Good afternoon, y’all. I hope everyone is doing well. I know this heat is cooking our ass! I’m miserable with this broken AC situation. There’s no relief! Indoor or out, it doesn’t matter to me. Unless I’m at my full-time gig. Tomorrow is the day our air is going to be fixed, so fingers and toes crossed. Everything is going well, but this is my summer update!
With another novella due in a little over two weeks, I will be taking a short break on Patchwork and Neon Red. Think of it as my summer break. Juggling too many things at once is no good for anyone. And as it stands now, I want to get ahead of burnout. I keep that motha fucka at bay by knowing my limits as an author. I know when I am approaching them, and when it is time to chill for a minute. If I don’t, my stories will suffer greatly. And I don’t want that to happen with Patchwork. Neon Red is a completed series, but I do edit it each week, along with Patchwork. So, what does this mean? It means I’m taking a break starting tomorrow. I will drop one more chapter for Neon Red, then I’ll be gone until August 9th. On that lovely day, you can expect both Patchwork and Neon Red to return! I can’t wait to bring y’all new chapters and a fresh brain! With Neon Red and Patchwork, we are at the midpoint. Remember, this is serialized fiction. It can run long or short depending on the series. Patchwork is brand ne;, Neon Red is not. I have a lot planned for Patchwork, so there’s no end date quite yet. Some will love this, others won’t. And that’s okay! As always, I wanna say thank you from the bottom of my heart for reading these stories. It means the world to me that you are an amazing human for staying this long. Thaaankkkkk you so much! You are valued here. With that said, I wanna wish y’all a happy few weeks, and I’ll talk to you soon. Byyyyye, bookies!✨🫶🏾✨
Across town and underground, Nieema admired lofty stacks. She’d been in the castle’s library for a minute, reading shorts to kill time before her guests’ arrival. Not in a particularly romantic mood, she went for comedy. Slapstick, irreverent, or absurd. She wanted to laugh without thinking much. Nieema didn’t like staying in the subterranean castle for long. It trudge up an unsavory batch of memories. Those darkened by the past and present. Nah, she would rather not dwell within these stone walls. Though it wasn’t an ideal meeting place, she loved the grand, three-story library. It’d been her haven as a child and a stressed adult. She’d called it home once and had even fallen asleep on the same sofa she lounged upon now. Lemon wax, citrus oils, and parchment made her feel safe. It provided a hefty dose of nostalgia as well. Nieema smiled, recalling the early, adolescent years. Her mother would read to her for hours. It was a fleeting time she remembered fondly. Nieema settled with another book and relaxed on tufted velvet. She cracked the spine the moment her brother spoke. “Come on down here, Your Grace.” Monroe beckoned, and she slapped the hardback shut. “I know you up there.” “Don’t rush me, boy.” Tossing the book, Nieema took her favorite form. She exploded into a chattering, squealing colony of bats. Her magic hummed, and psyche split. Twenty sets of eyes and ears. She saw all and heard every motha fucking thing going on in the castle. The keep, kitchens, and chambers. To the dining hall and courtyard. Nothing was a secret when she grew wings and clawed feet. Not only was this the quickest way to travel, but it tended to scare the shit out of everyone. Including the beady-eyed mayor who shrank and yelped. Nieema circled him and swelled; she undulated. Swirling around the man until he cowered in his seat. “Stop playing with the poor soul, Queen.” She snickered and dropped into her full form. “Mayor Gloomfhut. It’s so nice you could be with us today.” Preston Gloomfhut was a fifth-generation ghoul. Which meant he liked raw meat and looked like a god damn dead fish. He was the type who lived up to his name. A thin-lipped, sharp smile was enough. Nieema noted them shiny shoes and the gold signet ring on his sixth finger. “I am sorry about that,” he said, crossing his legs. “The mayor’s job is never done, Your Majesty.” Nieema unbuttoned her suit jacket and sat, adjacent to the uptight, sneaky ghoul. “I know, but we needed to talk.” She gestured to the waiting fixin’s. “I had a little something prepared for you. Some raw cubes, aged cheeses, and dipping sauces. There’s also spiced blood. I know y’all can live without it, but I think it’s a fine treat.” “No, no. I will not turn down a chance to have some premium blood.” Monroe was more of a listener than a talker. Especially during times of political strain. This talk wasn’t a big hoopla, but he remained stoic, swirling his full glass. He stood near the wet bar and sipped. “Good god,” Gloomfhut rasped. “This is divine, Your Majesty. I can’t say I’ve ever had Moores Wind port. Can I uh, well, may I take a picture of the bottle?” “Be my guest.” Preston grinned, fishing his phone from his breast pocket. Those fingernails had seen better days. Blackened and chipped, Nieema grimaced at the filth. He was put together, but his complexion was off, and he hadn’t bathed in some time. Whatever the Mayor was into had him cracking and peeling on the surface. Ghouls had come a ways thanks to human intervention. Yeah, they fucked humans, and so what? That wasn’t the problem at hand. And while his shook while taking the photo, Nieema clocked the threadbare scent of decay. “Splendid,” Mayor Gloomfhut drawled, stashing his device. “Now, what is this about? I asked Monroe, but he was light on the details.” “How well do you know the Voaremont’s?” The ghoul canted his head and glanced at her brother. He crossed his legs once more and tugged cuffs. The question unsettled him. Nieema was shit outta luck reading his pulse, ghouls didn’t have a heartbeat. They had working parts and a magic in their veins, but lacked a fully functioning heart. “Of course, everyone knows them. They’re one of the wealthiest families on the planet.” Nieema wasn’t about to play in this man’s face. She snapped up a glass of blood and swigged. “Glad to see you think so highly of them,” Monroe added. “What is this about?” Mayor Gloomfhut asked. Nieema slammed her glass onto a rose gold platter. “What does my decree say about hunting?” “It’s forbidden.” “No.” “It’s against the law.” “Continue.” “If anyone is caught hunting or conspiring with hunters, then the punishment is death.” “Public execution,” Monroe corrected. Nieema exhaled and smirked, but she was unamused. “Someone is hunting in my fucking city. Misthill. The one you are in charge of protecting and providing for. So, tell me, Mayor, how has this slipped by you?” Bloodfhut stammered and hiked up. He shook his head vehemently. “Your Majesty, I would never—“ “Don’t fix yourself to lie up in here.” Nieema scooted forward, resting elbows on her knees. She peered into the man’s unnatural, averting gaze. “I’m gonna need you to speak your next words with care. We brought you here, to this library because it is charmed. If you twist your tongue to lie to me, it’ll be the last thing you ever do.” Mayor Gloomfhut screwed his eyes shut and coughed. His knuckles turned white as he gripped dark, Chellian wood. “I can’t.” “You can’t what?” “You don’t understand.” “Make me.” “Your Majesty, the Voaremonts will kill me. I can’t—I can’t. You must know that it was never my intention. I trieeeed to stop them. I swear to the Greats, I did. But—but their father, the patriarch.” Mayor Bloodfhut snapped his head up and stuttered. “He’s—he’s—honestly, I don’t know what he is, but I don’t think he’s human. And—AND—they’d kill me if—I ain’t saying they’re doing it. But I am not saying they aren’t.” “You know why they’re doing it?” “I have no idea.” Nieema huffed. He hadn’t melted yet. This told her one thing: the mayor wasn’t lying yet. Though he’d chosen to omit. “You not talking?” Nieema whispered, anger flaring. “I can’t rat!” “Okay, but you’ll be staying with us until you sing, Preston.” “Your Majesty, if I could do any—“ “Speak.” His head dropped, and his spine loosened. Gloomfhut sagged and blubbered. “He’s got eyes on my whole family and me. If he finds out—maybe he already knows I’m here.” Preston coughed and wiped his mouth with a trembling hand. “Do whatever you want, but I can’t risk it.” “Hank.” Her knight appeared as a swirling mist and solidified behind Gloomfhut. “Let’s go, son.” “How long have you been digging?” Nieema asked. The mayor lacked a proper nose, but he scrunched it nonetheless. After threading waxy, four-knuckled fingers through his greasy hair, he sighed. “Four months.” “You’ll get a year for grave robbing.” “Fine. It was only for a while anyway. I’m so god damneed stressed. The Crack Mage Gang is fucking up the city and the Voaremont’s—whatever.” “Take him,” Nieema demanded. Hank was gentle with the slouched ghoul. Their limbs were prone to pop off like a scared gheko. After the duo vacated the library, Monroe cussed and jacked to his feet. “This some buuuuullll shit I wasn’t prepared for, sis. You gotta give a god damn minute. Shit.” Her brother headed for the bar and chuckled. “He don’t wanna rat, but he is one.” “That’s fucked up, Roe. Come on now, they hate being called rats.” “Well…” Nieema plucked a few cubes of aged Gouda and smoked goat. Chewing and thinking, she only grew frustrated. “I figured him involved, but not like this. The Voaremont’s aren’t taking authority seriously, even going so far as to threaten them. Hunting in my kingdom will not be tolerated!” Nieema kicked the coffee table, knocking allat shit over. She wasn’t about to let this slide. Trevor had hurt Jasper. In ways Nieema couldn’t fix, and his entire family was running amok, hunting in Ravensguard. “I don’t need Preston to tell me shit.” Nieema stared at stained glass panes and snarled. Blood-boiling rage caused her fangs to lengthen. “I know what they doing cause I believe Jasper. And if Trevor is at it, then I know his brothers are too; the only question is, who are they giving these parts to?” “If they not keeping them as trophies.” “Motha fucka,” Nieema muttered. On her feet, she adjusted her jacket and buttoned it. “I think it might be time to meet with the wealthy Voaremont brothers. And Roe, I want Peaches and Mookie on deck when we do it.” “Understood.” “Ain’t this a bitch.” Nieema headed for the exit and grumbled. “There are hunters living and breathing in my town. Never thought I’d see the night.”
Happyyyyy Monday, and good evening, y’all. I hope everyone had a great weekend! You’re in recovery mode now, I know. Fourteen hot dogs and a barrel’s worth of soda’ll fuck you up good in your late thirties. Annnyhoo, here we are! Nieema has confronted the mayor, and I tell you what, she ain’t happy. The Voaremonts’ are a hunting family, and she knows this. Most of the world knows this, but they have their hands in everything. She didn’t need a gravedigging ghoul to tell her, but his omission was enough. So! We shall see where this takes us in the coming chapters. Remider, you and me find shit out TOGETHER! I am a proud panster and love a challenge. I have been struggling, though, y’all. Keeping this light and easy has been rough. I’m trying not to be heavyhanded with darker themes (I LOVE DARKNESS). That’s not what Patchwork is about, and I will keep it as such until the very end of season one. I do have an ending in mind, but who knows if it’ll go my way. HEAs are a vow, but how do we get there? Who knows. Soooo, with this week done, I want to bid you farewell, bookie. Until next time, stay hydrated, stay cool, and stay outta folks’ business. Thank you so much for stopping by. You’re a grand human. Byyyyyeee.
