a glorious char and rare. Rosemary, garlic, onion, cayenne, mesquite, applewood, not charcoal, and sweet cream butter. “Although you ruined my vest, I must hand it to you. This is a phenomenal steak. It’s top tier.” Low smiled lazily and lifted his glass. “I’m something like a chef.” “He is,” Tracy agreed. “Maxine!” Her head popped up. “Huh? I don’t like Neapolitan ice cream.” AB chuckled at her… what did the kids call it? State of inebriation. Low thought it was funny, too, but he wasn’t doing any better. “Are you tired?” Tracy prodded. “Yeah, bruh.” “Don’t bruuuuh me, young lady.” She only laughed. “Steak! Yesss.” “As I was saying, Tracy, you’ve dabbled in a fair share of real estate.” He nodded but shrugged it off. “I have. I flip houses.” Tracy was a liar. “Ohhh, that explains it. Makes sense.” It did not. And AB had every intention of digging deeper, ‘til he got to the nasty, bitter core. Then he’d make Mr. Bissette an offer he’d dare not refuse. For now, AB would accept the fallacy and enjoy his fabulous meal. In the end, he had two cuts while they sat outside and conversed. The weather, TV shows, and stupid shit people talked about. AB made certain not to speak on personal matters. He didn’t know them, and putting your business in the street had the capacity to bite you in the ass. So, he kept it nice and easy, even through the hummingbird cake and a bubbly dessert wine. But as with all things, their fun came to an end. AB had had enough small talk for one night. “Wow, you all sure know how to party.” “This wasn’t no party…” Max giggled and had a good five minutes left in her. The nodding worsened by the minute. “Oh, you’re an accountant. Meehhhh, boring personality, bruh.” Tracy clapped his hands. “That’s enough from you, uh… Elliot, will you escort my daughter to her room? She is out of sorts.” “My pleasure.” AB bit down on a raunchy comment resting on his tongue. “I really love your hair,” Max said, allowing Low to manhandle her. “Thank you.” “It’s like, blazing.” “Elliot.” “Yup.” He hefted Max bride style and sprinted away. “I do apologize for my—” “Don’t do that, Tracy,” Jaya snipped. “I swear you want Max to hate you.” This was a deep convo not suited for guests. Tracy’s head fell as he sighed. “I have enjoyed your company, Jaxon.” “You as well.” On his feet, AB grabbed both the Bottega and his jacket. “I am stuffed, and Jaya, the cake was divine.” She blushed. “Thank you, but I didn’t make that. Max did, she’s a baker.” His brows arched. “Oh, okay.” The woman had a way with flour and sugar. That confection was moist as fuck. “Please do tell her I loved it.” “I will.” AB left the pair on their own and showed himself out. Halfway to his car, he stopped to admire the Monte Carlo. A sweet, sexy thing she was. He liked how the engine purred, too. Classy. “You wanna test drive?” Low emerged from the shadows, like AB couldn’t see or sense another vampire’s presence. The tip of a blunt glowed briefly as he advanced. “I’ll let you ride it. Ride in it, I mean.” “You’re terrible at come-ons.” AB sniffed and shrugged. “Who uses Swishers anymore?” “I do, damn. I was outta woods. Stay out Black folks business. You look like the dispensary type. Legal trash. What you smoke? Bongs and vaporizers? Typical white boy shit.” AB snarled. “You talk a lot.” “I know. It’s part of my charm, bruh.” “Your charm?” He scoffed and flicked a hand. “I’m this way. Have a good night.” “Let me know if you want that test drive.” AB opened his car door while Low tact on bullshit. “Prolly can’t handle it, though.” He stopped short of getting in and faced the verbose male. “I’d advise you to ease up while you’re ahead.” AB zoned in on his ass and sneered. “This ain’t what you want, trust me.” Low laughed, expelling a pillow of smoke and said, “Ain’t? Look at you, so cute. I ain’t trippin’, Red. You too tight in the ass for me anyway. I like my men pensive. But believe you me, I done made more than one alpha turn coy.” Low discarded the blunt and added, “I’ll be sure to tell Max you an accountant annnd pussy.” Unbelievable. If the male hadn’t vanished, Jaxon would have yolked his ass up. Try to kill him, probably. “Ohhhhhh, my god. I need a drink.”
. I hope yall are ready for quite the ride going forward. READ THE CONTENT WARNINGS AND LEARN ‘EM. I’m not joking. Please take care if dark romance isn’t your thing; feel free to skip certain chapters. These don’t happen in the same chapter or the next, but they are coming, and quickly. Also, I don’t know why I said mild gore because nah, there is quite a bit. For me, it’s mild, but for others, it might be too much. As always, thank you so much for reading, I hope you have a wonderful week.
“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!
Tracy missed newspaper stands and bookstores. Those days were sadly gone. 2028 was the year of digital re-branding and a paperless boom. Printing presses were shutting down all over. A tree hugger’s dream come true. Of course, you could still read the Sunday Times, for a ridiculous monthly fee. Paywalls and dollar signs were the wave of the future if you sought to know anything of substance. Horse shit. A paper used to cost ten cents. Now, twenty bucks, and he had to scroll or swipe. Kindles were a joy, but sometimes, he rather the aroma of ink and parchment. Tracy sighed in defeat, returned to the latest issue of Forbes and… swiped left. Tech start-ups were the rage. Tracy pondered on it for a spell, but knew nothing about technology aside from phones and e-readers. He still owned an LCD TV and a Gateway desktop that had seen far too many repairs. Tracy was having a swell moment with his espresso, reading material, and Bossa jazz, until Max, made her presence known for the fourth time. She groaned and undoubtedly wanted something. Placing his cup on a saucer, he eyed the girl. “Sit up, child.” She sighed again, but did as instructed. “And take those ridiculous shades off at the table. Good god, you know better.” It was akin to watching an adolescent pick at food they had no intention of eating. Sliced bone in ham, poached eggs, blueberry scones, and fresh strawberries could have been worse. Not to mention Jaya went through the trouble of cooking. “I hope you eat what she has painstakingly prepared.” “Yes, I am.” “What’s wrong, Maxine?” Her eyes and head lifted. “I wanna go somewhere.” “Like where? Orlando?” “No,” she snipped, staring at a full plate. “Like, a trip.” Tracy’s lips thinned as an arched brow spoke of his displeasure. “You know that’s out of the question.” “And why, exactly?” “Because it’s not safe.” “For whom?” she asked, crossing her arms, defiant as ever. Maxine had always been a handful, since the day she learned to walk. “I’m almost a centennial.” “Age has absolutely nothing to do with this. Hunters are running rampant. They are free to do as they please, and kill indiscriminately. I rather not risk—” “You travel all the time,” she countered. “For work, and you know that.” Fork and knife in hand, Tracy sliced into his chickpea and mushroom omelet. A subject change was a splendid idea, as he would not budge on the matter. Ever. Besides, her presence was direly needed. “How many customers did you have last night?” Tracy asked. “I don’t know, I was off.” He dabbed his mouth with a cloth napkin and draped the fine material over his crossed legs. “It’s Friday, which means you were off three days in a row.” “The shop can take care of itself. Ndari is technically the manager while Tilt is on vacation.” “I understand,” he said, holding his tongue. “But your job is to ensure everything is in working order. We will be audited soon.” She dropped arms and returned to her meal. “Why are you just now telling me?” “It slipped my mind quite honestly. Tedious business. I sifted through mounds of paperwork for hours, to no avail. So, I hired someone.” “Like an accou…” Tracy narrowed his gaze, warning made clear. “Do not, talk with your mouth full. It’s uncouth and not how a woman behaves.” Most probably assumed she was raised in an unkempt, rowdy home. No, never that. Far from it. This was Maxine’s way of acting out because she knew he disproved of tattoos, piercings and the hair. By god, it reminded him of rebellious punks. White and turquoise tresses turned the girl into a spectacle. She’d sullied herself so much, at this point, there was no going back. Anything in the corporate world was out the realm of possibility. No one would hire a woman with the word ‘manifest’ riding her left