Neon Red: Chapter 11

The following night, Tracy checked his reflection once more and tugged the pocket square. Pressed, extra starch. He swiped a hand over his taper fade and snapped cuffs. For many a night, he considered himself the best. Trudging through mud to get where he was required a strong mind and will. He’d been born into a scholarly family. Doctors and teachers. Of course, an education couldn’t hide one’s skin color. For countless years, he walked this wretched earth and experienced things his child would never understand.
If his father hadn’t stolen those bonds, there was no telling where they’d be right now. Though finding out his own son was dyslexic had been a blow. Tracy’s father thought him a lame, unintelligent, and disposable. At least he left his mother with money and means to provide. In his youth, Tracy was lost, working odd jobs, longing for an intellectual path. To do something worth a damn.
That’s when he met Bernice. She was by far the most gorgeous woman he had laid eyes upon. She was a learned gal from Nigeria. Smart, kind, and patient. She helped Tracy overcome his literacy issues; thus, their love story began.
“Beginning of the end.”
A knock called for his attention. Striding down the hall, connecting the vestibule and his bedroom, he noted Jaya’s presence.
“Are you sure you wanna do this?” she asked.
“I am only trying to do what’s best.”
“You honestly think this is best?”
He couldn’t stand it. Her disappointment and knitted brow. She wasn’t fit for an expression so sour. Jaya was divinity embodied and warmhearted, but had no right to question him.
“I do. It is a beneficial merger.”
Jaya’s laughter wasn’t that of joy. “A merger. What is happening to you, Tracy? You are fucking with her life.”
Averting her judgmental gaze, he marched to the wet bar and did his ultimate best at preparing an old-fashioned.
“She will be grateful.”
“This is not the 19th century. It is unacceptable.”
“To whom? There are plenty around the world who practice such things.”
“Yeah, and it’s wrong.”
Tracy sighed, dropped ice, and faced Jaya. Beauty remained despite her fury. Verily, she raised the girl, so her protective nature was predictable, but she wasn’t Maxine’s mother. He was reminded of that every night.
Swirling his drink, Tracy stared into the chilled, brown pool. “Max is my child, not yours.”
He matched Jaya’s vexation. Her glare glinted behind welling ruby tears. He strongarmed an aching desire to comfort her.
“I know what’s best for my child.”
She scowled and left in a hurry. There was an unmistakable pain in the center of his chest. An agony he’d come to live with. Stuck in a sort of purgatory he himself built from the ground up. Tracy still mourned his beloved and wanted to honor her, even in death.
But this was killing him. This silent, personal storm. The suffering never ceased. His hands trembled, ice rattling in the glass. “Stay the course.”
Tracy growled and launched vintage crystal across his room. It shattered on impact, taking his antique standing mirror with it. Shards dangled at odd angles. With pieces missing, his reflection fractured. The world did this to him. Life and death were both something to fear.
Tracy didn’t wish to die, but wasn’t sure if he wanted to live anymore, either. On a spin, he grabbed his dinner jacket and tweaked the pocket square. On his way to formal living, Tracy plastered on a smile.
“Ah, Matthias.” Tracy extended a palm, and they shook like proper gentlemen. “I do apologize for my tardiness.”
The male released and inclined his head. “It’s okay. Your gracious staff kept us busy with a phenomenal slice of hummingbird cake.”
“Oh yes.” He gestured to a younger male sitting on the couch. “My daughter made it. She knows her way around an oven.”
“Magnificent. We do love a cooking woman.” Matthias Lawry was a grand vampire of some three hundred years. A rich pureblood with an old maroon gaze, money, and connections. He stood tall and confident. His son, Raymond, on the other hand, was nonplussed. Matthias cleared his throat and yanked the boy’s arm. “Get up and shake the man’s hand.”
Raymond grinned, offered a greeting, and committed to it. Tracy had socks tighter than his grip. “Hello, Mr. Bissette.”
“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Tracy added
“You too.”
Like pulling teeth, the boy wanted nothing of it, which was understandable. “Please, have a seat.” When his guests returned to the sofa, Tracy took a load off in an armchair. Crossing his legs, he started in. “So, Matthias, has Raymond been informed?”
“He has, and my boy is ready to meet Maxine whenever she is ready.”
“That’s wonderful. She should be along shortly. I’ve told her to take the night off. Max typically wakes up around ten or so.”
Matthias smiled kindly, while his son sat deflated. His body molded into the cushions as his shoulders drooped. He should be grateful. Because of this, they were all better off. Tracy only knew of one other vampire who sold heathens to the highest bidder, and he stared at them.
Matthias Lawry was an asset, and they’d make more money working together. If there was one thing Tracy loved more than his late wife… it was currency, and their topic of discussion. They spoke of stock markets, what to sell, and when. Who were the best investors and who offered the best rates overseas.
“Dad.”
“Oh, Maxine, I’m glad you’re awake.”
Ohhhh, how fancy. She could have spruced up a bit. Her hair looked as though it’d been windswept, there was shit in her eyes, and for the love of god… a Winnie the Pooh onesie. Maxine was an adult who wore footie pajamas. Perhaps he should have told her beforehand, but Tracy had much on his plate. And with her, this approach was best; she had nothing to contemplate.