Five business days and Jasper was back to the basics. Work and commissions. From five to twelve, she held the store down with Cherry. Her one and only co-worker was a delightful woman with two kids and a school schedule. She was busy and about her money. Her name was apt, considering her favorite color was red. She said folks thought it was corny most days, but Jasper was biased. Being into red and a beautiful shade of carmine, she saw no issue with it. Cherry left her to the norm. Customers who never needed help and window shoppers. The job was easy as hell and a quick way to make some doe. With next to nothing in her account, Jasper was giddy when Buck texted her about direct deposit things. She’d get a few dollars by next Friday. Settling into a routine, Jasper was happier than she’d been in a while. After spending time with Nieema, she needed a minute alone. It’d been too long, and her body was out of practice. Her power and will wanted to suck down every drop of Nieema’s soul. The urge to devour her bit by delicious bit was terrifying. Jasper could’ve killed the poor woman. With her succubus nature showing out, she decided on space and time. Distance made her grow fonder. It had an old demon yearning at six in the morning with a hand between her thighs. Jasper had texted the Queen. To say hello, to remind her that yes, she was still here. Jasper was available and uncomplicated; desperate. Her smile above and below was sweeter than honeydew. With nothing much to do, she drifted. Daydreams consumed minutes and hours. Soaked in pomegranate red and plum purple. The vision of taking her once again was all-consuming. And to think, Jasper hadn’t even touched Buck. “Fuck.” “My bananana pudding will fix whatever has you cussing like that.” Jasper popped forward in her chair and dropped her boots to the floor. She stood as a gorgeous woman with pastel pink hair sashayed forward. She was light on her feet and suffocating. Her sugar-coated soul was cloying, tacky. Jasper loved her already and became enamored as she placed a dish of banana pudding on the counter. “You must be Maggie,” Jasper met the woman halfway and extended a palm. “It’s a pleasure.” “Silly woman. We hug here.” Jasper beamed, welcoming a comforting embrace. She smelled of coco butter, mangos, clementines, and brown sugar. She was a goddess and her soft pats were lovely. Jasper didn’t want to let go as goodness and warmth surrounded her. “There we are,” Maggie held Jasper at arm’s length. “You’re precious, honey.” “You are about to make me cry.” “Sometimes a shedding is what we need.” The woman shrugged and wagged a finger. “Youuuu, are in for a treat. I added more cookies than bananas.” “How could you possibly—“ “There ain’t much I don’t know. How’s that charm working?” Jasper cleared her throat and checked the strange, glowing rock hanging above the door. It pulsed with potent abilities. Metallic and sour, it left a bad taste in her mouth. “Good, I’m guessing. I haven’t seen him.” “That means it’s working. But—“ “I know, Buck said I can’t leave the store until my ride is here.” “You don’t have a car?” “It’s busted at the moment.” Maggie twirled, her colorful corset dress fluttering. She was a splash of whimsy and delicate on the eyes. An older woman, perhaps, but her spirit and soul were youthful. Two French braids framed her heart-shaped face and full cheeks. Beads studded her pink and silver tresses while rose gold glittered. “I know who can help you with that.” Maggie stared out the window and tapped the glass with a long, painted nail. Sparks pinged on the glass as she hummed. “Tre. My nephew can handle anything under the hood of a car. Leave it to him, he’ll have your lemon up and running in two hours.” Jasper shook her head and checked on the banana pudding. The plastic lid did nothing to hide all that sexy. Whipped cream, nilla wafers, and thick pudding. She grunted, stroking her chin. “I might have to get his card or something.” “I’ll give you his phone number.” Maggie pivoted and wriggled fingers festooned with gemstones. “Anyway, I came by cause I wanted to give you this.” She snapped fingers and a bracelet dropped from the ceiling. Jasper winced and squinted, shocked and in awe. “What in the Undervell?” “Don’t overthink it. Huh.” Maggie offered a gold Cuban link. “And never you mind about the price. This piece has been in the back of my sock drawer for years. Can’t remember where I got it. Brasshorne maybe. No. Foster Pier? No. Well, anyway, it’s yours now.” Jasper accepted the gift and shuddered as power weaved through vein and bone. “What is this? I can feel its strength.” Jasper studied the links, searching for proof. “This is another magical piece.” Maggie giggled and nodded. “Yes, honey. Pure, untouched magic. My own spell and charm. I want you to wear this, and don’t you dare remove it.” As told, Jasper unlatched and slapped the cool gold onto her wrist and clasped it. The gold number complemented her other jewels. “Thank you, Maggie.” Jasper cleared her throat, unsure of what to say. “Your whole family is an enigma. I’ve never met anyone so kind or giving. After living in Misthill, I assumed most earth dwellers were no better than nightmare demons.” “It can seem that way when you’re over there in the big ol’ city. They got too much going on for me. Even Carver. Shit, my late husband looooved to travel, and because I loved him, I followed on behind his busy self. I wasn’t flying in no airbus, though.” Maggie was a jubilant woman, but she carried sorrow on her back. Whomever her husband was, she missed him dearly. “Well, if you need anything from me, you come running. My place is only a hop and skip from yours. I live on the ranch.” “Buck said something about that.” “Papa Buck say a lot. Old rooster.” Jasper laughed as the bell tinkled. Palison, the pretty half-brother, entered and stalled. He sniffed the air and scowled. “Witch!” Maggie turned her nose up and whipped a braid over her shoulder. “And who the fuck is you?! Don’t catch an ass whippin’, boy. You don’t greet people like that. Much more, you don’t piss off a powerful mage. I’ll slap the taste outcha’ mouth, swamp crawler.” Maggie rolled her eyes and grinned at Jasper. “Don’t you waste a bite of that pudding, now. And remember, never take that off. It’ll keep your past at bay and keep your foes from finding you.” “Thank you, again, Maggie.” “Nonsense. I’ll see you soon.” Her aura and soul had solidified in real time. The exchange was magnificent, and Palison was a man scandalized. Uncertain, furious, curious, and aroused. He watched her grumble out of the door and sneered. Jasper glowered and knocked on the counter. “Hello?” Palison inhaled and snapped to attention. “Is Buck around?” “Nah.” “Shit.” “Why didn’t you call him?” “What makes you think I have his number?” “Good point.” He spun and high-tailed it out of the store without so much as a thank you. “What an asshole.” Jasper hit a double-take and nodded. “Im’a need some privacy for this.” She rubbed her hands together and hustled for the break room in search of the biggest spoon she could find.
Low didn’t know which way was up as he yanked his boxers off the floor. He couldn’t focus or form a single coherent thought, and the male’s scent made it worse. Assssss hole. What was Low supposed to say now? Nothing, not a god damn word. Low grunted and pulled on his underwear. Halfway decent, he located his sweats. The shirt was harder to find. “Where is it?” He dropped to the floor, confused as to how it had crept under the bed. After dragging it out, he donned the cotton. Next, his glasses. Low squinted, hoping to find them quickly. “My glasses? Man, what the—” “Nightstand,” Red supplied. Low whipped about, spotted and plucked them. Sliding his frames on, the world appeared with booming clarity. He didn’t appreciate it. “You going to hell with that suit on,” Low murmured. “Pardon?” “You heard me.” “I assumed red was your color.” Low frowned and patted pockets. “What you mean?” “The Pirus tattoo on your arm.” There were several things wrong here. Red’s attention to detail was attractive. Low loved the suit and, yes, it was his color. Red, however, was getting a tad too close, and Low didn’t trust himself not to punch the elderly vampire in the face. Lastly, that chapter in his life was closed. “I turned over a new tree. Fuck a leaf. I ain’t banging no more. I haven’t since ninety-eight. Not that it’s your business.” In a pocket, he felt for the waiting blunt and fished it out. Low ignored the male’s closeness and opened the oversized window. He needed air, and Florida offered nothing stepping onto the patio. It was too damn hot for this shit, even with more rain in the near future. Precipitation gave no reprieve. Low’s lips hugged the blunt happily as he found a lighter and lit the tip. Stress-free and hungry coming right up. As Low inhaled, Red disturbed his nightly ritual. “You look like a French toast man,” Red stated, like he knew him or some shit. “Wrong. I do waffles.” The hell was his goal, after hearing their whole discussion. To humiliate Low further. It wasn’t being a bottom that bothered Low. Nah. He wanted to fuck and get fucked, otherwise, for him, a proud verse, there’d be no point. Low’s problem was how thoroughly Red obliterated him. At the end of the night, Low was a vampire. Halfbreed, but still a bloodsucker. Biology and instinct ran heavy in their species. He felt manhandled and small. Dominated. Low shuddered and pulled from the wood. “If it makes you feel any better,” Red sighed, “we are in the same boat.” “It don’t.” It did. Knowing Jaxon felt like a cum slut, too,o made his chest swell with pride. It meant Low had laid some mean pipe. “Maybe a little,” Low murmured. He extended the blunt to Red as an olive branch. “I’m working. The hell do I look like?” “No need to get smart.” Low snorted. “Uppity ass.” “Oh, okay. Mr. I’m working, don’t talk to me.’” Low chuckled, expelling a cottony white cloud. Warmth coated him from head to toe, promising a good night. “I can’t be distracted,” Low added. “I do real shit. I don’t be sitting behind a desk all night like you.” “You think you got everything figured out, huh?” Red asked, facing him. Low minded his eyes and lifted them to the sky. “Yeah.” “Where’s the food and blood? I’m really starving. Like, I’m about to throw up.” Low giggled as Max’s voice brought him back down to earth. He ditched the roach on the turnaround and watched as she searched for something. “Your phone is under the pillow, baby.” “I dont remember putting it there.” “You always do, though.” “So what?” Max tossed pillows and squealed. “There you are. Okay, purse, glasses, and phone. We move.” Low did the honors and grabbed her fuckin’ trash bag. Who needed a bag this big? She might as well carry a duffel. “Huh.” “Thaaank you.” Of course, she paid Red no mind. They never did this, stayed after a threesome. It was weird, and she was nervous. Low knew every look, fidget, and tell. “Alright.” Max donned her large, round hippie frames. “Solids, liquids? Where are they?” “Why are you so flustered, Maxine?” Jaxon asked. The grin on him was devious. She wrenched the door open and said, “I’m trying not to hurt you in some way, asshole.” “You already shot me. Is that gonna turn into a habit?” “I don’t know, depends on how you act.” Low snickered as they filed into the hallway. Max had a mouth and an inexhaustible need to use it as a weapon. But so did Red. “Play around if you want to, Maxine.” The male dropped down to her level and snarled. “I will snap your fucking spine in half next time.” Shorty had them shades on, but Low saw peeped her glower. Jaxon tried to intimidate, and in a different setting he’d get lucky, but the spell done wo’ off. “You mighty presumptuous, Jaxon. Assuming there will be a next time. As you heard we,” she gestured between them, “don’t do that. You know how it goes. This was fun…you seem great….so on and so forth.” Red snapped back to his full height and spun on a chuckle. They followed, close behind. Low needed a bite immediately. Their journey down an empty hall remained quiet, save for Red’s noisy shoes. The man was a force. His walk and talk demanded attention. And in a red suit, bruh had a way about him that made Low reminisce…Max slapped his arm. “What?” “Don’t,” She gritted. “I ain’t do nothin’.” She showcased a hand and shook her head. He wanted to assuage his girl with a kiss until they halted. “I never seen a kitchen so dark, damn bruh. It’s like a mausoleum. Too much black.” Low hopped three steps and jogged to the flat, matte island. “Oh yes.” Sitting down, he snagged a plate, and Max did the same. Low ran out of space, loading up on eggs, sausage, and potatoes. So, of course, he grabbed another and dropped on it. “You hate waffles,” Max said, too god damn loud. Not minding her own business, she popped her brows. “What are you doing?” “Girl, you know I lo—” Laughter punched from his chest. “I love waffles. Mmmm. Yum.” Low stole a quick glance. Red leaned ever so sexy like against the counter, handling a mug. “I have never seen you eat them,” she added. “You like French t—” “Shhh, shut up. I’m flipping it. Trying something new.” Max shrugged. “Okayyy. I’m telling you, they’re good.” No, they weren’t. Low hated them truthfully. Waffles got soggy quick with syrup pooling in soppy cubes. It wasn’t a horrifying experience. Never one to back out or cower, Low poured the sticky shit and shoved wet napkins into his mouth. He gagged. It was a textural nightmare. “Why don’t you just eat the French toast?” Red suggested. Low hesitated, but surrendered. Fuck it. Without looking at the man, he pushed the waffles aside. On a third plate, he stacked it with his tried and true. They went down easier because he lovvvved the mouthfeel and taste. When a glass of grapefruit juice magically appeared, Low downed it. He went in on eggs and sausage next. “You do this for everybody?” Low asked. Making sure to set a keen eye on the male dripping in red. “Yeah, it’s a common courtesy,” Red admitted, much to Low’s surprise. “Y’all not special. And Max, we are in agreement.” Biting into a danish, Red shrugged. “You don’t go back for seconds, and I didn’t ask for it. I’m good.” “Cool.” Max snipped, focused on her food. Low scraped up his French toast that held the bitter aftertaste of rejection. Double-dipping was against the rules. Their rules. And Low never overstepped. Individually, they were allowed to do whatever, but if by chance either found someone, then it was fair to let the other know. Low never met anyone worth enough to let Max go. Nobody made him yearn for more, aside from her. Saluting with his glass, Low smirked. “Glad we got it sorted.” “Feel free to let yourself out.” Red checked his watch. “I’m done with Tracy’s financial business, so…see you around, I guess.” Max considered Red for a beat and tilted her head. “Not likely.” “You two have a good evening.” Low nodded and scooped the last of his potatoes. Max giggled, but neither spoke for a minute. They left the house and were in his car on their way to the tattoo shop when he sighed. “That was weird,” Low said. “Riiiight? Talk about awkward. Jesus.” Max retrieved her vape and puffed. “I’m so glad he wasn’t needy about the whole thing, you know.” “Yeah, yeah. Me too, but at least we ain’t never gotta see him again.” “Who you tellin’, honey?” Fun as it was, a recurring threesome was bad news for all parties involved. And Low, for one, didn’t have time for that shit. He had kids at home and bills to pay.