brow. His daughter had two options, the tattoo shop or marry high. The latter had been a tough road to traverse. “So, you hired an accountant?” Maxine asked. “Indeed.” As a bit of espresso washed down the omelet, Tracy smiled at Jaya’s approach. “Ah, you are a gem. Thank you.” “Nooo problem,” she sang, offering two steaming mugs of b-positive. “Figured you’d need it.” “Why don’t you join us, Jaya? You’ve made more than enough.” She assessed their set up and shrugged. “I guess. I was gonna go for a swim in a minute, but I could eat.” Tracy, ever the chivalrous type, pushed out her chair. “Look at you, Tracy. Thank you.” “You are very welcome, here…” Being of use, he grabbed two scones and dropped them on her plate then added a thick slice of ham. She didn’t like strawberries, so he left those, but slid a poached egg in there as well. “Thanks.” Jaya beamed. Tracy nodded and for a brief moment, their eyes met. Cheeks heating to a degree, he pulled away and looked to Maxine. She was amused. Clearing his throat, Tracy handled the mug and downed its contents. Nectar of the gods. Their very own fountain of youth. Blood kept them spry and lively. He enjoyed feeding more than any other pleasure. It was better than sex. Or so he recalled such. It’d been years… decades since… Tracy swallowed the last drop along with unpleasant memories. “Delightful,” he announced. “You might have tasted it if you slowed down.” Jaya smiled and he followed suit. “It was delicious.” “I know,” Jaya said, with a frown. “I don’t like vegans, their blood is thin. But it’s fresh as all heck.” “Yes, indeed. That’s why I prefer it.” “Fattier the better, in my opinion,” Max interrupted. “You love a decent hearty sip, honey.” Jaya leaned over and lightly pinched the girl’s cheek. Tracy found her affection satisfying. It was good to know Max received comfort from someone. He wasn’t a toucher, a feeler, or a hugger. The experience was nauseating. Tracy avoided affections as if they’d cause him harm. “So, Dad. This accountant, can you trust them?” “With what?” She stared and blinked. “Ah, yes. I doubt he’ll find anomalies and if so, people and silence can be bought.” “That seems risky,” Jaya replied, voice echoing her concern. “I assure you, all is well.” Tracy polished off the espresso and dabbed his lips once more. “They’ll be here shortly, in fact.” “Here?” Max questioned. “Yes, is that a problem?” She shrugged and bit into a strawberry. “It feels counter productive. Too many eyes and ears. After what happened last week, I think you should be cautious.” Tracy recoiled. “No one is more wary than I.” Jaya nearly lost her apple juice and his daughter sniggered. “I am.” “You try to be,” Max hedged. “But we don’t even have an alarm system in this house. Which, I have said, is a bad idea. Since like, forever.” “Like… forever?” Tracy mocked, in his best Valley Girl accent. “You kids these days and the word ‘like’.” “Morgan Freeman is younger than me.” Jaya laughed and he smirked at the slight. “So truuuue and he’s been old for a long ass time.” “Jaya,” He chuckled, steadied himself and made certain to remain composed. “I’m serious, she looks great. Being older than Father Time.” Maxine and Jaya got a good laugh as the doorbell chimed. Their illustrious caretaker rose with haste, Tracy stopped her. “I’ll get it, you eat.” “Fine by me.” On the way, he stroked his cashmere sweater vest and snapped the hem. When satisfied, he yanked the door wide and smiled. “Ah yes, Mr. Aubrey.” The towering male clutched his palm and entered. “What a magnificent home you have.” “It’s modest,” Tracy added. And it was, before he and Jaya remodeled every square inch. “So, would you like coffee, warm red, or a snack, before we begin?” Mr. Aubrey spun with eyes high and nodded. “I’ll take caffeine, six lumps and extra cream.” Liquid sugar it is. “Sure, follow me. I’ll have something made for you.” “Splendid.” They weaved through formal dining and crossed into the kitchen, where Maxine gasped. “Is you fuckin’ with me right now?!” “Maxine!” Tracy shouted. Jaya shot to her feet in a hurry. She had better calm the girl.
Hoe. Lean. Shit. This must be a joke. No way in hell. “So I turn you down, and you follow me home?!” The chair screeched as she hopped to. Her five-foot nothing ass glared behind dark frames. He knew it. The sneer was unmatched. “You have nerve. This some stalker shit. I’ll call the cop—have you been stalking me?!” “Maxine Bissette, by god. You calm down this instant.” “Dad, he’s a predator.” “What?” Tracy snapped, confused as hell. “Get him outta here, Jaya.” Short Stack was audacious stepping to him. “Or I’ll cut his ass.” This girl behind the sunglasses might provoke him to say some crazy shit. He didn’t enjoy her disrespect or the scene. As an old, Purevian, or Pureblood, as the world called them, this was top-tier challenging behavior. But… AB bit his tongue. ‘Cause he loved money. No matter how small the amount. Tracy grunted and said, “He is the accountant I hired. You’ve mistaken this gentleman for someone else, I fear, and, humiliated him.” A distinct clicking in her mouth riled an extra dose of curiosity. Steel and enamel, was it?. “He’s—yo—you? Mhm. You hired him?” “Yes.” She nodded and glanced at a tall, hovering female. “Wooooow.” Back to him, she shrugged. “Small world, huh?” AB grinned. “Very.” “Well, I’ll leave you tw—” “Apologize.” She groaned at Tracy’s demand but AB appreciated it. Basking in the moment, he lifted his chin and waited for her loud mouth self to say sorry. “Dad, I don’t think that is really nec—” “In my house, you will apologize after spitting vulgarities and accusing someone of crimes not committed.” Her head bobbed from left to right as arms crossed. She huffed and muttered, “I’m sorry.” “For?” Tracy prompted. “Imsorryforcussingandaccusingyouofstalkingme. Can I go now?” When her father slashed a hand, she vanished, sprinting away. An elegant floral scent swirled, tickling his fancy. “My goodness, Mr. Aubrey, I do so apologize.” “Jaxon, please.” “I haven’t the words, Jaxon.” He paused for a tick, brows furrowing. “My daughter lacks decorum and etiquette. I don’t know where it came from. Jaya, will you please prepare our guest a cup of coffee? Five sugars and extra cream.” “Coming right up.” “Oh, is this the wife?” Tracy winced and chuckled. His hazel eyes dilated and the female dropped a saucer. They were nervous. Cute. “No, no. I uh, no.” Tracy snickered again. “My dearest died years ago.” “Jesus, I’m sorry.” He dismissed the condolence and pivoted. “Jaya, he will be in my office.” “Okay.” Her high pitched reply was adorable. They were onto something. AB smelled it in the air. “Shall we?” They cut a u-turn and AB trailed. He took quick notice of large comfy couches, a mounted seventy-inch TV and a fire ass recliner in the family room. Tracy lived the good life. White walls and dark stone. Medieval with a modern twist, if that was a thing. Keeping on course, they trekked across the foyer and he clocked a sumptuous formal area. Sofa, coffee table and armchairs. AB checked everything and quickly established a median income. This gave him something to work with. The house ran an easy mil, at least, maybe one-point-seven. Tracy could afford one-forty an hour. Hell yeah. On their way down a compact hallway, he felt like a rat in a shoe box. This was an old floorplan. Passing a closed door stinking of flowers, AB gathered a deep breath. That was her space. ‘Max’s’ room. Funny how he got her name anyway. A nd the way it happened blew is fucking mind. Small world and beyond. As their journey ended in the office, AB dropped his Botega on the desk and suddenly remembered what it felt like to sleep in a coffin. The stuffy, confined feeling intensified by the second. Tracy was unorganized, a hoarder, perhaps. It wasn’t uncommon for their kind to collect things. Hoarding their loot and gold pieces like sleeping dragons. Papers and books were strewn about in piles and on the floor. Ohhh god damn it! Jaxon knew before Tracy even opened the gates of hell what this was about. “And here are my files.” “Excellent,” AB chimed, though screaming inside while his blood boiled. Why the fuck, would you throw financial records in plastic tubs?! “I need you to be aware, that my hourly rate will need to be augmented. This is stodgy, wearisome work and will take me at least a week to sort proper.” “Whatever you want.” AB’s eye twitched. “Ballpark? Two-hundred dollars an hour, but that might change.” “Sure.”