His daughter would choose wrong every time.
“Maxine, this is Matthias, and his son, Raymond.”
“Okay.” She shrugged.
“Matthias and I have decided you two might make a lovely pair.”
The girl looked at Raymond, then slowly turned towards Tracy. “Dad, can I talk to you alone, please?”
“Absolutely.”
“Excuse us.”
“No problem.”
Tracy followed Maxine into his clean office and shut the door.
“Dad, I am not ready for a relationship. It’s kind of you and all, but I don’t need you to set me up.”
“It has been five years, Maxine. It’s time you find another husband.”
Her arms crossed and brows gathered. “I don’t want another husband. I don’t ever wanna be married again. I don’t ever, ever want—”
“You can’t hide away forever. What purpose will you serve if you are not someone’s wife?”
She winced as if he’d shot her. “What are you saying?! A female, or woman, is not born with wifely duties strapped to her back. We are more than dolls to look pretty, cook your food, and grow babies.”
“Watch your tone.”
“Or you’ll freeze my accounts, I know.”
Tracy held his tongue and sat in an old chair he’d bought in 1972. Things weren’t made the same anymore. Including women. A girl in Maxine’s position would have been over the moon some eighty years ago. His daughter was from that time, but she’d lost all sense and grabbed this modern age by the balls, as it were. She fit in with them, conforming to this generation and what they called freedom of expression.
“You know what we have at stake, don’t you?” He watched her peruse shelves full of books he forgot to read.
“I can’t forget.”
“You wanted in Maxine, I let you. So, I’ve got another job for you.”
Her multi-colored irises were magical in nature. One Red, the other quicksilver, they were striking and unique. He and his daughter emerged from the womb imperfect, but unprecedented. Tracy loved her eyes because they shaped her into someone special. Alas, the dual pigment haunted him as well.
When Maxine was born, he became filled with a renewed sense of purpose and an immeasurable amount of love. Sadly, in the same moment Maxine opened her eyes, Bernice took her last breath.

Max wouldn’t like whatever he had to say. She dropped into the armchair, waited for her father to speak, and picked lint off her onesie. Helluva night to wear this thing. She loved onsies. They made her feel safe and warm, like a security blanket. She carried a fluffy crochet blanket Jaya had made her for fifteen years. Tracy made her burn it. The day they started making onesies for adults, she got in on that and never looked back.
“Matthias is a runner, like me.” Tracy asserted.
“Nope, not gonna like it.”
“He’s wealthy.”
“So is his son.” Glancing at her dad said yeah, she was right. “What does this have to do with me?”
“You and Raymond are going to marry.”
Max’s stomach hit rock bottom and lurched as she slammed her eyes shut. A vile, slow burn accompanied the rapid beat of her heart. “I have my limits, Dad, I can—”
“You can move on with your life. Be who you once were.”
“I can’t do this.” Pinning a blurry gaze on her father, Max begged him. “Dad, I can’t. I don’t… this isn’t right. How is this fair?”
“Life isn’t fair, Maxine.”
Max linked arms tightly across her seizing chest once more and wanted to puke. “I know you hate me, but I don’t deserve this.”
“I don’t hate you,” he refuted.
“You do, and that’s fine, whatever. I’d hate me too for what I stole from you. But I don’t know how to apologize. You shouldn’t keep holding it over my head, this… this is too much. You are stepping over a line here.”
Tracy Bissette had a stick up his ass. He was high-strung and unflappable. Serious, judgmental of others, and nagging. He was strict and rode Max behind since she learned how to talk. But her father was never cruel, until now.
Max had to know why and how he’d even think to agree.
“After everything I’ve been through…” she whispered, just about ready to curl into a ball.
“No fault of mine,” Tracy spouted. “I warned you about that boy, Maxine. I told you to seek help. I have said many things you chose to ignore.”
He was right, but the past had nothing to do with the present. “How can you sit up here on your high horse and jus—”
“I have no choice,” her father ground out.
“Yes, you do.”
Tracy was ever composed with a highbrow and stiff back. She’d never seen him truly smile or express real emotion, negative or positive. Right now, however, he was undone. Fidgeting, twiddling with the blotter, and drifting off into space.
“Matthias is a runner who will not accept competition. This is more of an insurance policy; if we don’t abide, well… his wife is a US senator, and now, he knows what we do. Things can go from congenial to shit quickly. Do you understand?”
“Oh my god, he blackmailed you.”
“Indeed.”
She saw anger on her father’s face, real anger. Lip twisted into a snarl and fist tight around a personalized letter opener Jaya gifted him with last Christmas.
“I don’t understand.” She shook her head. “What does he have to gain from this?”
“My compliance, Maxine. A joining of our families would mean peace. It’s an old strategy to avoid war, but still relevant. If you don’t do this, that’s it. You will have to leave the country.”
A giant batch of ifs-ands-buts frothed within her brain matter. “I can’t leave… what about you?”
“It’d be prison or death.”