*All predators catch their death in my books
Hours later, AB found himself wandering about in a shoe box. It was an apt description for Joel’s house. The low ceiling was less than an inch above his head. He examined cabinets overrun by ants. They scurried to and from boxes like busy little soldiers. He didn’t have much. Flour, baking soda, and salt. A blanket of dust coated everything, aside from one counter where a thick layer of grime waited to be scraped off with steel wool. The house wasn’t in bad shape,e structurally speaking. It had good bones but needed to be bleached. A pungent aroma of mold and rotted flesh made for one helluva cocktail. It added to the ambiance Joel’s nasty ass was going for. In the sink, dishes waited, and had been for a while. Creeping around the tiny four-burner stove, AB grew nostalgic. A quaint, one-bedroom abode with low-hanging beams and plank floors. Candlelight, instead of bulbs, and the smell of freshly baked bread replaced decay. AB and his mother lived in dozens of hovels and holes. But every so often, they lucked out. Acquiring enough coin for an actual home or cottage, with a fireplace and a roof. Where AB rested on a soft palate and not the ground. Squeezing through the hall, the floorboards squealed until he reached the living room. A lawn chair, a mounted forty-inch, and an empty beer can weren’t exactly inviting. AB hit a one-eighty and sprinted upstairs, where death settled on his skin. He stepped into a room that should have housed a bed, a dresse,r or even a desk. Being dangerously close to eight hundred years old, AB had seen it all and done enough. He didn’t have aversion to blood, gore, or homicide. But even he had to hold his breath and turn away. Caked layers of Lysol, Lyme, and baby powder didn’t help. “Fuck,” he whispered, taking in the scene again. AB growled. Vampires, at best, were decent, and some had the balls to do something compassionate, like save lives. Thanks to decades of dilution, humanity helped calm and tame their inner proclivities. AB worked hard to control his own issues. Massacres and serial killings were frowned upon. Most vampires didn’t give a shit about who they killed. AB only snuffed two women, and he had to, ‘cause they wanted to harm his mother. Two Behld witche,s soaked in black, blood magic, wanted his mother dead. He couldn’t let it be. AB didn’t have a code or nothin’, but he was raised by a woman, and held them in high esteem. He tried not to kill innocent men, but they tasted the best. In his days of overindulgence, brutality, and debauchery, he happily dined upon plump dignitaries with fat pockets. They were drained of blood and funds. AB used his dick and addictions to make the most of this life. But children were always off limits. No amount of money or blood was worth vanquishing a soul so young. His dark past was a safe space for nightmares, but AB never, ever touched kids. Dropping to a crouch, he stared at the little bodies, ill-wrapped in tarp and tape. They were so tiny. Decomposing toes and hands. There were twenty-eight missing children in this room. “He’s downstairs,” Ines said with a bite. The male had kids of his own, grown and in the world doing adult shit. He refused to look inside. AB shot upward, crossed creaking woo,d and snatched two duffels off of the floor. Pacing out, he coughed as the odor stuck to him like bad cologne. When he reached the bottom, he tossed the heavy bags in front of Joel. Mr. Liston sat in the lawn chair, as his legs had a motor attached. He chewed on fingernails with pupils big as dimes. Sweat beaded on his waxy, tight skin. “You lookin’ bad, Joe.” “I’m—I was only taking a little. You’d never notice.” Ines took residence on the last step and paid witness. “But I did. You must be smooth out your rabbit ass mind if you think I wouldn’t notice when five bricks of Brown Sugar go missing.” Lowering to his haunches, AB looked up at Joel and smirked. “I keep note of every ounce, because it’s mine. And stealing from me won’t be tolerated. Furthermore, your ass is high as a kite.” Standing tall once again, AB leered. “If you use my shit?! You pay me! You polished off two ounces, so where’s my motha fuckin’ money, Joe?” “I don’t have any money an—” He looked back at Ines, but AB slapped the bitch back around. Blood splattered all over his shirt. “This is Gucci, you sick fuck.” AB growled, shaking his head. “You stole my product, refused to pa,y and now… You ruined my favorite shirt. Bitch…” He chuckled and studied the mess. “You know, humans have one life, and don’t live past a certain point. But us, we are so much fun, ‘cause no matter what you do, we breathe. We are sturdy, solid. I mean, unless you cut our head off…or have halo bullets on-hand.” Ab strolled over to the four-pane window and peered at the moon. “Torture ain’t no fun with humans. You push too hard, they break and wither. Not us, though.” “Please, AB,” “Four years you’ve been on my payroll and I,” AB purred, pinning Joe with a searing glare, “paid you well. I give everybody raises and shit to avoid situations like this. But youuuu Joe, are greedy. So, we’re gonna see how much that stomach can hold.” AB nodded at Ines. He hopped to it and sprinted out the door. Staring at Joe, AB smiled. “I’ll kill you for stealing from me, but I’ma have some fun for what’s upstairs.” “Don’t you judge me. You’re no be—” “I what? I ain’t never hurt kids.” “They wanted it, they begged me to love—” Ab’s backhand found Joe’s face. The assault sent him careening. On his side, the male choked on his own blood. “You the worst kinda vampire there is. We don’t have many taboos, as you know.” He rammed a Nike boot into the asshole’s stomach, making the prick heave. “But we all agree that children are out of the question. No siring, no feeding, no killing…and definitely, no…touching! Ah, Ines, you’ve come with gifts.” His old friend entered, carrying a box full of things that made him happy. “What do we have? Boric acid, sulfuric acid, pliers, drills, and hammers? Nice! Arsenic, molten silver. Oh shit, I can’t touch that. Uhmmm, ooo mercury! You know, I’ve taken a sip of this. It’s got a citrus tinge. Oh! Bella Donna. Ines, you shouldn’t have.” Keeping a fanatical eye on the sick bastard, AB dropped to the floor, punched through his mouth, and ripped out that slick pink muscle. “I don’t need you screaming.” Gurgles and moans filled the silence. “Drill.” He pushed Joe’s lanky body over, popped the button on his jeans, and unzipped. Ines handed AB a Craftsman,n and once the males member was free, hands tried to intervene. “No! No. You weren’t shy with those kids. Why be bashful now? Move!” AB smacked his drunk fingers. “That’s why you got a small dick, Joe! Open wiiiiide.” The head of him winked just as Ab kissed it with an auger bit and pulled the trigger. Joe worked hard to holler, but Ines held his mouth shut. Mr Liston thrashed as the spiral bit dug deeper, shredding skin and muscle. Blood oozed over AB’s knuckles as the drill worked like any food processor might. Eating him raw and tearing his urethra to shreds. Ab enjoyed the carnage and freedom. Droplets whirled, and mangled pieces landed on his face. Tiny chunks of meat covered clothes and speckled the floor. “Look at that.” AB giggled. “Pate.” He removed his hand and sucked the pureed fixin’s from each digit while Ines yanked Joe’s molars out. Just in case. He went for fangs, and his green eyes disappeared to the back of his skull. “He tastes like shit,” AB admonished. He spat and grunted at the foulness of tainted flesh. “Yeah, all those drugs. Now you’re gonna be high, dumbass.” AB laughed. “That’s the least of my worries. I wanna work him over slow. Like a pot roast. My dogs will love the bones. Chauncey has a thing for femurs.” “I thought he liked tibias,” Ines said as he popped the cap on a tub of bleach. “Yeah, that one dude up in uhhhh, Tallahassee, who robbed you.” “Ohhh no, yeah yeah. Chauncey did like his tibia, god. He gnawed on it for weeks. I’ve gotta flay em’ good this time, though, and roast the bones so there’s no residuals. No bad stuff for my babies. Okay, down the hatch, Joe.” Ines poured bleach into his pie hole until it overflowed. He’d wake and drink it eventually, but a little Bella won’t hurt. At least not yet. This was another all-nighter, but of the bloodiest kind. It gave AB something else to focus on. Because the alternative irked his fucking nerves. AB dropped Bella into Joe’s mouth. It mixed with bleach. Soon after, odd fumes percolated. “Maybe we should wear masks. Where are you taking Char for your anniversary? “Oh shit, you’re right. Last time we passed out. I still got some in the trunk. And as for Char, she ain’t getting nothing. I’m taking her co-worker, Tonya, out instead. The bitch has got knockers like you wouldn’t believe. Hair platinum and legs for days.” “You’re a piece of shit, Ines.” “Eh, it takes one to know one.” “You are most certainly right.” “The wife ain’t going nowhere. She knows I get curious. We’ve been married for eighty god-awful years. Her yakking about money and whatnot cost her another anniversary. Maybe the old bag will shut the fuck up from now on.” The male cackled in his crackly, husky manner and ran outside. Ines was a four-hundred-year-old Bostonian. He smoked like a chimney and used pomade in his hair. His style remained in 1960. If Ines didn’t wear a knitted shirt and trousers, something was wrong. His buddy, as if he was auditioning for the next Scorsese mob picture, was proud as hell of it too. “Okay, here. I got a whole box of N-95s from—” “Don’t speak it, please.” Ines grimaced as they put on masks from another time. Years Jaxon wanted to forget. Humans weren’t the only beings who had a shit time. Set and ready, he and Ines got busy. This was a great way to end a night.
Nieema wanted whatever the succubus wanted to give. And yes, she wanted that god damn tail. She salivated and flexed below the waist. Her pussy seeking company, someone to strangle and hold. Her tapered tail was dangerous for some and even had poisonous barbs, but now it flicked with sensual promise. It was a fat, prehensile demon with telling knots and bumps Jasper had manifested for this special occasion. “Yes,” Nieema rasped. She tracked its slow sweeping motion and nodded. “Yeah, I want you to put in and don’t stop.” “Look at you, so greedy for it.” Nieema hissed and grasped Jasper’s face, plunging into another kiss. She rocked against her pliant, buoyant form and moaned, tasting every note. Buck, Jasper, and even her own water. It spurred her into movement. Nieema rolled, more than ready to bounce and ride. Jasper clung to her, claws catching on her ass. The tiny pricks of pain added to a new, yet familiar brand of euphoria. Desperate, she severed their kiss and clutched Jasper’s horns. The woman was flushed. Purpled cheeks and gold dust painted her red complexion. It was beautiful, gorgeous, and quite the portrait Nieema committed to memory but hoped to see for a while longer. “Talking won’t get you anywhere nice, demon. You can either fuck me this instant or see yourself out.” Wolfish and sharp-edged, her smile spoke volumes. It was clear she wasn’t amused. From a striking molten ocher to hot iron, her eyes flared. “You got too much bass in your voice, Your Majesty.” “And you, are working my last nerve, woman! I need you to fu-fuck!” Speared and impaled. Nieema wailed, grasping Jasper’s smooth horns. She groaned as heat radiated and seeped; spread.