The tide changed swiftly. This particular equation wasn’t adding up. Tracy had a million-dollar spot, a Jeep, a Rav-4, and a lowly Lexus out front. The cost of living in this neighborhood was highhh. Upkeep and utilities. Mr. Bissette had a maid, for Christs sake. He couldn’t afford two- hundred bones an hour for a week. Which translated to 14k, maybe more. If AB milked overtime, and he would, because cream that thick got his dick hard. “Okay, let me get started.” Wagging a finger, AB smirked. “I’m going to need that coffee.” “Yes, sir.” “Oh and Tracy, if you don’t mind, may I tidy a bit? I’ll make certain you’ll know where everything is.” “Whatever you must do, feel free.” “Greeeeat. Thank you so much.” Tracy nodded and hit the exit as AB observed the trash heap. There was no reason for it to look like this. None. He removed the TF suit jacket, vest, and tie. After rolling sleeves, AB dug in a pocket for his buds and shoved them in each ear. Play No Games was a winner, so he kept it. Big Sean had classics. “Where to start is the question.” The desk was overwhelmed with notebooks and journals. He wouldn’t invade Tracy’s privacy, so he stacked them tower style. From largest to smallest. Bills were stashed in the file cabinet he alphabetized. Then, the planners. Why keep them? “What the fu—” He grunted at the unnecessary clutter and moved them to the bookshelf housing biographies and novels on the African American struggle. Some AB had read himself. James Baldwin was a masterclass, and Maya Angelou was his favorite poet, next to Langston. He dusted shelves and sorted. Paperbacks and hardcovers weren’t to touch. This wasn’t his house, but that shit drove him up the fucking wall. He went by last name, as was expected. When finished, the eight-foot oak behemoth looked better. AB accomplished said tasks in under ten minutes; vampire abilities were a godsend. A knock forced him to pause, Hall and Oats, and greet the hostess. “Here’s your coffee, Mr. Aubrey. I apologize for the wait.” She placed his beverage on the desk and shrugged. “I had to clean a few other things.” “No biggie, thank you.” “Thank yo—I mean, you’re wellcooome.” She blushed. He was used to such behaviors. “Jaya, right?” “Yeah, you remembered.” From fifteen minutes ago. “Sure did.” She was pretty, gorgeous even. Long, dark spirals flanked classical features. Green eyes, freckles, and a sepia complexion. No wonder Tracy was smitten. “Okay…uhhh, I’ll leave you to it.” “Yes. I may need more coffee, though.” “I’ll set a pot aside just for you. And by the way, nice job.” She gestured at his work. “I have never seen it this clean. Tracy won’t let me touch his things.” “Well, Mr. Bissette didn’t have a choice with me.” He smiled and she turned coy. “I’ll leave you to it,” she recited again. “Alrighty.” Jaya backed out and waved. He lifted a hand and sighed when she vanished. “0ookay.” AB went for the dainty teacup and growled at a black hole. “I really hate you.” In an act of war, folders slid from the pile and fluttered onto the floor face down. “You mangy bitch. This is some good coffee. Sheesh.” He drank the rest in one gulp and set it aside. AB fixated on the battlefield and rubbed his hands together. “Let’s do the damned thing.” Sitting cross-legged in the closet, he pulled out shit. Fifteen boxes, six briefcases, and three full tubs. AB snagged a manila folder and skimmed. Taxes. A home he no longer owned. Great. Throwing that, he found another. House number two, three, four, five…more followed. “What the hell.” His turnover rate was quick. Every two years. That was mad moves. A lot of waste, honestly. No way he got a decent return. The tub gained his interest. And you know whaaaaat? Tracy bought tons of property and sold it post haste. Gaining with some, losing with others. Maybe he flipped houses or some shit. A vampire keeping equity for an extended period turned the waters murky. Boats, yachts, vacation homes. He had to have a digital trail. It was unavoidable these days, and activity of this sort might raise some eyebrows. Those of the human persuasion. Hm. Setting aside his suspicion, AB compiled it. Equity and depreciating assets. There was a lot and some of it wasn’t even in his name. Probably an alias, which may have saved his ass more than once. Even AB had three names on deck. Jaxon Aubrey was dead on paper. To everyone else, he was Barton Sparks, Alexander Urchin, or Tucker Roberts. He’d be Jaxon again, in fifty years or so. It was the closest to Jack he’d ever get, seeing as he’d left the boy in Ireland eons ago. With speed and efficiency, AB formed neat stacks. They’d be much higher in a few hours. “I’m definitely going to need more coffee.”
What’s good? I hope y’all are having a swell week. Not too much to report. I am taking some time off, but I have vowed to keep a steady pace with posting. I am going to try my best to post Neon Red on Fridays and Patchwork on Mondays. My day job hours are all over the place, so there’s no telling when I can edit and then post, but I’m doing my ultimate best, y’all. Still trying to see what works and what doesn’t. This week, we are reacquainted with Tracy. He’s overbearing and a pain in my ass, though he has reasons. As I have said before, y’all will hate him by the end of this book. But keep reading, he may surprise you. And with a new chapter comes another chance at meeting Jaxon. On occasions, this man works for the monarchy (underground vampire kingdom with a long history and five books of its own, I finished seven years ago) as an auditor. He’s great with numbers and loves monotony. Im super excited because this is where the journey truly begins. The moment when our trouple gets the page time they deserve. I hope y’all have a lovely weekend and don’t be doomscrolling. Shit is too real out there, y’all. Please stay safe and give yourself grace. Thank you so much for reading! See you next week.
Low climbed a short flight of stairs, stopped at 7b, and banged on the screen door. Time was ticking, and at 4:15 am, sunrise was due in roughly forty-five minutes. Sliding to his house took thirty-five, no traffic. On a Tuesday, though, that morning commute was on its way. “Fuck.” Low pounded on the steel mesh again and thanked god he answered. “What’s up Low, c’mon on in.” Paul pushed on the screen and allowed Low entry, peeking outside for a hot second. The boy was cagey and kept to himself. Paul was against technology; he owned one cellphone. A flip burner. No email or social media presence. He was three hundred years old with soulful eyes to tell it, but physically remained a lanky seventeen-year-old. “The boys are out tonight,” Low’s plug stated as three bolts clacked into place. “What you want, youngsta?” “Half, and some wax, like usual.” The white boy, er, man, sighed and marched through a compact kitchen. His joint was a tiny linoleum haven with coral walls and tiled counters. “So listen, my supplier ain’t supplied, Low.” “Is you for real?” “Said they had a hiccup.” Paul opened the cabinet under the sink and yanked free Cali Kush, not even a half. “This all I got. I can’t hit you with half right now. I got tourists I need to hustle, you feel me. I’ll give you an eighth, though. And throw in some edibles my old lady made.” Low smacked his lips, but accepted the offer. “Aight, shit. I don’t got no choice.” Digging for cash, he knew there were others to call. A brotha needed that half. A muh’fucka smoked too much for a punk ass eighth. At least there were some cookies for Max. Shorty didn’t smoke, but she liked edibles on occasion. With the sale finalized, they clapped palms and Low said, “I’mma hit you, stay up, blood.” “Right, right.” Low hit the exit and rushed downstairs. He slid behind the wheel and swapped goods for the forty-five, tucking it back under the seat. “Ooooo cookies.” “That shit potent, knowing Ulinda, so don’t go crazy.” She laughed and shoved chips in her mouth. “Can we go now? I wanna relax.” “We on the way.” A thirty-minute journey was whittled down to twenty. He was ready to get in the house, smoke, and make Max holler. Plus, the pinkish horizon concerned him. They were in the home stretch and zoomin’ down SW66th when Max tapped his shoulder. “Low, ain’t that Teddie?” “Where?!” He slowed and peered through her window. Low didn’t have much of a view from where he lived. Directly across the street from his house was a soccer field. It belonged to the Korean church and was private property. But sure enough, Teddie was on the lawn doing flips. Low punched the horn and swerved into his driveway. “I’ma kill him.” “Be nice.” “Hell nah.” Without turning the car off, he slipped out and ran across the narrow avenue. “Have you lost your mind?! Get your hard-headed ass—it’s three in the morning and you flipping and shit. The neighbors finna call CPS!” Teddie grimaced and jogged to the fence. “You told me to practice. That’s what I’m doi—“ “Booyyy, you lef—” Low fumed, pointing at the house. “You left Ashton alone?” “No…” Teddie nibbled on his bottom lip and looked at the tree Ashton stood behind, peeking. “Get the hell over here!” The boy smiled, mouth full of high-priced braces. They cost more than Low’s golds. “What’s wrong with you? Bring your behind on. Both y’all in it.” Teddie snickered. “How do we get out?” Low clapped his hands. “Don’t play with me. Theodore!” They thought this shit was funny, and he didn’t find a ‘nere thing humorous. After they cleared the short chain link, Low shoved them across the street. “Get in bed, now! And wash up too!” Knucklehead one and two rushed for the door, grinning like they weren’t in trouble. Teddie stopped and waved. “Hi, Max.” “Hay, love,” she said, daring to be nice. “You stuck that last one, boy.” “I did, huh?” “Go’on,” Low shouted. It got them moving, and the moment they disappeared, he killed the engine. “You get everything?” “Yeah. And you don’t have to yell.” “Girl, I’ve been raising those boys for eight years, I’ma yell at they ass. And that little one, he gon’ give me a stroke.” Max shook with mirth as he slammed the door and remotely closed the gate. They paced for the house, and she tried to show him the bright side. “They’re growing young boys who will turn into men. Y’all will be inseparable.” “Shit, we already are.” Low scrubbed Vapormaxx soles on the welcome mat and stepped over the threshold with his lady in tow. Keeping it a hunnit, Max wasn’t his. Matter fact, he didn’t have a lady. No relationship to speak of. Just how he liked it. What they had, was a situationship. Mutual as fuck. Both parties carried baggage and neither wanted to unpack that shit. For various reasons. “God, I love the way your house smells. It never gets old.” Max recited the same line every. Single. Time. Low figured it was a compliment, and he could never receive too many of those. When it came to his home, yeah, he deserved some recognition. For time and money spent. Vaulted ceilings dressed in polished cherry planks and beams. Mid-century modern decor and foliage were his vibe of choice. From the door, house plants greeted them, and as they trudged along the terracotta floor, he jotted mental notes. Pruning and watering were in order. Low watched Max bank left and dash through a pair of doors leading to the master suite. He loved the privacy and sheer size of his room. She hurried onward, hit a final louie, tossed goodies on his bed and ran for the bathroom. “I gotta peee.” Low dropped his keys, phone, and lighters on the highboy dresser. His place smelled so good ‘cause he kept incense smoking. And not them cheap ass Wallyworld sticks, nah, his came from an online independent Afro shop. Black Butter, Pattie Labelle, and Somili Rose stayed in rotation. The latter was his go-to at the moment. After Low sparked a roach, he slipped off his shoes. “Whew, my bladder was full. Oooo that’s the Somali Rose.” Max cleared the bed and dove into her purse. He knew she was about to spout some spiritual mess. In an effort to stop it, he stood on a grunt and aimed for the stereo system beside his dresser. The master wasn’t small, by any means. But he packed it tight with more plants, a cal king, and a heavy oak number. A four-bedroom with dual vanities, a sauna, and a sit-in shower would cost close to five million nowadays. Low was big-headed, even though he hadn’t paid for it. He was also proud of an enormous vinyl collection. Years’ worth of long-forgotten music followed him through the decades and filled four shelves. As Low lifted the lid on an HMV stereogram—purchased in 1972—sage wafted. “Annnnnd here she go.” “Your energy is off, love. We gotta cleanse all this mess. I told you to get you some lavender and sage incense.” She swirled that shit all in his face. “I don’t believe in any of your new-age garbage, and you know this.” “Don’t talk like that. See, and you wonder why all those bad spirits won’t get off you.” The scent was okay, but not better than his incense. “A daily smudge would do you good.” “Break that down for me, baby.” “Yup.” He pulled free a winner and chuckled. Vinyl records almost died when compact discs emerged. Luckily, the former prevailed and made a hard comeback. Everybody and they mama released an album on vinyl. Which was good, ‘cause he liked the analog sound better. Low was a hip-hop head, and even Kendrick had ‘em. Though, sometimes, them oldies came in handy right on time. After carefully pulling the record from its jacket, he placed it on the platter and dropped the needle. Teddywas a classic album, and Mr. Pendergrass set the mood quickly. “Freak nasty!” Max yelled mid-giggle. “Mister penherass dowwwwwn… senior.” Low crawled on the bed, observing Max bust down the weed and backwood. She dumped tobacco into an abalone shell and used her magical hands. The woman could roll. Her shit was tight and dry. How she did it with those sexy nails was beyond him. Max ain’t even partake, then again, she had been rolling his blunts for ten years. Irritated, Low reached and snatched her shades off. A rumbling growl was to be expected. “You know damn well you can’t wear them up in here.” Max scoffed, sealing with a pierced, pink devil. It was his personal hell on earth. “What is this? Cali Kush?” “Yup.” “I can taste it.” Max was an old hippie type with weird habits. Face tattoos and piercings fit her personality. Come to find, she acquired most of it as an act of rebellion. “Can you hurry up?” Low snarled. He got nothing but her usual side-eye. “I will flush this down the toilet.” “I’ll put you out, keep fucking with me.” She laughed, pressing his nerves. “Here, damn! Rushing me.” Max frowned and threw the blunt at him. “I’ll be in the shower.” Her little ass scooted off the mattress as Low lit the tip. The first drag did his soul right. Holding smoke, he slid on down to his back and attempted to unwind. Ten minutes and four hits later, he yearned for sweeter offerings. Low snuffed his blunt in the ashtray and popped up. On his way towards heaven, he lost the durag and clothes. Her favorite soap and scent, which heavily resembled gardenia, ignited a violent brand of lust. Airy and floral, it drove him to madness many a night. He needed it on his skin and in his lungs, helping the kush along. With desire coiling in his gut, Low wrenched open the shower door. “I’m tryin’ to wash up, now. Move!” “Don’t be yelling at me,” Low snapped. “You in my house.” “Ugh, your wound is still bruised.” Headscarf on and body soaking wet, she was divinity in motion. The vision moved him forward until she slapped his shoulder. “Ow! What you do that for?” Max scrunched her nose. “Did it hurt?” “No.” “Okay.” She slapped it again and laughed. Low was over her shit. As water streamed and steam billowed, he fell upon her. Supple and buoyant, her lips woke his shit right up. He shivered, and she jumped, locking legs around him. Home was right here. Body to body, their tongues worked in sensual duality as Low gripped her ass. Hands full, his dick jutted in anticipation, but their kisses never lasted long enough. Separation caused a pinprick of pain. He dropped onto the tiled bench and kneaded her behind. “You finna sit on this dick?” “Yeahhhh.” Max moaned and whined. “You gonna be nice?” “Mhmmm.” She nodded and grabbed his face. Her kiss traveled, leaving fire in its wake. Cheek, jaw, and neck. “I wanna taste, too. Can I have it, baby?” she whispered against the sensitive spot, just under his jawline. Low grunted in agreement, losing wits and sense. Two hundred and sumn’ years was a long while to live and more than enough time to lie with any and everybody. Low wasn’t an amateur; he knew how this game was played and had been at it for generations. He’d had countless companions, but not one had claimed his vein. Until he’d met Maxine. Low never turned her down, never said no, but it wasn’t a thing. In truth, vampires biting each other wasn’t normal unless mated. Low didn’t care ‘bout none of that, ‘cause the shit was addicting. Fangs deep in his throat as her pussy hugged him close set a muh’fucka on the straight and narrow! “Let me have it,” Max demanded, straddling him. She gripped his stiff shaft and positioned his blunt head right where he needed to be. Low’s eyes slammed shut the moment her heat licked the tip. Max’s pink, silken walls teased, flexed, and soaked him good. Lowering and sliding, she mewled. Low’s fingers sank into her soft, plush hips. “Shi—” “Fuuuucck,” Max cried. Tight and soul snatching, her pussy arrested him. His female sat on it from head to base and undulated. His eyes sprang open, and he damn near came from the view. Shorty woulda been madddd pissed if he nutted, but she was a masterpiece. Head thrown back and sharp fangs running a hard line. Her buttery skin adorned with art, shimmered under a dim blue glow. “On me, baby, keep them eyes on me,” Low pleaded. She complied instantly. Unnatural, yet alluring, her gaze matched his. Perfectly arched brows, thick lips, and high cheekbones came in second to her stunning stare. There was something dark behind the innocence. Max hated them, but he’d never see her point. Mismatched and dazzling, they drove him to want without ceasing. One red and the other quicksilver. “Damn,” he barked as she started moving like a starving succubus. “Come on now!” Low smacked that ass, and Max yelped while her pussy bit back. It encased him and forced a motha fucka to beg. She wound and bound him. On fire for it, heaving and cussing, he held firm. “You so pretty, Maxi. Look at you…all on this dick.” Low latched onto her luscious form and gritted his teeth, watching her body bounce nearly took him out. “Damn, you wet as fuck, shorty.” “Oooo, shit, Low!” Her head lulled forward, and motion grew vicious. Ass meeting pelvis and clapping, she put their natural-born speed to good use. At her mercy, Low might as well be a toy. Perfect pussy, soft curves, large brown nipples, and a hammering pulse set him off. He was about to nut. “Ooooooo I’m ‘bouta squ—” Cutthroat and ruthless, skin glistening, Max danced on the dick, her scent thickened with the steam. Breathing clipped and belly jiggling as he loved, she whined. “Lowww! Right—oh dammmnn babyyyy!” She hooked her claws into his arms, but he registered nothing as her mouth locked onto his jugular. Fangs penetrated, knocking bones loose. She touched the depths of his cold, aching soul and set him free. Low erupted. From crown to sole, he quaked and drenched her beloved walls. Truth be told, Max ran the show when they fucked. Whatever she say go. And as his toes curled, ass clenched, and eyes rolled yet again, she ruptured. Squirting on his lap, Max drank her fill and screamed. Nut number two battered his senses. Low gasped for air and looped arms around her. This here wasn’t planned, and they had no business sharing sheets. Her daddy would never approve, but god forbid Low let their situation go. Not for a second, an hour, or a day. This was worth the risk. Max was worth it. Maybe it was fucked up, but Low had long ago become reliant on these secret, stolen moments and refused to live without them.