Heat tackled Nieema as Jasper’s tail twisted and coiled. “Ooooo shhhhhhit.” Nieema gasped; heat and lust encapsulated them. Sweet flames of pleasure licked at her slick skin and teased. Jasper pushed and stretched with abandon. Every knot and inch waged war against her G-spot. Nieema tossed her head back and hissed. “Ohmyfates. You so good.” Hot, scorching lips fell upon her shoulder and neck. “Damn, girl.” The succubus growled and purred. “I knew that pussy was good.” Nieema bucked with her quickening motion. She keened, enjoying the slip and melody. Their bodies connected, and Nieema consumed her whole. She took her thickness and rolled on it. With each deep dive, she whimpered. As focus waned and eyes escaped to the back of her head, the world vanished. Magic and succubi wiles traced every curve of her body. It twined with her senses and laved over her. As if she’d been taken by five, Nieema registered hands, lips, and fingers. In her ass, on the clit, and pinching nipples. Claws raked her back as Jasper claimed her mouth. Her tongue slick and hot, thickened. She was transported to another plane of fiery desire. Nieema sucked on her and rode it out. The demoness lacked decorum and shit. She was unkind inside. Jasper hemmed Nieema up quick. Using her tail for the worst, she arrived with swift punches. Her thrusts were lethal and strong, causing Nieema to lose all wits. She held onto the woman’s horns and took it on the chin. Jasper beat her down and delved into her pussy. She made it talk back and bite. Desperate, Nieema growled and chased her withdrawal. Jasper slapped her ass and made Nieema suck her down. She choked on it until the woman let her breathe. “Yesss!” Nieema roared and panted, bouncing on it like she’d never been fucked a night in her life. “Shit, Jasper. God damn youuuuu…” She tasted her arousal and mewled as Jasper clenched her throat. The demoness heaved and hugged Nieema close. “Give me what I want, Nieema,” Jasper said, voice trembling. She worked her tail and demanded action. “You will come for me. Show me them fangs, lover!” Nieema quaked and made her ass clap. She tussled with her thirst and urge to nut. “Ohhhhhshiiiit. Oooodamnnnit.” “Let me see you break, Your Majesty.” Buck scented smoke spilled from Jasper’s lips and provoked Nieema’s hunger. She inhaled, wanting every dose she offered. Her need to feed overlapped with a painful pang to cum. “Ffffff—uck! Tear that shit up, girl.” Nieema bit her bottom lip, drawing blood. She clasped them horns and tensed as Jasper’s monstrous magic galvanized within. Desire, pleasure, and lust clashed with her own. It swelled and overwhelmed. Nieema ruptured. Two-fold. She’d loosened, convulsing, shivering. Bursts of passion gushed, coating the succubi’s tail and thighs. Jasper bellowed, calling Nieema by name. She locked arms around her and chuckled. The guttural sound was too much for her delicate sensibilities. Nieema snapped Jasper’s head to the left and begged. “Let me feed. Pleeeease. Let me have your precious essence before you depart.” “As you wish,” Jasper whispered. Hot and cloying, her blood rushed. Fang deep, Nieema took her and gulped. She purred at her throat and warmed as the gorgeous succubus nourished her once again. More than sated, Nieema licked wounds closed and kissed each mark. “Thank you.” “The pleasure is all mine.” Nieema swallowed, loving how her blood and pussy lingered. “I don’t know about that.” She met Jasper in the eyes and smiled. They were back to their normal shade. Goldenrod amber. Sweet as her natural nectar, she grinned. “Now I see why he don’t play about you.” Nieema giggled and sighed, cradling Jasper’s full cheeks. “I can cook too, you know. And, I’m talented, smart, courageous, and fine as hell. There is more to me than my perfect pussy.” “You are all of that and more, I’m sure.” Nieema sniffed and dropped hands. “You cute. I’d tell you to keep talking, but I need a shower. How about you join—“ “I can’t.” Nieema was the one who’d laid everything bare. On the table, clear for her to see. Full transparency. She’d erected boundaries not even an hour ago, and yet, she wanted to obliterate them. Nieema didn’t want Jasper to leave so soon, but had no choice. They were here for the vibes and shit. Nothing more, nothing less. “Okay, yeah. Of course.” Nieema cleared her throat and figured herself foolish. Jasper was far from the first woman they’d met and fucked. And she wouldn’t be the last. Ignoring the weird prick in her chest, Nieema hopped off the woman. Palm open and outstretched, Nieema called her house robe. After donning satin, she snatched up the woman’s clothes. Jasper had twisted and wrapped her tail. Tucked high and out of sight around her thigh. Nieema hated it and wanted to know why a succubus born in hell was ashamed of such a beautiful part of herself. It definitely had something to do with Trevor. Nieema forced a smile and handed the articles over. “Thanks again, Nieema. You woke this old succubus up.” “Happy to help.” Sliding into them tight shorts, Jasper beamed. Fangs and a telling gleam in her eyes was quite a portrait. “I bet.” “You fed well, I take?” Nieema asked, chin lifted. “Indeed.” She loomed. The succubus snickered and stole a kiss. One more and she was gone. The door clicked, and Nieema grunted. “She a good one. Different. Her power is beyond any we’ve had. I thought she was gon’ tear me in half. Whew, chile. Look at you, freaky ass.” Buck slumped in his chair. Butt ass naked, dick on limp and sullied by his own hand. Nieema cackled at the sight. “Bring your ass on, Moss Balls, let’s get cleaned up.” “I couldn’t help it, you know how I get watching.” “Hm. I’m sure you had quite the show.” “Y’all was rocking steady, baby.” He high whistled, following her into the bathroom. “And she is sumn’ else. God damn, I wanna tackle allat jelly.” “Looks like you gotta be patient.” Nieema turned on the shower and stripped. “She just don’t know how good it’s gonna be with her teasing me like this.” “I envy the woman,” she said, twirling on her toes. Nieema hugged her husband and kissed his hair-dusted chest. “In the meantime, you want me to scratch that itch for you?” “You damn straight. Come here and gimmie that suga’!” His love put the sun to shame; it brightened him. Nieema would never grow old or tired of his obsession. He was a good man who loved his woman, and Nieema was the luckiest vampire in the world to have snagged the very best Fate had to offer.
Listen, let me tell y’all something, I didn’t want them to fuck yet. I really didn’t. I wanted to make them wait another chapter or two. But Jasper and Nieema wanted this to go their way. I kept fighting it, but in the end, they won! And Nieema, the poor woman, she’s enamored. I can’t blame her. And yo, the idea of Buck being a shameless Cuck is so funny and thrilling. I love him with my whole heart. He’s gonna crack that succubus wide open. I know it. I have an idea how and when this will happen…But I hope y’all love monster romances. Anyway, thank you so much for being here. I couldn’t do this without y’all. Have a lovely week and HYDRATE! Byyyeee, Bookie!
Low did not want to kill this man and run ass out through the back. But if he started jaw jacking, his dome was about to get knocked off. On top of that, they had to move quickly. ‘Cause this big, fine, ginger was ancient. He was bound to have skills beyond their own. Swift, strong, and cunning. Underestimating meant death. Jaxon had every advantage. He’d clap them both without wasting a breath. But Low had eyes on everything. The vampire’s flexing hands and tense thighs said he wanted to act. “Pulling that trigger would be the last mistake you ever make.” Jaxon smirked and said, “This house is crawling with vampires who’d gut you and her for it. You’d never make it off the property.” Calm and remote, Jaxon didn’t give a fuck, but as Max shuffled inside, his low lidded stare remained. “You not innocent as I thought.” “And you ain’t no accountant,” Max proclaimed. “Yes, I am.” She sneered while Low’s gun stayed pressed to Jaxon’s skull. “You want money or what… how much you want?” The male chuckled. “There you go again, assuming shit. Oh my god, this is like a huge issue with—does she always—” Agile, strong, and calculating. Jaxon rammed his temple into the barrel. Distracting Low gave him the upper hand. Red grabbed his wrist and twisted. Low hollered from the assault. His arm nearly snapping it right off, he dropped the Glock. Red kicked it under the bed. Max moved mean and punched Jaxon in the diaphragm. Her fast thinking forced a release. Low lunged for the gun and was still too slow. Jaxon snatched his shirt, but Maxi was at it again. She growled and bit the males forearm. After another release, she dove for the pistol herself and Red recovered. “You a fast one ain—” Low yanked the alphas hair and gave shorty enough time to clutch that .45. Using their natural speed, she popped up, aimed and let one hit. Max tossed the hot steel instantly. She was a brave female, but she’d never shot anyone before. Two seconds later, men barrelled through the door and ran in from the patio. Low threw his hands up because yes, they were out numbered. Four green dots speckled his stomach and five were aimed at Max. “Oh fuck, you’re gonna kidnap me…oh god, Low he’s gonna want a ransom. Oh shit. I meant to kill you, though.” Low groaned. “Girl shut uuuup. Please, baby, just hush for a minute I really can’t take—” “Don’t tell me to hush. I am really stressed right now.” “I know, me too, the hell y—” “This man is gonna kill me, Low.” She was terrified, and yeah, Low was finna shit himself. Typically, he wasn’t scared of anyone except for the IRS. But damn it, the mere thought of losing Max polarized him. “Sir, are you okay?” Jaxon cut to the man in black and nodded. “I’m good, it itches.” Flaring, red eyes darted around the room. “You’re not good, AB. Ya bleeding for christ sake.” Another guy made his way into the room and sniffed. “Back up off me, blood.” Low growled as his fangs elongated. “I’ll kill you before they get me, I promise you that, bruh.” “What we gonna do in here, AB?” “Get out.” The male with a rough accent scoffed. “You can’t be serious.” “I said get out, Ines!” His thundering demand made them move and post haste. The last ninety seconds flew by and felt like an eternity. Low just had them thangs on him, now they were alone again while Wus Good played in the silence. Awkward. “My dad can pay you.” “Listen, listen, I need you to shut up.” Jaxon made a request, and Low eyed her. He mouthed, ‘calm down’. She frowned, but crossed her arms and flopped into the armchair. Low, however, watched Red as he growled and sauntered past her. Max shrugged and stabbed a finger at the door. Low gave the cut off signal then stopped, noticing Jaxon’s leery red gaze from the bathroom. “You won’t be able to leave until I allow it so…” The door slammed and running water followed. “What are we gonna do?” Max whispered. Low deadpanned. “Baby, he can still hear you.” “Right.” She lifted a finger, grabbed her two-ton bag, and wrestled with its contents before plucking out her phone. He nodded and fell on the chaise when a text came through. Little Mermaid: We gotta figure out how to leave. He stabbed keys and replied quick. Cold Blooded: You see how tight his security is? She nodded then typed. Little Mermaid: What does an accountant need with security? Low pointed and wondered the same thing. He lied, ain’t no way Red crunched numbers for a living. In the process of hitting her back, the bathroom door swung open. “Seriously? Are y’all texting each other right now?” Jaxon stomped from the washroom and ripped Max’s phone out of her hand. “You want me to shoot you in the head next?” Jaxon grunted. “Y’all are fuckin’ nuts, certifiable.” He threw the android in her lap, and poked at the hole in his shoulder. He may as well take the tank off, it had blood on it… and it was hot. Low grimaced. What the fuck was he thinking? “And you, Maxine. You all of five-two, but had the gall to square up with a pureblood. I’m six-six a-” “No you ain’t.” Low snickered, and it might have been the wrong time, but his ass was lying…again. “Yes, I am.” “You more like six-four. Don’t do too much.” Jaxon’s jaw fell. “What is wrong with you? Are you not grasping the totality of this situation? I could kill you, right now.” “Nah, I am.” Running a hand over his beard, Low shrugged. “But don’t be height fishing. You good, no need to lie.” Easing into the chaise, Low admired Max while she observed Red and said, “We have millions.” “I don’t want your daddy’s little money.” Stalking his big self to the wet bar, Jaxon frowned. “And I don’t wanna kidnap you. Fuck. I need ice.” He spared a moment of silence to pour Henny and swig. A second helping followed. “I wasn’t gonna snitch or whatever the hell. You jumped to conclusions, as usual. I’ve known you for all of a week, Max, and I see your negative personality traits loud and clear.” The female crossed her arms with an eye roll. “Yeah yeah, I’m working on it.” “No you not,” Low spat. “Why is everybody lying right now?” Jaxon snapped his fingers and continued, “I was just bringing it to your attention. Tracy is one false move away from going to prison. Unless…” On the turn around, he leaned against the bar. “I can cook his books.” Hitting the liquor, Jaxon peeped over the rim. Max frowned and said, “I’m not the one you need to be talking to.” “I know that, don’t you worry your pretty head about it, Maxine.” He hissed her name and snarled. “I will handle the rest.” Shorty sighed and said, “Well, we should go. This was fun, but it’s about that time.” Red slammed his glass on the mirrored side table, and faced them again. “You shot me for no reason. This shit escalated too quickly. You went from accusing me of stalking you, to accusing me yet again. Only to put a hot slug in my shoulder. You owe me another apology, mama.” Low fought a smile, ‘cause Red was telling facts and had a major point. But Max hated being wrong and she wasn’t perfect. Never one to admit she fucked up or take accountability, was a huge problem. They got into it about this very same thing a bunch of times. Low was no better, though, and two people who wasn’t shit, being not shit together, made for a happy couple…an almost happy couple. “This is kind of bad,” Max nodded. “You’re right, and I’m sorry. I overreacted.” Low scoffed. “Oh, I know you are not folding that easy.” He stabbed her with a narrowed gaze. “After all the times you—wowwwww. Okay, damn, you wild, shorty.” Feelings hurt and all he pouted. “Low, I shot him,” Max pointed out, as if he didn’t see the whole thing. “It’s not like I drank the last of his limeade.” Low jacked to his feet and gasped. “I knew you did it! Tried to make me look crazy, thinking I drank all my shit.” Max looked up at Red. “This was two years ago. He stores grudges for a rainy day, it’s sooo bad.” “It don’t matter how long ago it was, shorty. Ten years we been rockin, and you play me like that. Damnnnnn.” “You drank the last of his favorite juice, I presume? Then you lied about it.” Red smirked. “That’s cold.” Low clapped and said, “Thank you, thannnk you. Eccczactly.” “Fine, I’m sorry I drank your juice. I’ll buy you some more.” “I want ten cartons! For damages and distress!” “I hear you.” Spinning around, he eyed the Glock and swiped it. Low shoved the piece back into its holster and pointed at Max. “Let’s head out, we done here.” Shorty got busy, gathering her things while Low stepped to the bar and clocked cognac. “Is this all you drink?” “Hell yeah.” He chuckled, fashioned himself a half glass and smashed it. “I ain’t never had Hine before, it’s smooth.” “I can’t find my glasses.” “In the chair, baby.” She searched, skipping right over the damn frames. “I don’t see them.” “Behind you,” Low muttered. “Oh.” Red sighed in passing and stopped at the nightstand. He snatched open a drawer and pulled out…gummy worms? “You want some?” He shook the bag and Max rounded to his side. “Yeah, are they sour?” “Nah, I shoulda got some sour ones.” She dug into the bag with him and Low scratched his head, perplexed. From guns to fucking candy? “I got Jolly Ranchers, too.” “I’ll take one,” Low said as he joined the duo and was given a handful of blue. “Man if you don’t take all these nasty ass blue things.” Red chuckled. “You don’t like them either?” “Hell nah.” “I got cherry, watermelon, and peach left.” “I’ll take cherry.” “A man with good taste.” Max smiled. “I want peach.” This wasn’t exactly how Low saw the night going. But, he still ended it by sucking on something sweet.