Heeello. I hope y’all have had a good week and aren’t too stressed out, but I know how it is. Sometimes it can be hard to enjoy the little things like reading, writing, hiking, meditating, or gaming with everything the way it is, but we try, don’t we? Y’all have taken those tiny moments and used them to read my stories. For that, I thank you. It means a lot. Y’all are the reason why I keep at it, cause you’re still here! So, with that, let’s move on to the goods. SMUT. And yeah, this was a little taste of what Low and Max have. They are creeping, sneaking, and freaking, you hear me! Max got the heart of a lion, cause babbbyyyy, what? I ain’t set up like that. Ten years? A whole decade and some change? Hell to the nah nah nahhhh. They cute, though, and I adore them. They’re staying true to the game, and I can’t blame them. Oh, one last tiny tidbit, the word female is used loosely in my vampire universe because they aren’t human. And some, not all, prefer male-female terms instead of woman-man. Anyhoooo, that’s it for now and please, as always, if you have any questions, comments, concerns, let me know! Have a great day, y’all. Stay well, stay hydrated, and STOP DOOM SCROLLING!
What an unfortunate circumstance. Robbed, someone tried to rob him. For the first time in ten years, Elliot had to save Tracy’s life. Well, Hollister helped, too, and he appreciated fast thinking. On their toes and ready for battle. Best to have someone around who can defend his honor. Tracy would rather not engage in a fight, unless it was with a pen. Mayhap a game of chess, but he wasn’t too good, truth be told. His father reigned as king in chess and often berated Tracy for losing so viciously. As they puttered along, 826 -and putter was an apt description- Elliot drove like an old man. Granted, he was an old fellow. He stayed in the slow lane and kept it at sixty-five. Their trips always took longer than necessary. Tracy knew Elliot was only being safe, but good god, this was ridiculous. He should have been home by now. They were on the highway, but dealing with Elliot, a fifteen-minute ride turned into twenty-five. Annnnd, it was 3 am, no one was on the road, save for three other cars that sped on by moments before. “Thank you again, Elliot. You are a true marksman.” “I didn’t even get to use my gun,” he said, sounding incredibly dejected. “Maybe next—well, you know what? No.” Tracy shook his head. “I don’t want a next time.” Elliot glanced at him and smirked. “You sure? It’ll give that old heart a jolt.” “No, no. I hope to never go through something like that again.” “Me either, I don’t wanna make getting stabbed a habit.” “So, you said you’ve been hurt worse?” Elliot nodded, keeping eyes on the road and two hands on the wheel like a seventy-year-old human named Henryetta, “Yeah, been stabbed. Set on fire, shot, disemboweled, and lost a leg once. Nearly got my head lopped off… You know, stuff like that.” “Noooo, I don’t know.” Tracy scoffed. He couldn’t imagine any of it. “Dear god. You never disclosed such information before.” “Irrelevant.” “Fair enough.” As silence settled in, Tracy took a gander at Elliot’s wound and gagged. The sight of so much blood was unappealing, even for a vampire. Seeping and oozing, glistening. Was that white meat? He dragged attention away from the hellish display and stared out the window instead. When 56th merged into Millers Street, hunger pangs returned, and with vengeance. They drove by an assortment of eateries, and his stomach howled. The long stretch of asphalt and stop lights became a new brand of torture. Mr. Paella, Bamboo Miller, and McDonald’s—where Tracy would never eat, because he was vegan and not trashy—looked like a grand idea; he was starved. “Are you hungry, Elliot?” “Uh, sorta. I’m really tryna keep from throwing up right now.” “Ohhh, does it hurt?” “It tickles, Tracy.” “Right, dumb question.” Checking on him with obvious reluctance, Tracy noted the sweat on Elliot’s brow. “You know? Jaya can stitch that for you.” “No, no—” “It’s the least I can do. She’s great with a needle and thread.” Good thing he nodded; it was unlikely Elliot would make it home in this state. “We can have it sewn up and get you a pint.” “Yeah, sure.” He agreed just as they made a right onto 60th, where streets were narrow, and homes were shielded behind high brush. Each house, manse, or abode was gated and secure. Tracy loved this neighborhood and its timeless beauty. The homes were older, built in the early 2000s, but were charming, and his was no exception. Elliot pushed a button on the remote on his keyring before reaching the gate. Tracy gave him free access to pretty much everything. After ten years, he trusted Elliot beyond measure. They’d gone so long without one hiccup. Seconds later, thank god, they embarked on the roundabout drive and stopped at the front door. “Finally,” Tracy grumbled. “Something wrong with my driving?” “No, no… I mean, if I required urgent care, I’d be dead, but great job.” Hopping out with his backpack, Tracy heard Elliot chuckle, and he smirked. Being home felt nice, and when he walked in, he smelled a lovely aroma. Wine sauce and plant-based butter. From the foyer, Tracy swerved right, paced through the formal dining, and arrived in the kitchen. “What do we have here?” “I thought I heard the door,” Jaya said, stirring whatever bubbled and boiled on the stove. “Chickpea and potato curry.” “Wonderful, you are talented with a spoon, Jaya.” The woman blushed, and he spun around. “Uhm, Elliot has suffered an inj—” “Oh my god, Elliot.” Jaya dropped the spoon, snagged a dish towel off her shoulder, and wiped her hands. “Come here.” “Hay.” “Hi bud, how are—oooohhhh.” She flinched and examined the wound. “Got a deep one, huh?” “Yeah, and I need to sit down.” “Come, come.” After tugging Elliot along, Jaya placed him at the breakfast bar. “We’re gonna go in the bathroom first, and then, I’m gonna fix you right up.” “Thank you, ma’am.” “You know better than to ma’am me.” She smacked him with the towel, slid behind Tracy, and smiled as he tried to take a bite. “Don’t you even think about it, mister.” “Damn it.” “Yeah.” His shoulders drooped. “I’m gonna put my things in the office and—” “Oh, uhm, Tracy? You had a visitor tonight.” “I did?” His nerves rattled in a way. “Who?” “Yeah, who?” Elliot asked, only with more suspicion. Jaya grabbed a fresh bottle of blood—not his, they were labeled—and offered it to the bodyguard. “An auditor.” “Shiiiit.” Tracy was unsettled. “Human, orrrr…” “Monarchy.” “Oh shitm,” he uttered again and nodded. “Okay. I’m— damn it. I am going to handle this.” “I hope so. Have you been paying your taxes?” Jaya asked. “Yeees.” He lied, the IRS, yes, he paid those on time. But the monarchy, no. And the thing was, he had a few years to make up for. Tracy may have seen this coming and chose to ignore it, being that he was far too busy. He had many things to worry about, and it wasn’t like the king needed money. “I’m gonna get right on it.” Spinning around, he nearly mowed down his daughter. “My god. Make some noise on your approach, child.” “Sorry, what happened?” she asked. “I smell—” The girl side-stepped and shrugged. “What happened to Elliot? What happened to you?” “I got stabbed.” “What?!” Tracy frowned. “Use your inside voice. What have I told you about being loud?” “Leave her be, Tracy,” Jaya cut in. “How did you get stabbed?” She looked back and gaped. “Dad, did someone try to kill you?” “Apparently, they were trying to rob me.” “Holy sh—shoot.” “Cursing is boorish for a young lady. Why do I have to remind you of this every moment of every night?” “Does it hurt?” his daughter asked, in an amused tone. A fiendish smile exposed her delight. “Yes, it does.” Elliot was not enthused with her response. “Jaya, are you gonna stitch him?” “I sure am, you wanna watch?” “Absolutely.” Tracy rolled his eyes. How was the girl he raised obsessed with gore? “I’m going to freshen up and be in my office until supper is ready. Max, don’t poke at it.” “Dad,” she huffed. “I’m not gonna poke it.” “You poke everything.” “I bet it’s squishy,” she said. “You are not touching me,” Elliot interjected, “it’s on fire.” Max laughed as Tracy took his leave. Wheeling around, he departed and banked right. On a mission, he kept straight ahead, through formal living, and dashed down the hall. He loved the portraits straddling his path. There were various photos from the past and present. The passage of time is told through frozen memories. Vintage frames protected old, blurry black-and-whites. Maxine’s baby shoots, class photos, or candid snaps in color. 1.7 million was a lot for some, but in Miami, it was a drop in the bucket, and got you four bedrooms. Maybe three thousand square feet. Tracy had four thousand and owned the largest home in the neighborhood. He lived lavishly, with marble floors and twenty-foot ceilings. At a dead end, he glared at the doors leading to his quarters, then to the left, and decided. His office beckoned. This shit was not going to be fun. On his way, he glanced in Max’s room and grunted. Slob. Clothes were scattered about, canvases on the floor, and old paint coated every surface. He moved on with a sigh and entered his workspace. She got it earnestly. Tracy dropped his bag and closed the door. Papers swamped his desk, books lay on their backs, and leaned on shelves. The file cabinet wasn’t even closed. Folders cocked and protruded, daring to escape drawers. Stress ailed him. Tracy didn’t know where to begin, and his burden grew heavier when he opened the closet door. File boxes and overflowing plastic tubs screamed obscenities. Those were his finances. Somewhere in this mess was six years’ worth of financial garbage. Shit that made his brain explode lurked within the heap. “Well, let’s get to it.”