This had to be the weirdest night of her life. Max went from shooting someone, assuming she was about die, to eating gummy worms. They were good though. With her palm out, Red dispatched a few peach Jolly Ranchers. “Thanks. Now I really feel bad about shooting you. I didn’t mean to though.” “You distinctly said you aimed to kill me.” She snorted. “I mean yeah, sure, but people say a lot of shit in the moment.” Max peeped his boredom and tried not to laugh, but failed. “What’s so funny?” She was small and they were too close, which meant, her neck almost cracked looking up at Jaxon. “Nothing, mind yours.” “Give my damn candy back, since you wanna be rude.” “No.” She frowned and backed up, “It’s mine now.” she twirled the peach candy open and grinned. “You ready, shorty?” “Yeah.” She heard Jaxon sigh as his larger than life frame plopped onto the chaise. Popping the treat in her mouth, Max couldn’t help but notice his eyes. The spooled gold glinted as he stared at her. Or studied them more like it. She shrugged and glanced at Low who nudged his chin towards the door. “What happened to our plans?” Jaxon asked, in a deep guttural tone that garnered her attention. “I’m sorry?” She clacked her tongue ring against hardened sugar and sucked on it to keep from talking. “What about you, Low?” She cut to her lover as he smiled with a mouth full of golds. “Uh, I don’t uh…I figured that was off the table. Cause you know…” “Because?” Red smirked. “Because I got shot? Thing is, about that, it ain’t real if somebody don’t bleed first.” Max’s breath hitched. She hacked and swallowed the candy by accident. Oh god, he was a nut job, sexy as shit, kinda scary, but not. Those arms…he should be in the woods, swinging an axe. And why was his nose pierced like that? Jaxon bore into her as his broad chest awakened her curiosity. “Low, maybe—” “You a special kinda horny, Red. And any other night I’d maybe—” “Why you acting like a pussy all of a sudden? You’ve been talking a lot of shit, Elliot.” Low chuckled and relaxed against the wall, eyes narrowing. “Don’t go there with me. You an old male who can’t keep up with this here.” Licking his lips, Low shook his head. She needed popcorn and glass of wine. “Plus, I doubt you’ve even been with a man, you’ve ignored every pass I have made. I don’t need no curious dick in my life. I been there with straight men, and ain’t never going back.” Jaxon shot to his feet. Max backpedaled, clearing a path. He pointed at Low and beamed. “Outta you two, I thought she was the hardest to convince. But it’s you, ain’t it?” They met eye to eye damn near and stood inches apart. Max swallowed, tingling with envy. “You’re reading me all wrong, Low. Yes, I am old. Very. So it should come at no surprise that I have never been or will be, straight.” Oooo come on now. Jaxon yanked up Lows shirt and snatched the gun free. His scent rolled in waves, and overwhelmed the humid murkiness from outside. It pulsated and thickened as he shoved the pistol under Low’s chin. “Uh oh.” Max whispered. She had to do something, what if Jaxon lost it. “I’ve sucked more bureaucratic dick than years you have been alive. I’ve fucked more men than you have, and that’s a certainty. If you ever, put a gun to my head again, it’ll be the last thing you do on this earth.” Her breath came in pants, and thighs trembled. She watched, wanting what they had. Max inhaled a lung full and swayed. Their scents were an aphrodisiac. Low’s stoicism, and unwavering eye contact made her pine for some attention. Max had always been greedy and needy, this wasn’t their first threesome. They had them all the time. Men, women, shit…all genders, no genders. It was open season and she hated being left out. Jaxon smirked, his free hand tunneled around and Low hissed. “Violence is the vampire equivalent of Viagra, is it not? And you, Ms. Bissette!” She flinched when he turned around, pistol aimed at her. “What you wanna do to me now?” “I dont know.” “Liar.” “I just—” Jaxon stood before her; the tallest of redwoods. Thick, aged, and majestic. Arms like fat boughs and tresses of burning fall leaves. “The only thing you need to understand, Max, is that I want you. Not later, not tomorrow. But right now.” His scent invaded, coiling within the walls of her swollen pussy. She wanted to ask why and what made her so special as a lowly halfbreed. Fuck allat. Max dropped her bag and whimpered. “Whatever you say Re—Oh shit!” Jaxon picked her up with one arm, and next thing she knew her back met the wall so hard a panting fell. He growled and snarled, “You got a loud ass mouth, and I wanna hear that shit too.” “What?” Lord knows how, or when he removed her pants, but he had. And god damn, they lied! Everybody who said white boys were small, they were liars straight from the pits of hell! Max gasped only for her lungs stall as he broke through and slipped…better yet, rammed his dick into her guts. “Oh my god!” “Yeah, I am your god now.” His lips whispered against hers. “Now say sorry.” He purred, starting a deadly motion. “Tell me you sorry, Max.” “I’m so—” He didn’t let her speak, using those lush lips, Jaxon kissed her like a furious, starving beast. The force came second to the ache between her legs. Sensations erupted as he filled her out. Flexing around him, her pussy stretched and accommodated. Nipples tingled and skin tightened while she tasted and teased. Max begged for it, and mewled, arching and opening. As he tore away, she stared into a golden lake of desire and heaved. “You want it now, huh?” “Yea.” One thrust and she bucked. “Fuck!” Max cried. “Hold on tight, now.” She should have taken his word for it, ’cause not even a second later, he gripped her thighs and ravaged Max up against the wall. Mean, and thorough, he eased in and pulled out in such a way that everything shook loose. Her brain rattled, lamps dared to tip over, and her pussy creamed around his girth. Digging nails into his shoulders, she clutched with pangs of lust riding her raw. “Oh shii—waiiii—I’m ’bouta cum! I’m gonna cum I swa-” He choked her. Blocking airways, the slut tore her shit down. He was unkind with knitted brows, fangs, and a bitter snarl. She wasn’t used to this at all, but on the cusp of a release eyes rolled. He touched her ribs and grunted. The marrow-melting friction intensified and twisted into a prickling ball that threatened her sanity. His claws scored her flesh as thrusts quickened, causing her hold to slip. Jaxon used Max’s pelvis as a stress reliever. “I’m sorrry, I’m sorryyyy, shhhit! I’m sorrrry,” she wailed. He destroyed her insides and mixed them guts. Max was about to go ape shit. Ready to beg and plead, pleasure consumed her. Mind and body were held hostage by an orgasm, a reckoning that made her scream. She wanted mercy and for him to keep going. “Ughnnghh-uhhhhgghghh-” She growled through growing fangs and moaned. Max returned his ruthlessness with a vicious eye. The ass hole was grimey with his dick. He didn’t even know her like that. Motha Fucka. “Put. Me. Down.” She gritted the words because this wasn’t right. The male was flush, and reddened by what he’d done. Prick. “I sa—” He rolled his hips and she whimpered. “I think we understand how things go now, don’t we?” “Yes! Now let me down.” She snapped and wanted to spit in his face. The big fine red-haired monster withdrew and hissed. “Why the hell are you so tight, ma’am?” “Kegals and vinegar, bitch.” He growled and wrapped a big hand around her neck. “You wanna do this again?” “Not yet, share the wealth. God damn. Up off me” Sliding down the wall, she landed on the floor, and leaned. Max stumbled into the nightstand; he helped her upright. “I’m fine.” Max had to have some dignity here. “I can walk.” She retrieved her pants, looked at Low and tried not to blush or cry. Her man was undone and fidgety. His leg bounced as he gave a tight smile. “Woooow, look at the time.” Low feigned a yawn and stretched. Max giggled while he punked out. “I know you are not…” She sputtered as Red turned and stared at her homie, lover, friend. Low shook his head. “It’s late, it’s getting late—you wanna go, Max?” She was unimpressed. “No.” “I think I’m tired, though. Feel a headache coming on.” “Don’t look like it.” Red added. Low’s strong man was standing at attention. If Max had to suffer a god damn beat down then it was only fair if he suffered with her.
AB couldn’t think straight, the room went on a little spin and there were two men sitting in the chair instead of one. Her scent was on his tongue. It stained his skin while her cream was left to rest upon cooling flesh. His heart rate decreased and body stiffened. After such a sublime release AB should have been ready to pass out, but nah. He wanted the other half. His hunger hadn’t been sated quite yet. Low’s cocoa brown lips and stormy eyes beckoned. “You running from this dick already?” AB asked. “Fuck you, bruh” “By all means, please.” AB hissed. Low covered the smiled that curled his precious mouth. If he didn’t move quick, AB was about to lay the little one out ‘til she collapsed from overexertion. “You know what? I don’t even got no glide on me. I don’t eve—” “I got it,” Max cut in with the save. She hefted her satchel and rifled through it. What she pulled out made AB happy as hell. “What were you saying?” Low’s lips thinned, glaring at Max. “Baby, why you got that in your purse?” “Cause you never know when you’ll need lube, and look. We need it.” She smiled and gave a thumbs up. This woman had nerve, being so god damn sexy and cute at the same time. AB shrugged and rounded to the other side. “Excuses aren’t gonna help you here, Low.” AB pulled a hair tie from his pocket and did what he had to do. With tresses bound, he smirked. “How about I help you relax?” Low’s brows popped. “Uh, I mean, yeah. Sure—if you comforta—ooooookay.” AB wasn’t a perfectionist per say, but he figured, if you were gonna do anything, give it your absolute best. And in many avenues of his life, the motto acted as motivation. Dropping to his knees, he shoved Lows legs apart and clawed at his waistband. “Boxers, seriously? You’re wearing gray sweat pants.” “I’m Conservative. I ain’t out here being a slut, okay.” AB snarled and yanked on his pants, boxers followed. Classless. He’d never wear a second layer with grays. Irritation faded when Low’s solid shaft bobbed free. AB’s own dick danced again at the sight of this males blessed endowments. Low grunted and scooted forward. “Go ‘head and ease my stress.” Velvety and thick. AB clutched him and watched the response with bloated arrogance. Low bit down on his lip and bucked. His excitement glistened on the blunt head, tempting AB like another type of candy. He flicked at it with the tip of his tongue, making Low grunt. The musky, earthy flavor lingered and he wanted more. He started at the base and laved. There was a lot of ground to cover. Teasing the spot just below his head made Low groan and grip the fluffy armchair. Glutinous and impatient, AB kissed the tip and devoured him slowly. He jutted, encouraging action. Cradling his heavy set, AB worked with caution. He improved suction and massaged the males heavy sac. “Ohhh fuuuuuck,” Low choked out a response. The sound pleased AB immensly. He wanted to hear it again. Committing to the motion, he used skill and speed. Simultaneous actions created a rhythm most couldn’t keep up with. The twist of his neck, an embracing tongue worked in unison with a tight grasp. AB added flair and swallowed the head. He slid down, into his throat. “Shit!” Low’s bark would have made him smile, if his mouth weren’t full. AB put in that work. Up and down, deep and suffocating. His gag reflex was non existent. Eons, fuckin’ centuries of giving head secured his status as a deep throat champion. Spiraling and tugging, caressing and sucking, AB kicked it into fifth gear, forcing Low’s head to fall back. Pleasure raked through them both. Watching someone cum because of him—a hand. Oh shit! A warm palm wrapped around him and worked vigorously. He moaned with Low deviling deeper and didn’t stop. Pressing on, AB performed to perfection. Thanks to Max, his neck game grew nasty as she jerked him the fuck off. Slick and heated, he saw stars as Low’s nails scraped his scalp, the male grunted and used him up. With Max down below and Low taking control, he fucked his throat and came with a curse. A nano second later, AB’s desire boiled over and erupted. His body listed, and if it wasn’t for Low, he would have melted into the floor. “Get the fu—” The male withdrew with a pop and shot upward, pulling AB with him. AB smiled, spun around, and fell face first onto the mattress. Ass up and face down, he spread wide and enjoyed the sensation of the gel on his booty hole. Max appeared in his line of sight, grinning. “Hope you enjoy this.” “I want you in my mou—Ohhhh, yesss!” Low stretched him with ease. No prep needed, AB old and well versed. The glorious sensation sent chills through his body. Spurts of pain paled in comparison to striking bolts of pleasure. He shivered and arched until Max appeared. And dear heavens…her pussy was fat, sloppy, sexy as hell and wet as rain. She opened and flexed her pretty pink slit. “Damn it!” He shouted at both her plump petals and Low’s dick, stroking him just right. AB hissed and plundered her folds. Slippery as fine as silk, he ran over her clit with his eager tongue. Her preening flooded airways, and amplified his heightened nerves. “God Low, you fuck like a grandp—“ He slapped his ass and impaled him. AB gasped and received a second thunder clap, then third. Dining on Max had become difficult once Low’s motion began. He rocked the boxspring, the headboard, and peeled his fuckin’ guard back. AB ground his molars and welcomed the beating. Low growled like a full grown vampire and yanked on his hair. That was a no go and he’d pay for it later. AB was too busy with trying to breathe as his head dropped, resting on Max’s thigh. The female tweaked her own pearl and rolled her hips. Oxygen stalled as his body tensed and Low pummeled his prostate. The world vanished. All AB heard was Max come while Low’s release spilled inside of him. His orgasm came with white hot rage, AB roared. Shaking bottles on the bar, they exploded as he was immersed into another round of delirium. “My turn!” Max yelled. Shirts and her bra flew across the room. In a haze, AB admired the tat on her chest. It was fucking beautiful. So was the skull covering the expanse of Low’s back. On the verge of coming again, he watched as the male stretched her supple walls. AB was prepared to sleep in the wet spot if need be. HFS, what he received was unfamiliar and uncommon. After many years of fucking, he knew every sensation. Before, during and after. The shit rarely changed, but this felt weird, different even. He wasn’t too sure if he liked the startling realization. With marrow running hot and legs shaking, he was left to cool. To harden like a well used wash rag. Low peeked over his shoulder and said, “Gimmie what she got.” AB chuckled, though unsure. “I don’t know if she can—” “I’m a goddamn vampire, too! Put it—put—oh hhhhh, Lowww, I want it! Put that weight on me.” She cried as the male stirred them guts. “Fine with me.” After grabbing the lube, he did the honor of covering Low’s fat ass. Oh god, he had stretch marks. AB made a disgusting noise as he played in the silicone-based liquid. “Neither of you will leave here in one piece.” They ignored his promise, but would soon realize how serious he was.
After parking her truck in the garage, Nieema followed Hank through the mudroom. They kicked off their shoes, and she dropped her purse on the bench. Keys in the bowl, she grumped and carried onward. Using her vampire will, she turned on the lights and opened curtains along the way. Their ranch house was expansive yet homey. She’d dressed every surface in artwork and lined each console with trinkets from around the world. “I still think you went light on the man,” Hank muttered. “He’s my cousin, sir.” “A cousin who was spying on you.” “Not me, Jasper.” Nieema grimaced as they entered the kitchen, whereupon Hank wrenched patio doors aside. He shoved and pulled until a warm summer breeze greeted them. Nieema loved fresh air. It was far better than underground stank and granite. Minerals and stoneware. Humans buried their dead in the dirt, below ground. Nieema thought that shit was hilarious, given how vampire covens preferred subterranean communities. “Annnd, is that supposed to make it less cruel?” “You’re right,” Nieema stated. “It doesn’t. But I’m not in the business of decapitation…anymore.” She nabbed the decanter resting on the island and poured. An aromatic blended wine made her fangs throb. “Long ago, during sword and sorcery, I woulda’ had his head. You know that. But times are different. I understand the value of life. Community service should suffice.” Hank arched a brow, stealing the second glass of Grand Pa’nidere. He grumbled, lips to the rim. “You just lopped somebody’s head off in cold blood.” “We ain’t talking about her,” Nieema warned. “You killed, Veronica!” “She murdered fourteen vampires, Hank!” Nieema gulped a glorious concoction and threw on some good ol’ fashion city jazz. The kind from back in the day. The music that lived in the very heart of her people. It roused spirits and pleased their ancestors. Percussion, snares, and high hats. She closed her eyes for a beat, letting the music have the moment. “Your soon-to-be bride snaked her way into the coven and gutted our folks.” Her heart cramped, and blood pricked in her eyes. Dry wells stung with a dangerous vow. “How was I supposed to handle that, Hank? Huh? Because you know good and damn well if somebody hurts my family, they gotta die. And by my hand. I don’t play that shit! I would kill anyone who even thought to cross my family. My people. My kin by blood and name. Don’t act like you don’t know.” Heat flared in her chest as she slashed a hand. Daring to send everything on the island crashing to the floor. Bulbs flickered, and the decanter rattled under her boiling fury. “We been through the mud, boy. And now you acting like one person is above us. Don’t you fucking dare. I’m Queen of Ravensguard. It is my vow to protect and defend everyone who calls this place home.” Hank’s steely gaze and curled lip wasn’t a good sign. “What if it was Buck?” “Fuck outta my face with that mess!” Nieema swiped her glass and stomped past her knight. “Get the hell on before I go upside your head.” “You don’t like how them tables turn—“ “Veronica used you.” Nieema gritted her molars and faced her illumine pool. “She poisoned you with a powerful love potion, brotha’. Think. You’d never put anyone above your honor. Not even yourself.” “Ain’t no way,” Hank uttered, disbelief slicing into his anger. “I would have known, I—we were about to get hitched and all—nah. Hell no.” Nieema cleared her throat and shrugged, eyes on her right hand. “I gave your blood to Maggie. She exposed all. It’s gonna take a minute for you to wake up. But the moment Veronica died, the spell was broken. You’ll come around any night now.” “Bulllshit.” Her brother fumed as he traveled elsewhere on the ranch. “Where are you going without shoes on?” “To see a witch!” “I love you.” She didn’t expect Hank to respond, still in his feelings. This entire situation would haunt that old vampire in the months to come, and she’d be there for him when he cracked. Doing away with one problem, she swigged her favorite bloodied wine and cracked her neck. Back in the house, she replaced the glass with a rag and got to cleaning. Jaunty tunes and crooning made her night. She two-stepped, twirled, and dipped to horn-blowing melodies until she grew bored with housework. Her night had just begun, but that didn’t mean she had to stay corset-ready. It was pretty, bedazzled, and hoisted them tiddies, but she was through. That was the beauty of working from home: one got to wear whatever they wanted. Nieema opted for a long, thin, leopard print gown and a headscarf to match. At around nine, Nieema was focused on her patches. Head ducked, eyes on the needle. With quick efficiency, she worked on patches. Her sewing machine buzzing and whirring. It was a comfort she sought during those rough hours. When royal duties had her by the fang. After Veronica, she sat up in her office for ten hours straight. Ms. Corvin was having a baby. Mrs. Briar wanted something for her grandmother, and Francis, the fire chief, needed a quilt for someone in recovery. Music, hot bloodwine, and the humming motor calmed her nerves. After Veronica, she sat up in her office for ten hours straight. Before her, the last person she’d had to vanquish was Maudrin the Sordid. He was a nasty motha fucka who’d tried to kill her father. As General, it was her job to dispatch the Warlock, and she did just that. Three hundred years ago. It was her last battle. Nieema yelped at the feel of hands on her shoulders. “God damn you, Buckley!” He laughed and kissed her cheek. “You were supposed to sniff me out, bloodsucker.” She giggled and patted his hand. “You know how it goes when I’m up here working.” “I do.” Buck squeezed before release. He swaggered over to the tiny sofa, wedged between shelving units. He groaned and plopped down. Nieema assessed and smirked. He was agitated and darker than usual. Her husband couldn’t hide a damn thing. She read the gum cracking for what it was. “What did he want?” He sighed, tugged free his braid. It lay across his shoulder, thick. The bound ends rested upon suede. It was time for a trim, and he’d hate it. “Whatcbu think, Nimmy?” “They can’t have you.” “He knows.” “Then, where we go from here?” Buck flicked his gaze to the window and said, “I gotta take a trip.” “Don’t you mean we?” “Nimmy…” She scoffed and picked thread from the ruined patch. Her perfectionism wouldn’t allow for faults. She cut threads and mused. “We both know I ain’t welcome. But I’ll be damned to let you go without me. That family is unwell. What if they don’t let you leave? Or worse—oh my god. My blood pressure already taking a hit. Oooo chile. I swear—I’ll turn that forest into a marsh.” “Calm down, woman. You gettin’ all flustered, and we know don’t nothing good happens when you’re stressed.” “Baby, if you gotta take a trip, fin,e but I wi—“ “You signed a treaty, Nimmy.” She tossed the thread cutter and cussed. Cooling the fire in her gut, she returned to the patch and sewing machine. Nieema tapped the paddle and steadied her hands. “I’m the one who created that damn treaty, Buck. They get to keep them fifteen hundred acres because I say so. My daddy was due to burn the m, and that was his last option. “If we hadn’t signed that damn thing, we’d be killed by overgrowth and fauna. Listen, if they wanna get to squabbling, then so be it. But I’m going, and we both know that’s the end of it. I gotcha, old man.” Buck affixed his softened, dark stare upon her and relaxed. “You ain’t gotta tell me what I already know. I just don’t want to cause trouble, Nimmy.” “That isn’t up to you. It’s on them.” He sighed while she freed the finished patch and set another on the plate. Nieema situated it just right and muttered. “Other than Palison, how was your night?” “Not bad, I mighta broke the ice with her.” Nieema smiled as he recalled Jasper’s training. She was a quick learner, but had no interest in tools. That was fine cause most folks knew what they were looking for. Nieema completed five patches while they conversed about the mundane. Kids, grand babies, the house, their shop business, and what was on schedule for Friday night in the dungeon. Curls and coils of smoke soothed her better than any Jazzy track. His dusky lilt was the highlight of her night, making her heart swell with gladness. She, the demoness, knocked on wood. Syrupy sweet notes preceded her. Nieema focused on the double stitch and said, “I heard you bought a hammer. What do you plan on doing with that?” “Building stuff. Whenever we actually get to it. I’d love to start breaking shit.” Buck’s raspy, smoke-laden chuckle was delightful. “Day or two, and we’ll get started. You so impatient.” “Not really.” Nieema popped upward and drank in the woman. She’d changed. Silk and twill for cotton. A matching set. Soft, tight, and pink. Nieema had more to say than hello about how she stepped into the space. Buck wasn’t a man with shame. He had no qualms with staring. Neither was on the same page, though her lack of tail irked. Jasper strolled on into the office barefoot, anklets chiming with each step. She went straight for the binder loaded with commissions. “I finished the orc piece.” “Lovely,” Nieema intoned, not giving a fuck about the commission. “Where is your tail, ma’am?” Buck grunted. “I was wonderin’ the same, baby.” “Keep wondering,” the succubus clipped, turning plastic pages. “I might take about five more; the first made me anxious for more work.” “How much you want for it?” “Mmm, fifty—” “No,” Buck hissed on a harsh exhale. “Be confident, Jasper.” “Seven—” “I seen it,” Buck added, eyes locked on the demoness and her thighs. “Your low balling ‘bouta piss me off, ma’am.” “Shit, fine. Two hundred.” “Done,” Nieema chimed, happy to pay the woman. “Nice doing business with you.” “Money well spent.” Buck wagged his pipe at Jasper and winked. “Worth every cent, Nimmy.” Shock and awe, Jasper beamed, and Nieema loved the sultry curve of her mouth. Recalling the plush, pillow-soft kiss, she scoffed. “It’s alright,” Jasper corrected. “Not my best, but decent enough.” “So, what?” Buck sneered, a swirl of lavender clouds framed his menacing portrait. “You calling me a liar? I know art when I see it.” “From now on,” Nieema started, foot on the paddle. She tapped and watched her stitch. “I only wanna hear you speak good of your projects. Because if you don’t believe in them, no one will. Oftentimes, a lack of confidence seeps. Your customers will notice. Now, tell me, Jasper, what is my husband hiding? There’s more to your moment, but he’s being coy. Maybe you can shed some light on your time with Buckley Sunside. Did my man behave himself tonight?”
Y’allllll, I don’t know what happened! I pressed publish on this thing LAST NIGHT! But tell me why I just looked to see how y’all are taking to it, to find that it DIDN’T publish. Also, I tried to publish it without a title… Listen, this is what I get for trying to do shit late at night right after I get off of work. *Crying emoji Anyhoo, I hope you had a great weekend and have an even better week! See you soon, and as always, thank you so much for reading! Byyyyeee.
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!