At Jaya’s place—the guest house—Max stood behind his nurse and watched. Low sat on the bed bench while the lady worked with skilled hands. “That shit went deep, bruh,” Max said. She stared in awe as his skin pulled with the thread. “You think?” Low asked, clearly annoyed. “I put a topical anesthetic on it. You shouldn’t feel anything.” “I don’t, it’s not the first time I been skewered.” Jaya’s Cinnamon gaze flared. “Is that so?” “Nah, but it don’t never get easier.” He flinched, and Max winced. The asshole chuckled. “That ain’t funny,” she scowled. “It is to me.” Max grimaced and mumbled, “You irritating, like hella bothersome.” “Back at you, sir.” She flipped him off and got a smile in return. “I love how you two get along like angry siblings.” Max coughed and gagged. “Don’t say that, Jaya!” Shivering, she glanced at Low who couldn’t have been more disgusted. “Okay.” His nurse clipped the last stitch and said, “That should do it, kid. Let me dress it with some gauze, and you’ll be good to go.” Making herself useful, Max snatched a pack of sterilized cotton stuff. The wound was nasty but healing already. “You ain’t much older than me, Jaya.” She shrugged. “Older is older.” After handing the squares over, Ms. Burke slapped the material on a three-inch gash. Surgical tape was next. “I am donezo, Elliot.” “Can I put my shirt back on now?” “I don’t know, can you?” Low rotated his shoulder and nodded. “I think so.” “By all means.” Jaya ripped off her gloves and sighed. “Tomorrow, I’m gonna need to take those out.” “It’s good.” Low grabbed his shirt and winced again. Max grimaced at the brief display of distress. “I know how to do that. I done it a lot.” “I can only imagine, you’re a big guy. You’ve undoubtedly seen your fair share of victories.” He smiled in a hideous, flirtatious manner. But Jaya rolled her eyes and gathered trash. “Thank you, ma’am.” “Don’t ma’am me, Elliot!” Bouncing up, she smirked. “I’ll punch that shoulder in a heartbeat.” He laughed then hissed. “I think the numbing agent is wearing off already.” “That’s what yo ass get, bruh,” Max said, sneering. “Tryin’ to be a hero.” “Shut the fuck up before I throw you through a window.” “I heard that!” Jaya yelled from around the corner. Vindication. “Now.” Rolling her neck, Max twirled and followed the woman’s voice. She skipped into the galley-style food room and used innocence to get what she wanted. “Hay Jaya, can you make some scones? Blueb—” “I know what kinda scones you want, honey. And yeah, it was on my to-do list.” “Yessss.” “Can’t believe somebody tried to steal Dad’s money.” She slid across the tile in her Ariel socks, plucked a pear from the fruit bowl, and hopped up on one of two countertops. Max bit into its flesh while Jaya twisted her ear. “Get your ass off,” she slid down and laughed nervously cause it hurt, “my clean counter. Have you even taken a shower yet?” “Hell nah, she cutting onions. Ol’ fonky ass.” Max hissed too, but like a vampire, and snarled, “Mind your business. And yes, I did take a shower.” “Doubtful.” “Byyyyyyeeee Elliiiiiooot!” He shot a narrowed gaze her way and smacked his lips. “Bruh, you buggin. See if I ever give your yappin ass another treat.” “Fuck off, four eyes.” The male was six-foot-three, and his waves nearly brushed the ceiling. He was a grown ass man but sensitive as hell. Low stomped his foot as Max chomped on her fruit. “Why you always gotta go there?” he pouted. “You know how I feel about my weak eyesight. Man, Jaya, she ain’t right, that’s not okay. It’s a disability! You can’t say that.” “You a crybaby, blood,” Max murmured. He lunged, but hiding behind Jaya’s six-foot, thick frame saved her. “Boy, you better back up. Don’t touch my baby. Go on now, go home. You look exhausted.” “I am.” “I know.” “For real,” Max agreed. She rolled the green to find a crisp, white, meaty part. “You look tired. Get some rest.” “Yeah, yeah.” Low stalked out and slammed the door on his departure. “Why do you hate him so much?” “I do not hate him.” “You do, you’re like a pissy cat ready to scratch his eyes out.” “He’s annoying, Jaya.” Scraping the core, she sucked on juice then ditched it’s corpse in the trash can. “He’s an elderly crotchety male whose favorite pastime is making me mad.” “That’s cause you have a bad temper, Max.” “I don’t, though.” “You’re a terrible liar, too.” She giggled, scurried from the kitchen, and hopped on Jaya’s bed. “No feet on my bed!” “I didn’t put my—” “You did, I watched you do it.” “You’re in the kitchen, how do you know?” Falling into a cross-legged position, Max smiled and snagged the remote. “What have you been—gross. You and these god damn documentaries. It’s a sickness.” “You want popcorn?” “Yes.” Docs were out, American Gangster was in. When the movie started, Max got nice and comfy. Per the norm, Jaya brought popcorn and hooch. Seagram’s Escapes were actually the best. Black Berry Fizz got them right every time. Just when Frank showed his face, Jaya chose to talk. “I think you should get laid.” Max dribbled and stabbed her with a side eye, “I am not talking about this with you. I can’t, it’s… ick. You changed my diapers.” Jaya threw an arm around her and smiled. “Awww sweetheart, sex is natural. It’s healthy.” “Oh, my god.” Max stared at the TV and nodded. “It helps with stress and anger. If you can’t find a man, then hay, buy one.” “What?! What do you mean?” “From Adam and Eve, they have a great selection of toys.” “Noooooo, Jaya, I am begging you, please. I love you and your concern. But I don’t need to get laid.” Her only motherly figure observed in silence. Jaya’s lips pursed as she shrugged. “I suppose, but I’ll find you something cute anyway. I have a few recommendations.” Max sipped her beer and snickered. Toys were nice, and she had a few, but little did this lady know they were useless, and no substitute for real peen. Skin to skin. Shit, Max was lucky as hell to get dick on the regular, even if its owner was forbidden.
Hello, y’all, I hope everyone is doing well, and your Tuesday is halfway through. I want to say thank you for the love this story is getting. It’s round two of trying to publish it. No one, and I mean, not a soul, read it on Vella. But, you’re here now, and I thank you! Onto chapter notes. First of all, I already know y’all are going to hate Tracy, but when I wrote this, I felt as though his pov was important. Please, don’t skip his chapters; they will be needed later on. This is an mmf paranormal romance first, yes. But it’s also a family drama filled with secrets, trauma, and healing generational wounds. The person Max is has a lot to do with her father, and in the coming weeks, you’ll see why. If Max seems a tad childish, playful, and even annoying, that’s on purpose. This is only the beginning, and my favorite girl is in for some GROWING PAINS! So, sit tight, and enjoy the ride. Oh, and one more thing, I wrote and finished this series about five or six years ago. I’ve written so many books since, and the universe in which this one exists is VAST. I’ll add notes as needed. If you have questions, please don’t hesitate to ask. And as always, thank you again. Have a wonderful week, y’all.
“Okay, but caffeine is a controlled substance at this point, teetering on the edge. Let’s be for real. It should be just as, if not harder to get, ‘cause it’s strong as hell, I ain’t lying now, and you know this chile.” Max stared at the sketch she’d been working on for two days and hated it. She hated a lot of her work. It was never bright enough, perfect enough, or even slightly artistic. At least, in her humble opinion. “I love it when you talk like a grandma.” Max smiled and put pencil to paper once more. It was tough to concentrate on the mermaid slash steampunk piece with Can’t Stop by After 7 blasting. “That’s ‘cause I am, a grandma, Ndari.” “No the hell you are not.” She chuckled and said, “You’d have to be a grandmother for that. And you don’t even have kids.” “Annnnd I never will,” Max sang, meaning every word. Kids were a scary, sticky fingered bunch, plus the idea of growing another body inside of her own was revolting. She shivered, blew a huge Bubblicious sphere, popped it, and examined the girl’s face etched on white parchment. “She looks like Gary Busey.” “You always think they look like Gary Busey.” “’Cause they do, bruh. Like, swear to god. Look!” Spinning the heavy book around on the glass counter, she shoved it at Ndari. The girl stopped with her broom work and glanced at the buxom mermaid. “Nothing like him.” “Lyin’ ass,” Max muttered. Ndari giggled and returned to sweeping the two- hundred-square-foot waiting area. A high-gloss black floor meant everything was visible, and Ndari never missed a speck. Little miss was a bona fide neat freak. She peeped allllll dust, dirt, and debris. The girl swept about twenty times a night, and the entire shop smelled like Lysol. Which, was actually a good thing considering their specialty. Snagging her three-hundred-page drawing book, Max got back to business and shaded in her tail. The fins were adorned with bolts and wires. She loved mermaids, sirens, and the ocean. The mermaid thing was borderline obsessive. “I have no appointments!” “And here he goes…” Max slammed her book closed, threw the pencil, and watched as Jordan stomped from the back and fell onto a fancy sectional. “And whose fault is that?” Ndari barked. His enormous frame filled a five-seater without issue. The six-foot-eight, two hundred and ninety-pound mountains Doc Martens stretched well past the arm. “Shut up bitch, I am boooored, okay,” Jordan cried, while Max cocked a brow. “Seeing as it’s June 3rd,” Max said, “you are ‘bouta be crying in two weeks. ‘Cause our shop will be booked to hell. So look here heffa, don’t come hooping and hollering now. Take this time, ‘cause yo lazy behind will be the first one moaning about how you’re tired and overworked.” The man bolted upright and gasped, full on drama with a hand on his broad chest. “Why do you have to drag me like that, honey?” “’Cause I love you,” Max chimed. Jordan blushed and waved a hand. “And I love you, boss lady.” “Move!” Ndari yelled, shoving at his foot with the broom. “You know what? You can stop yelling at me, Cinderella.” They both giggled while Jordan lifted his feet. Big mister had a voice like Barry White, a beard he kept braided Thor style, and perfectly tailored. Folks often assumed he was in a biker gang or a motorcycle club, whatever they was calling it these days. “Can we play something newer?” Ndari groaned as she sprayed large, spotless windows with stank glass cleaner. “Like, Nsync.” “Nsync?!” Max balked, recoiling at the audacity. “You know better Ndari, this ain’t an Nsync safe zone. It’s New Kids on the Block, or Backstreet Boys. Mint Condition and shit. Nsync is not welcome, and that ain’t news. You showing your age, now.” Ndari cackled as she swiped and polished. “I am only forty-nine.” “Girl, we got cougars up in here.” Max ignored Jordan and his eighty-two-year-old ass. Pointing at her best friend, Max snorted. “Honey, forty-nine is edging fifty; you are almost a senior citizen.” “Shhhh, don’t.” Ndari snickered and threw a paper towel across the room. It landed on the floor, she ran for the thing, and snatched it quick. “If any of you drop even a crumb my floor, you’ll have to see me in a duel.” Of course, there was a clatter of metal on granite. Jordan emptied his pockets. He threw a handful of change and mints at the girl’s feet. Ndari screamed, jumped on his dumb self, and put him in a choke hold. She’d taken four years of Jujitsu and was not to be trifled with. Jordan, on the other hand, ain’t never been in a fight. Standing behind the counter, Max booted the POS and clicked until finding their ordering database. She checked what was low and restocked, two of everything. “Incoming!” Jordan shouted and hopped to it. Ndari went with him and hung from his neck like a pendant. “I’m ready! Move girl. I need to make some money.” “Yes, you do.” Max peered through tinted double panes as two men approached in a hurry. They looked stacked from afar. “Damn.” Ndari dropped the broom and ran behind the counter. She tended to her job, as a receptionist. Max slid in and leaned beside the woman who readied her tits and fluffed a cute pixie cut. It shooolll was a setup. Heavy spice and blood wafted at the exact moment two fine men entered her tattoo shop. Ohhhh, yeah, those two would turn a girl out and into something nasty. “Hay, you takin’ walk-ins?” The brunette asked, in a Goodfellas accent. Ndari nodded. “Indeed, you lucked out. We don’t close ‘til four.” The testosterone-heavy boys admired their high wall covered in art and drawings Max personally sketched. People liked her shit… ‘shit’ being the main word there. “Cool, ‘cause we stopped on South Beach, at The Tatt-” Max snapped her fingers, cutting off the insult. “We don’t say that name around here.” She smiled, showed and teeth ‘cause them was vampires staring at her. “Oh, my fault.” That one was naughty as eyes found both sets of cleavage. Sex sells, okay. They’d booked so many clients after a glimpse of tiddie meat. “Anyway, they were closed, so we asked around. We were told, Ink In Hell was the next best thing.” “I should turn you away for that, Paulie.” Max tsked playfully as the big ol’ hunk of muscle smirked. Those baby blues sparkled as she swung attention to his buddy. A spicy red he was. Taller too, six-five, maybe six. Wide, thick, and tatttted. She clocked a couple of clovers weaved into ornate markings on his forearms. He was obviously Irish. As if his brazen, long mane wasn’t enough evidence. Red nudged Gotti and whispered in his ear. They cracked in heavy masculine laughter. “Alright, alright. I don’t know what I want. Fuck outta he’.” Jesus, he was a bold cliché. “So, what do you two have in mind?” Ndari asked, in her ‘tryna fuck’ voice. “We have plenty of options.” “I don’t know.” The Italian Job shrugged and went on. “I never even had a tattoo before. I’m old school, body is a temple, and all that. You know. I was raised Catholic. My Gma is gonna have a stroke if she finds out.” Big Red turned and pinned eyes on Max. She wiggled a little. He was fine. Like, handsome in the extreme. A full-grown ass male like that was not going to bark up her tree. Then he spoke. “I’m hoping to pop his ink cherry.” Sex, his voice was a lengthy four rounds of deep and sweaty. Max laughed and slapped the counter. “’Nough said, come here, church boy.” She gestured for their company and snagged another full sketchbook. Good lawd, they smelled nice. Cologne, aftershave, weed, and soap…male vampire. The latter got her carpet wet, honey. “Okay, so you’re Catholic and Italian.” “How’d you know, I—” “Lucky guess, it’s your sense of humor.” He grinned and tapped his buddy’s chest. “Look at this youngsta here. She got a mouth, don’t she?” “I am ninety-eight years old, Frankie.” “Aye, Frankie is my cousin, I’m Ines.” Her brows popped. “Wow, not what I assumed at all.” “Yeah,” Ndari hummed, considering Ines. “Thought you more of a… Giraldo, maybe.” “That’s terrible, I’d slit my own jugular.” Their quad chuckled as Jordan appeared and cleared his throat. “I’m ready when… ever. Hi…” He waved at Ines and… “What about you? What’s your handle?” Max asked the handsome fellow. He dragged a low-lidded gaze over and smirked. Like a nasty Sphinx. “Jaxon.” “Ohhhh, kaaaayyy.” Jordan chimed in from behind and did everything to shove his big ass between them. Max brushed the wall and giggled. “That’s rustic and rugged.” “I think it’s classy, my mom has good taste.” “She does.” Jordan nodded and twiddled his braid. “Okay, back to you, Ines.” Max pushed at her cock blocker… that was funny. No way in hell. “You’re Italian, catholic, and have a grandmother. So, I’d say, medium-sized, and nothing too flashy.” “Yeah, yeah, exactly.” Max chewed quickly and blew a bubble. She flipped plastic pages with vamp speed and stopped on an Italian flag number. The words, ‘Chaoi bella’ in cursive, were etched under it. “Dai nemici mi guardo io, dagli