Close quarters and molten delight. Buck wasn’t one to push or the sort to add pressure until within the arms of promising darkness. He let folks live and die however they wanted. There were too many petals to pluck. Why worry himself silly over one fragrant flower? It was no secret that he was for whoever wanted him. Be it man, woman, or them, he’d be there. Slipping between walls and digging ‘em out. He wasn’t picky. Buck had a good woman with great pussy he tasted with every swallow. “There ain’t much to it,” Buck said, smoke puffing and curling. He applied another price sticker and glanced at Jasper. “You got it.” “Surely.” “How many jobs have you had?” “Not many, but enough.” “You like dealing with people?” Buck asked, plucking his pipe from the shelf. “And don’t be shy. Consider this an interview.” “Thought I had the job already?” Gold flecks sparked in her eyes like agitated fireflies. Jasper’s unbidden attention yanked at his soaked roots. “I need some personal info to put on paper. Mater fact…” Buck brushed past the demon, and she chuckled while he was left to burn. Her scent dared to raze his soul. “Step into my office.” He sauntered between stacks and units. Shelves cluttered and dusty. Nieema hated the task and refused to handle it. The aroma of sawdust, mulch, and metals reminded him of them early days. When the hardware store was their only means of making ends meet. Buck smiled and trekked onward, across twelve hundred square feet. Their first baby had grown up and out since times of old. “We gotta fill out that application and such. Got health care and whatnot.” The back of house wasn’t shit but a bathroom, office, and an adjacent break room. They cut wood outdoors because Buck couldn’t stand the sight. They weren’t sentient trees, but watching the work made his ass itch nonetheless. “Let’s see here.” Buck hustled to the bookshelf, set his pipe next to a fussy ficus, and located the folders. He snatched one and dropped it on the desk. Jasper was a cold piece, feet kicked up atop glossy mahogany. Ankles crossed, she rocked in the chair, hands on her soft belly. Buck grunted and smacked her loafer. “You don’t pay for nothing. Feet off my shit.” She cackled and snagged the folder. He picked a pen from the holder and offered it. Jasper snatched the damned thing and locked her scorching stare upon high. Buck matched her indignation. He smoked in silence and gathered much from her quick script. “I don’t take to demands well, Buckley.” “Sumn’ else we got in common, huh?” She flipped pages and continued, eyes on the application. “Your wife is beguiling.” “I agree.” “Nieema was respectful and forthcoming. Intent on fucking me.” Buck grunted and ambled, mouth to the teak tip. He waited a tick and stared out the single four-pane window he’d installed nearly two hundred years ago. Still held up, much like his marriage. “You tryna make a case or convince me of somethin’?” “I don’t want you to think I came onto her. Or that I sought to do anything with your wife.” He scoffed, clouds undulating as he pivoted. Jasper finished her duty and leaned in the chair. “I wouldn’t care if you did.” “Understood.” He sniffed, smirking. “What’s your plan now?” A dire wolf might deem her smile a threatening show of fang. Buck loved this part. He adored them self-assured types. A pretty woman to step on his neck and make him beg for pain. The sweet dame who’d clutch his nuts and make him pray with reverence. She’d do it to ‘em. Buck believed this succubus to be kind, personable, and everything her kind wasn’t, but she had the beating pulse of a domineering demon. One he could trust to do him right when the occasion called. “I don’t want complications,” Jasper asserted, rising. She pressed forward and rounded the desk, seeking to devour Buck right on up. Her magic spilled and pooled between them. Fine florals, sweet nectars, and spice. He inhaled every note and became a glutton within seconds. She settled on his tongue, coiling around Nieema’s essence. The richness roused his old bone and wood. Buck inched closer as she grabbed his pipe. He watched, fascinated. Jasper pulled with ease and exhaled. Smoke billowed, framing her strong features and capped horns. The succubus pushed his most prized blend through her nostrils and said, “I’m at a point in my life where all I seek is peace. What y’all bring to the table is trouble, and I don’t want it. I don’t want anyone in my face. I don’t want to be paraded around by king and queen.” Buck shivered as their proximity forbade another breath. Breast to breast. Heaving and creaking under her sheer demonic weight. The air was thick with it. Lust, desire. It laved the skin. He growled and bore into her gaze. “I don’t want my business in the street.” “You got my word,” Buck rasped, drunk on her presence and scent. She hadn’t pulled a single succubus card, but he was ready to drop for it. Crawl and kneel for a crumb. She paused for a second hit, and squinted. “I don’t want expectations.” “There ain’t none.” “You aren’t easy to read,” Jasper said, grinning. “I find this to be both thrilling and terrifying. It’s sickening how undeniable your darkness is. Heavy, potent, you carry on the wind and strangle me. I’m choking on it even now. Don’t make me regret this, Buck.” “Never.” She placed his pipe on the desk and sat on it. “You may touch me now.” As if the soil demanded him to, he heeded her words and closed the distance in half a second. He locked an arm around her waist while his width forced her legs to part. Buck claimed Jasper’s mouth and demanded entrance. She gave. Allowing him the pleasure of exploration. Sweeter than morning dew and honey tree sap. He threaded claws through her short hair and gripped strands. Jasper responded in kind. Lighting him ablaze, she fisted the fabric at his back. A telling heat pulsated on his bricked dick. Succubi came on strong as hell and turned that ass into a fiend. He wanted to be seated within her. Deep and burning between her luscious thighs. He growled while she hissed from the belly. It was packed with deadly promise. Buck wanted her bite. He craved her fang-filled kiss and loved how she took to him. Desperation fueled their fire. Flint to parched tinder, he was ready for conflagration. “Hello?!” The holler ruined their moment. Buck rumbled, furious with the world. He snapped her head back, and she yanked herself free. A beat later, teeth and fangs penetrated bone. She’d struck him quicker than a pit snake. To cool his ass down and keep from nutting in his pants, Buck escaped her clutches. He stumbled into the shelf and patted at the bite wound on his shoulder. Blood seeped, staining his t-shirt. “You ain’t shit!” Buck yelled, rushing to pluck a tissue from the box. “It’s seven in the evening and you biting motha fuckas’. This—you know wh—I got something for you.” Jasper laughed, pleased with herself. She leveraged weight on her palms and shrugged. “Who says I want it?” “Don’t get cute.” “I’m not.” She slid to the floor and said, “I have plans with the wife.” “Mhm. Yeah. I bet you do.” She arched a brow while Buck blotted. He loved the sting, tug, and burn. Jasper had no idea how close she was to getting fucked out in this god damn office. He would have, but something about it ain’t sit right. Buck was going to give this demon more than a quickie in the back of his hardware shop. She deserved more than that, and he was more than happy to give her time if need be. “After you, ma’am. I got customers.” “We have customers.” Jasper winked in passing and exited on her high horse. “I want my first check on Friday.” “You can want it all you like, don’t mean you gon’ get it. The hiring process takes time.” “I need the money, Buck.” She spun about, walking backwards through stacks. “I’m serious.” “You want me to spot you a few—“ “No!” Jasper fussed about not taking handouts anymore. He truly didn’t give a fuck and wasn’t about to let the woman talk him down. She’d take his money and like it.
Happy Tuesday, I know it’s a day late, but bookie, the 9-to-5 is gnashing its teeth. Taking a chunk right out of my ass. Buuuut, we persist. We keep it moving and march forward. Just like Buck and Jasper! We have arrived! First kiss for both husband and wife. They’re cute as hell, and I’m still discovering new things about them. Jasper has no fight left, and I feel her because Buck is some fine shit. Big, bold, and dark. We love us a morally gray forest daddy, don’t we? I know I doooo. Anyway, I love how they’re not taking each other seriously while being nothing but themselves. Jasper isn’t one to fuck around, and Buck ain’t either. He loves to be handled with care, but make no mistake, he can and will make demands. I’m anxious to get these three alone. And the moment I publish this, it’s off to see about them. With that, I will bid you farewell. Until next week, folks, have a wonderful night. And don’t forget to drink more water, watch your favorite show, and get some rest! Byyyye.
Mondays were hell and grueling. AB’s lack of motivation wasn’t a surprise. He’d been ready to throw in the towel before leaving the house. Despite wariness, there was a twisted mystery in the Bissette household, and he was intent on unraveling it. He wanted to agree with Ines and would have two days ago. Fleming’s prime cut came second to what he’d been served the other night. Subpar it may be, but AB was hungry, so he stabbed another slice of rib-eye with truffle-poached lobster. It melted in his mouth. Still second best. “It’s okay,” AB muttered. “Okay?” Ines barked. “You got the most uppity taste I know. We’ve been coming to Flemings since it opened. Speaking of, how’d you manage an after-hours lunch at 12 am?” “Yes, can you pray-tell how this happened?” AB glanced at his nearest and dearest lawyer, Brandon Thomas. The accomplished attorney had seen Jaxon through tons of drama since 1987. His father and grandfather handled legal affairs until the day they died, then it was up to Brandon. And he was the last Thomas standing, seeing as his only child died in a car accident four years ago. She was an up and coming estates lawyer who graduated top of her class. That was some sad shit. Three generations’ worth of Howard Law ended with Brandon. AB smiled and snagged a glass of Barboursville; it ain’t Opus, but hit the spot nonetheless. Plus, he was on the clock. “Blue notes can buy anything,” AB mumbled. “Even time.” “Yo, what’s eatin’ you?” Ines asked, cracking another crab leg. “I don’t know, maybe it’s this fuckin’ case.” “Ehhh, don’t sweat that shit.” Brandon dismissed the comment and poked leaves. The poor guy had high cholesterol or something. He couldn’t fuck with high fats, so his only option was a nasty, filthy, sordid salad. AB didn’t understand all that human shit, but Brandon said diabetes and heart attacks ran heavily on his mother’s side. Which was the leading cause of death in African American males. Sad, sad as hell. AB would rather eat a leather belt than touch leafy greens or vegetables in general. He drank them in smoothies loaded with fruit. But chewing and swallowing? Absolutely not. And yeah, he’d eaten boiled leather once or twice. “How do you suppose I do that?” AB asked, fighting vexation. “This bitch is trying to frame me, Brandon. Like, she’s accusing me of kidnapping and attempted murder.” His nerves took a hit from the realization. The monarchy did not play around with heinous crimes, and they shouldn’t, but Jaxon didn’t touch that female. Well, he did, cause they were fucking on the regular. But never with dubious consent, and he never tried to kill her. “It doesn’t matter.” Brandon shrugged, pushed up his glasses, and squirted lemon juice on his rabbit food. “We have irrefutable evidence. She was hysterical and toxic, often seen throwing things, abusing you, and destroying property. During your relationship—” “We weren’t…” Both sets of brows cocked, ‘cause even they knew he was full of shit. Ines spoke on it first. “You’d better get a grip, brother. Whetha’ you wanna believe it or not, you and Lianne were playing house. She had clothes, a toothbrush, and underwear there. Come on.” AB sighed and went for a pile of onion rings. Sitting back, he admired the empty restaurant with its white linen and mellow lighting. They took up residence on the second floor, ducked into a corner, away from prying eyes and nosy pedestrians. For the most part, out of sight from everyone not in the building. He had four men downstairs, two posted out front and a duo by the emergency exit. Dining alone in a densely populated area like downtown Miami came with risks, ones he didn’t wanna take. AB was never by himself, not truly. He’d be remiss and thickheaded to show such arrogance. “Well, I don’t claim a relationship with her, but if it helps plead my case, then so be it.” “There’s the spirit,” Brandon replied. “You got digital evidence on this bitch. She’s in your house, committing a few crimes. During the time of the alleged incident, you weren’t even home, AB. This shit is open and close.” “Ines, leave the law discourse to me,” Brandon said. “I wouldn’t say open and shut.” “Then what?” AB snapped, appalled by his response. “The hell you mean it’s not? I have more than enough against her lying ass. Plus, she’s unstable.” “Yeah, she is, but you have more important problems.” “Like what?” The attorney flicked a gaze to Ines, and the two grimaced. “What is it?” Ines cleared his throat, wiped the buttery residue from his chin. “Paola isn’t returning my calls.” Jaxon dropped his knife and fork. “I’m sorry?” “She’s not answering.” “Excuse me, did yo—” “There’s a supply issue. We’re getting texts from everywhere, from everybody.” AB cracked his neck and stared at Ines, whom he considered a friend. Best friend, to a fault. “We were on schedule for last Wednesday.” Ines nodded. “Yeah, that’s true. And I though—” “You assumed what?!” AB shouted, rattling utensils and expensive crystal. “After damn near a week! You should have told me after she ain’t deliver mother fucker!” AB growled, swiped his plate, and sent everything crashing to the waxed hardwood. The world collapsed. Red reigned. A hand went for the bottle of wine. He stood over Ines and dried his hands with a dinner napkin. AB sneered, looming. Ines sat on the floor, holding a blood-soaked cloth to his gushing skull. “I want you, to schedule a meeting with Paola, Ines. I don’t care how you do it. People have paid in advance for what I supply, you know that.” “You fucking her!” Ines spouted. “You call her! It’s probably something you did anyway.” AB’s eyes flared. “I’ll rip your god damn tongue out, and I think of you as a brother. Shut the fuck up! Get me a sit-down, now!” Throwing the napkin, he rammed a loafer into the idiot’s shin. Brandon nodded. “I’m working on it.” “Good, and Ines…” AB pointed at the dumbass on his way downstairs. “I know, shit.” “You better!” He made haste through the kitchen, waved at the chef, and was let out through the back door. Silent boys in black followed him all the way to his Hyundai. Most big dogs came and went under the radar. Upon getting in the car, he fought a fiery impulse to smoke. Stress was eating his brain good tonight. Funny how things went from great to shit so quickly. Last week, AB had planned a trip to the Emerald Coast. Now, he was knee-deep in simple, yet unavoidable problems. Forcing anxiety to ride in the back seat of his throbbing head, he stabbed start, and peeled tires. In the rearview, a raven sedan gave him space but remained in sight. AB hated the hovering and skulking, even if he had been the person who hired them. It was due time to throw up some defenses. Nights of walking around wide open like a commoner were done. Those days were over, but he still didn’t like them up in his shit. They were always a few yards behind and stayed there until being told otherwise. AB took his time traveling back to Tracy’s abode. He needed to ease up on the irritation without influence. Oooooh, God, was that tough. Turning into the driveway, he counted one vehicle. Her Wrangler and Mr. Bissette’s shitty Avalon? Absent. He didn’t wanna be bothered tonight, and crossing the threshold, AB relished the quiet. The door was unlocked, which meant Jaya was zoomin’ around the house, cleaning as if company was on the way. She mostly picked up after Tracy, ‘cause he loved leaving dishes everywhere. He also lost his phone quite often, forgot where he put a mug of coffee, and misplaced his Kindle regularly. Ab avoided all contact, hurried into the office, and closed the door. He was liable to snap for no good reason, and Jaya didn’t deserve his foul mood. Dropping to the floor and onto his ass, Ab grabbed the last file box and got to work.