amici mi guardi Iddio! I will protect myself from my enemies, may God protect me, from my friends.” Max recited the words, and Ines tapped Jaxon again. “You know Italian?” “I do.” “Il tuo un breve asno intelligente.” “You are right on both accounts, I am short, and I am a smart ass.” Max shrugged and sighed. “Thanks for noticing.” Another bubble emerged and exploded while he cackled. “I like it, I wanna get that one. My Gma will approve, and it’s not so big.” “Perfect,” Ndari said. She started the formalities of payment and such. “Have you fed within eight hours?” “No.” “Okay, great.” “Alllrighty.” Jordan had to say something. “When you are done, Ndari will bring you into my office.” The male spun on his heels, happy as hell. And so was Max, this guy was their third customer of the night. Summer was a pain in the ass. They had roughly five hours to work with, and humans weren’t allowed…sort of, so they were short on time. Max watched them exchange money for services, and hot damn. They were a duo made for GQ or Vogue. Ines had a rough quality, handsome and dark, tanned. His other half was pretty, runway-ready, and fuckin’ seductive. Being escorted, neither took a second look, and yeah… story of her life. Males like that never gave Max the time of day. Ndari shuffled back in her Crocs and met Max face to face. “I am sweating… everywhere.” “Shhhhh.” Max grabbed the girl’s hand, her vape, and ran out the door. They giggled into the night and flopped down at one of the small bistro tables. “I cannnot,” She blurted. “Honey, I—two?” As Max turned on her pen, Ndari squealed. “Two purebloods at once. My god, did you see Ines and those shoulders? I swoon.” “Okay, but that ginger boy?” “Makes you think, does everything match the drapes. You should shoot.” Max chuckled, expelling a light mist of smoke. “I know you fukin’ lyin’. Big boys like him do not fool with women like me, a lowly halfbreed. I know my lane, ‘aight. And I stay in it.” Her best friend knew nothing about living as a six, seven on a good night. Ndari was fabulous, a classic beauty queen from Indonesia. Lithe and athletic. By no means did Max hate herself, but she preferred to call a spade, a spade. “Not this again,” Ndari mumbled. “You’re always so humble… and self-deprecating.” “I am not self-deprecating.” Max paused to suck down cherry-scented smoke and spoke on exhale. “I’m a realist, I ain’t ‘bouta set myself up for humiliation.” She wasn’t no dummy and wouldn’t play the town fool either. “Tuhuh, not I. Aye, did you see how high he was?” “Yeesss.” Ndari slouched in her chair. “Mr. Jaxon was baked. Flying.” “Must be nice. Weed makes me nervous.” Hitting the pen one mo’ gain, Max nodded. “Give me a bottle of brandy, and I’m straight.” “Old ass. You sound like my aunt.” “I am an auntie, hell. Got on cotton briefs to prove it.” Her girl cut up, and they cackled at the self-burning. But hey, at least she wasn’t delusional about her geriatric status.
Annnd we made it to publishing day! I know it’s late, but I didn’t give a set time for a reason, because I know me. Also, I wanna let y’all know that this almost didn’t happen. I almost made a post stating how I was too sick to edit it. But you know what? I pushed through this flu I got. It’s bad y’all. About six days of hellll on earth, you hear me? Anyway, I said fuck it. No excuses. So I got my lap desk and did what needed to be done. I figured I’d have days to do all this, but I was extremely unwell there for a spell and couldn’t even sit upright. I am now on the mend and felt good enough to get it done FOR Y’ALL. I set a date and I wanted to stick to that. I wanted to prove it to myself that I could do it, no matter what. I’m proud of myself and I’m excited that y’all get meet the Chaotic Trio, as I have called them for a few years. With that said, happy reading, and as always, thank you so very much for stopping by!
After a final hit, he pinched the glowing cherry and stashed the blunt behind his ear. AB then snatched his shirt tails free, unbuttoned, and let the tank work some heavy overtime. Emerging from the vehicle, he noted a blonde out front who stiffened by the very sight of him. “Sup?” She smiled. “Hellooo.” The tattoo shop was packed with vampires, no doubt. Miss Mini Skirt looked like an employee. Music was loud as he entered goth heaven. Black on black. Everything, save for the counter space and white desktop. “Oh wow, you’re back…uhhh…” The tall brunette with a short cut squinted. “Jaxon?” “Nice memory.” She smirked and nodded. “Come for one yourself this time?” “Nah, nah. I was wondering if the other,” he lifted a hand to his torso, and she snickered, “short one, is around.” “Yeah, actually. She’s in the back, getting her stuff.” Pixie Cut turned, then looked back at him. “We’re about to close up.” “I feel you. I’ll wait.” The person on his radar returned from wherever she had been. Ample hips and thighs made him stare. God damn her! Ab thought. He didn’t know what she was looking for in that bag, but hopefully it was her number. “Ndari, baby, have you seen my phone?” “In the POS.” “Shit, right.” She halted and glanced at her buddy. He couldn’t tell for sure, behind the dark frames. She had Sunglasses At Night fetish, obviously. “Look who it is, Ginger Snaps. I’d love to offer a session, but we are done for the night.” She marched forward, and he observed a slight limp. Rummaging through the register, she snorted. “You know wh—giiiiirrl, I don’t remember putting it in there.” Scatterbrained…unattractive. Slamming it shut, she said, “So anyway, feel free to make an appointment, Lucky—” “I fucking dare you to finish that sentence. My Mama doesn’t even call me Lucky Charms.” Eyes darted as the blonde sashayed behind the counter, and the tall one shook her head. But Shorty recoiled and said, “You, are a customer in my establishment, and I can refuse service at any time, Irish Cream. I will tase yo big ass. I got one in my purse. You should find someone safe to play with.” Unclear on how to respond, AB laughed. Her Napoleon complex was strong as fuck. “Damn, I didn’t come to get tased shit. All I wanted was your number.” She made an odd croaking sound, looked at her employee, then dove into her purse again. “Why you want my number?” “So I can text you. Or FaceTime.” “Fuck FaceTime, I hate Apple.” She paused with the digging and lifted her gaze. “You wanna call me?” “If that’s okay, I guess. Or not.” “I—” She sought her girls’ approval, shrugged, and giggled. Ah, insecure. Strike two. She was racking them up quick, but Miss Ma’am didn’t have a thigh gap, and that was his weakness. Smash and dash. Lick and flip, etc. “You know what?” A rude as hell male with no sense of personal space leaned on the counter and smiled at Shorty. “Wus good, baby. You ready?” “Yeah, yeah. Uhm…” “Ohhh, you have a boyfriend.” AB sniffed and threw up his hands. “My fault, you coulda just said that.” “He’s not, my boyfriend.” “I ain’t,” the guy blurted, eyes tracing AB’s frame line by line. “You tryna holla, feel free. Let me mind my business, over here.” He slid to the sitting area, and Jaxon looked back at his current fixation. “Like I was saying, name and number.” “I think I’ll pass. Oh shit, my Monster.” She scoffed. “I’ll be right back.” As the female scurried away after rejecting him like a trick, AB admired the wagon. “Damn, bruh, she curved you quick.” “You are all up in my space.” The weird male had crept in beside AB for a second time. “You don’t own me or the shop.” He chuckled. “The fuck.” “If y’all aren’t together, what’s the problem?” The rude gent smiled and checked him yet again. AB snarled. “You got one more time, halfbreed.” “Aye, bruh, relax. I was just looking, and she ain’t gon’ let you hit…” Licking his lips, the male met AB in the eyes. “But, if it’s back shots you want, I can ease that pain, you feel me.” Jaxon side-stepped and recoiled. “I’m sorry?” “Damn, thought I got one. You old as shit, from the smell of it. I assumed—” “It’s your lack of tact that has me floored, not you making a pass.” “I didn’t hit on you, Red. I asked if you wanted to cut. Different shit.” “Okay, I’m ready.” The woman AB had come for briefly considered him, then the other male, who cackled and pushed off the glass. “Let’s go, baby, we gotta buss some corners before sunrise.” As she came around, AB stared her down. Blushing and grinning were good signs. “So you’re gonna give me nothing?” he asked, as her friend exited. “No. N.O., damn. I know you heard me the first time. Bye, girls, be sure to lock up. You have ten minutes, Jack… or whatever your name is. Shit or get off the pot.” Her ass and attitude left. With it, Jaxon’s patience. Humiliation and rejection were uncomfortable. It happened, but maybe three times in his whole life. And yes, she would come to regret this. For now, he’d find a willing soul who’d crawl through shards and salt to suck his dick.
J. T. Frost 