No, no, no. Done with everything, Max tossed an empty Monster can at her TV. It landed on a mound with the rest of its dead aluminum comrades. “You punk ass! Why are you camping?!” she shouted into the mic. “I have a vantage point.” “No, the hell you don’t! How are you a veteran with these tactics? Huh?” The man in her ear spouted off with gamerbro vocab, and she tuned it out. Nobody was ‘bout to spit shit at her. Max won three tourneys and came in fifteenth during the last international championship. First-person shooters were where she expressed her anger. She hurt no one, besides a noobs feelings. Granted, Max believed in spiritual healing and had strategically placed crystals around her room. Clear, rose, and smoky Quartz, by the dozens. Amethyst and Tourmaline. Citrines and turquoise. She wore copper and moonstones on her hands and a Selenite necklace dangling from her neck. She wholeheartedly believed in meditation and the work affirmations put in. But sometimes, video games were therapeutic too. Gaming was another thing her father didn’t approve of, so she excelled at it. Ndari was at the shop, Low was working, and honestly, Max should have been as well. But Mondays were for the birds. When 10 pm approached, she walked into her Black-owned business and left ten minutes later. She drove straight home, put on her jammies, got on the game, and stayed in the same spot for hours. Her sitting area was a cute corner, surrounded by windows she never opened. The alcove was homey, with a floor rocker and a fifty-inch TV hanging on the wall. “Oh my god! Can you get off your ass and help us?” Max yelled into the headset. Life wasn’t easy every night, and at times, no amount of meditation helped. Memories were both a gift and a curse. Dreams and nightmares played in concerto while she sloshed through another depressive episode. Max had forgone therapy, assuming all mental woes would be settled with holistic remedies. On second, third, fourth thought, maybe a shrink annnnnd her spiritual lifestyle could mesh. One uplifting the other. Unlike this group of misfits lacking on the job. “I’m done with ya’ll, I’m over it.” “Max, don’t leave.” “Ahhhh, go make me a sandwich.” “Please donnnn’t. We’ve been playing for like five hours.” “I was just about to go in on them bitches, bro.” As more refusals rang in her ears, she whipped out another Monster and popped it open. Drinking like ten a day was fine. Going into cardiac arrest wasn’t a death sentence, and it happened once. She lost consciousness for sixteen hours and woke up peachy keen, aside from minor palpitations. After gulping half the carbonated medicinal elixir, she burped and dropped out of the match. “Kiss my ass,” Max murmured. “They can lose by their lonesome.” She wasn’t adding a royal ass beating like that to her roster. Throwing the controller, she shot upward and wanted food, ‘cause it was the ever-present anesthetic. Gaining and losing weight was a chore for every vampire. Both endeavors required copious amounts of blood and a strict routine just to make headway. She’d forever be a pear-shaped woman who carried over two hundred pounds, mostly in her bottom half, and gladly too. Max wenched her door open and marched onward. She dashed through the kitchen and aimed for the pantry. Standing in a treasure trove of goodies, she was delighted by the options. There was so much to choose from; Jaya had a knack for shopping. “Sourdough bread, Doritos, fruit snacks, donut holes. Meh, oatmeal raisin cookies too.” Hands and arms full, she spun out of the Snack House and kicked the door shut. After unloading her treats on the breakfast bar, she found a plate and topped it with green olives, salami, and cream cheese. “Bone apps a teets.” Max slid onto a stool and smiled at her spread. “Dinner of champions.” Mouth watering, she slathered the bread with cream cheese. Her stomach growled, adding the dried salami and olives. “You ‘bouta to get fuc—“ Max froze mid-bite and snapped eyes up to the microwave. 3 am. “Oh, god damn it.” Why was he still here? “Oh no.” Noisy, tap dancing shoes alerted her to an approach. “Well, shit on a stick.” She kept her head down and chewed cautiously as he turned on the lights. “I didn’t think anyone was here.” She shrugged when he spoke and mm mm mm. He might as well bottle his scent and sell it for top dollar. The thick, woodsy aroma screamed of a strong male. What was that? Tuscan leather? Yeah, like the Tom Ford cologne. It was close enough and held some weight, too. “I been here,” she muttered. “For how long?” “You nosy.” Jaxon chuckled while she smirked at her plate. “My bad. You know, I think this is the first time you haven’t worn shades. But I gotta say, the cat ear headset is cute.” Max snatched the thing off and grimaced as she dug for Doritos. Spicy Nacho and cream cheese went well together, which was why she dipped and ate, bearing no shame. The sound of something being poured filled a stagnant silence. “You mind sharing the chips?” Jaxon asked. “Go ahead, it’s a free country, ain’t it?” “Some would beg to differ.” His voice was smooth as sweet whipped butter in a hot skillet. He had a deep, caressing timbre that kissed your inner thighs. The type of lilt women tended to swoon over and throw it in a circle just to hear. Max was that woman, but she’d be damned to admit it. This man knew he was sexy. No need to pump his head up any more than it already was. She thought Jaxon was ‘bouta get his shit and go. Assumed he’d toss it into a bowl or perhaps a cup, but his big ass pulled out a stool. Chiiiile, as he sat down, her old heart got to jumping. “This flavor is actually my favorite. Spicier the better, I always say.” “Yeah, I like ‘em okay.” She nodded, biting into the bread. “I don’t like being the butt of a joke,” Max heard herself say and regretted it. “Excuse me?” “I don’t like being humiliated or pitied. So you can cut the shit.” Jaxon scoffed. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” “Yeah, right!” she belted, plucking a donut from her plate. “I am out of your league.” “Whhhhat?” he chuckled. She groaned. “I mean you…you are out of my league.” She couldn’t talk right. Tongue tied then a muh’fucka. Max had never been with a white boy. What the fuck was she doing? “Out of a what? You know, Max, when two people talk, sometimes, generally, they look at each other.” Ripping off the wet band-aid, she met him in the eyes. “There. Better? Happy now? Go on, be aghast.” Max was appalled by her own behavior, and so was Jaxon. He stared, while she stiffened, stuck on stupid. “This, is why you wear the shades?” “Aw, you want a cookie? Smart man.” She grunted and returned to the spread of junk. “You do everyone a disservice by wearing them sunglasses.” The sentence turned into pig Latin. Her gaze darted back to Jaxon and stayed. First off, his vernacular. And second, what he said… “Come again?” “You heard me, and I’m not into repeating myself. You gonna eat that other, whatever you made?” Max shook her head. “No, feel free.” Jaxon snagged it but frowned at the olives. Picking at them, he hissed. “Terrible. How can you digest this?” Momentarily distracted, Max scoffed. “What do you mean?” “Vegetables, I hate ‘em.” “Damn, yo piss must stink.” He barked, exploded in laughter, and she drank in the scene with glee. Jaxon was a masterpiece, showcasing deep dimples and long fangs. He smelled scrumptious and had a baddie in his pants, she was sure of it. Priority number one for Max on any given night was to get dug out. She preferred it seven days a week. Wanting every piece except the heart was the issue. He simmered and sighed. “You got the kind of rowdy attitude that I hate, goes against my grain. Blunt and rude for no reason.” “Like I care about how you feel. I’ll take my food back.” Jaxon’s head whipped around so quickly she flinched. His holier-than-thou arrogance spewed from every orifice. “Do it. Go on, give me a reason to fuck you.” Max crackled like a witch. Loud and ugly, she laughed. “Who you talking to, pimp? You only get in on this if I say so, and like I said, you outta my—” “What the fuck does that mean? I don’t got a goddamn league, mama.” “Piss off with them pet names. You don’t know me, Jaxon!” The front door slammed, and she whispered, “You better watch your mouth, Red. Or I’ll tell my daddy.” “I don’t give a dam,n and as a matter fact, fuck your Dad—Hello, Tracy.” Max did her very best not to giggle. “Oh wow, what do we have here? You two must have a little picnic going, I take it?” Jaxon smiled, maybe, and said, “We sure do, and Max here was nice enough to share.” “That’s excellent. Getting along better, I hope.” Jaxon glanced at her, then nodded. “Swimmingly.” He was a great actor and liar, putting on a show as if he were an amiable fellow. But no, he was not, far from it, and didn’t his edgy behavior wet her pants—oh, no. The moment Low sauntered into the kitchen, Max slumped. He wore her favorite shirt. The quick-drying number was thin, stretch,y and hugged his bulging frame like spandex. It embraced every cut and slab on his chiseled abdomen. The guns and holster thingy made him dangerous. He was so fine. She was in a conundrum here. “Oh look, it’s Bevo Lotty,” Max jested. Low shook his head. “I ain’t in the mood for your shit.” “Play nice, kids,” her father cautioned, as he shoved leftovers in the microwave. “That’s too bad, ‘cause I’m in quite a mood myself.” “Go shave your mustache or something, shorty.” Hearing a snicker from Jaxon wasn’t fair. Squinting at him, she smirked. “Dad, do we have any Lucky Charms?” His broad smile flatlined, and Low chuckled. “I have no idea, Maxine, I don’t eat that trash.” “Oh.” Diving for the donuts again, she was proud of herself. “I’ll check later.” “Good, good. I’ll be in my room.” Tracy grabbed a tray, something to drink, and found his way out. Low watched him go and waited for the customary door slam to slide over. A cute, teeny-tiny smile accompanied the twinkle in his eyes. He swiped an olive, reeking of mischief. “Why you wasting these?” “He don’t eat veggies,” Max said. “What kinda grown ass man don’t eat vegetables?” Low asked. He popped the orb into his sweet mouth, and she gawked. “I don’t.” “That’s nasty, your piss prolly smell like battery acid.” Jaxon cocked a brow and said, “I make up for it with fruit and smoothies.” Max shrugged. “Hm, that ain’t so bad, you eat pineappl—” “He wanna test drive the Monte Carlo shorty.” Her gaze drifted to Red as he pinned his on Low until they found Max again. “I do. But for now, I’m gonna take my ass home. I’ve had a long night.” The big ol’ male dusted his hands off, rose to six foot whatever, and towered. Max gulped as her neck craned and pussy mewled. Golden weaves of shimmering thread. Jaxon’s eyes were impossible and unearthly. Then again, he was a vampire…an aroused one at that. He wanted to poke somebody. Hard to figure who. Max wondered if he was into men. “Have a good day, both of you.” With that, Jaxon brushed shoulders with Low and disappeared. Leaving echoing loafers in his wake. “This ain’t no good, Low.” Max worked on an olive and met her lover’s sexy half-lidded gaze. The vintage Versace frames set off his Cuban link chain that often smacked her in the face. Low smiled. “Baby, we both fucked.”
Helllooo, and happy Friday, y’all. I hope everyone is doing well, or well as expected in this cluster fuck. I’m doing good, just finished another short. Hoping to publish in July. Other than that, nothing much is going on. From June to September, I’ll be editing. Y’all, give me all your good vibes. I’ll need them. Now, onto the chapter. This is where everything starts to unfold. We’re learning a little more about Jaxon and what makes him tick. I told yall, he’s not to be fucked with. I said it! He’s got good intentions buuuuut…I mean, you saw what he did to Ines. He’s got shit to deal with and none of it is good. Now, Max, my love. She’s got her own demons and all of them haunt her. Not only is she living in the present, stuck in an unhealthy environment, but she’s also dwelling in the past. My poor girl has been through a lot. And Tracy is not helping one bit. But! Here comes Mr. Aubrey with his sex appeal and charm to lift one’s spirits. He doesn’t stand a chance with Max and Low. They are a pair. A package deal, and lo, how AB will suffer. Well, let me go and read, game, or write (idk what I’m doing yet). I need more coffeee!! Anyway, thank you so much for stopping by, and see y’all next week. Have an amazing weekend.
J. T. Frost 