She couldn’t breathe, and the urge to vomit worsened. Leaving wasn’t an option. Jaya, Ndar, I, and Low would be left behind— “I can’t leave.”
Meeting her father’s speckled green eyes, he nodded. “I am aware of your love for Elliot, Max.”
“I’m not—”
“Don’t lie to me. It’s unbecoming. I’ve known for some time. However…” Tracy’s demeanor shifted. Going from fury to an upturned nose and a judgmental tone. He released the letter opener and started typing on his computer.
“I will never approve of it, never. He is a fine male, but unfit for my daughter.”
“That’s not your call. You don’t even know him.”
“He’s a convict with three strikes. He served time at Alcatraz before his transition, Max. Under the watchful eye of the US government. Elliot is a gang affiliate on reserve. You’d be insane to think I’d invite him into our family with open arms.”
She’d been born in the wrong century.
Women were free to choose. Be who they wanted to be. When sexuality evolved into something they needn’t be ashamed of. When they had more to gain in life than a last name. When you existed for yourself. Max watched as women held powerful positions and made men fall to their knees. She watched as one became president of the United States. They still had a long way to go, but women were being freed from societal shackles.
They were free to be.
Except for Max.
If it wasn’t her father’s almost tyrannical hovering, it was someone else’s. She left one prison, barely escaping with her life, only to wind up in another. When the fuck was Max going to be her own person?
The answer was never.
“Maxine, we both know your choice in partners has led to ruin on several occasions. Do yourself a favor by marrying Raymond. He’s a great male with an education.”
“Fine,” Max snapped. What other option did she have? None. It was either this or leave her dad to die. And you know what? She was a punk. ‘Cause no matter what, she loved her father. Not to mention, he’d suffered enough thanks to her.
“When is all this supposed to happen?” she asked, unable to look at the man. Her head hung low, and her spine folded.
“I’m not sure. It’s up to Matthias. But you could spend this time getting to know each other.”
“Alright. Can I go now? I just need a day or two, please.”
“Sure, it’s a lot to handle, I know.”
She shot to her feet and sprinted out of the stuffy office. Her legs were mailable. Where rigid bone had been, there was putty. Max stepped into her room and collapsed onto a mountain of clothes. She heaved as a cold flush washed over her. Nothing came up, thank god, but her lungs worked overtime. Her chest pumped harder to no avail; no oxygen was to be had. The room spun, twirled, and twisted as the sound of her heart broke through everything else.
“Oh, Maxi.”
Hearing Jaya’s voice, she looked up as tears erupted from dry wells. “Momm…” she moaned, and reached for her. Maybe she crossed a line, or whatever, but Max was so god damn broken. Needing safety and someone who understood, she wanted Jaya. The woman didn’t waste a second. She joined her on the floor and wrapped Max in a nurturing embrace.
In her arms, she wanted to sleep away the bad dream, or nightmare. Max had no will to beat away a rising sadness, and Jaya gave her time. She held Max tight and rocked her as any mother would. The slow, steady motion and warmth helped to calm her down, eventually.
“I’m so sorry, Max, I tried talkin—”
“It’s not his fault.”
Lying on her lap, Max inhaled the familiar scent of fresh air and lemon. For almost a hundred years, Jaya took care of her. Tended to every diaper and bottle. She’d made Max dresses, and learned the proper way to care for 4a hair. She was there for every milestone, scrape, and complaint. Jaya had a say in Max’s life. She had every right to make her voice heard, but Tracy would never… he was stuck in the past, and unable to see this angel for who she was…
Max’s mother.
“He told me Matthias blackmailed him.”
Jaya gasped, causing Max to open sticky, heavy lids. Turning onto her back, she studied the ceiling. “It’s either this, or he’d snitch.”
“Oh, my god.” Leaning in, Jaya kissed her forehead. “I don’t even know what to say. You are in this mess because of your dad. To be honest, Maxi, I don’t know how much more I can take.”
“Don’t leave him, please. I wanted to be nosey. I wanted to do something dangerous. It’s his fault for allowing me this far, but it’s mine for ever asking.”
Her decisions never led to anywhere good. Time and time again. Grown was a relative term. Max was incapable of not fucking up, and despite being upset and crying out, she blamed no one but herself.
“I am terrified of being married again. Of being owned and rendered property. I don’t wanna be duped into hell…”
“Look at me, Max.” When she refused, Jaya forced their eye contact. “Not every man you meet is Kyle. Don’t make the mistake of putting his face on them.”
“I already have.”
Jaya shook her head and pulled Max in. Flush against her ample bosom, she cradled her like a child. “Oh, sweetheart…” she sighed. “All I ever want is for you to be happy, Maxi. And I won’t leave this family until you are.”
“You are my family, Jaya.”
“I am, and I’ll always be here for you, but your father…”
“He loves you.” Max croaked the words, and she almost started crying again, but for Jaya. It was tough to witness and took years to understand. Their stolen glances and coy smiles. The way her father cared for Jaya while keeping his distance was tragic.
Max felt so bad for her. Being in love with Tracy Bissette had only led to dinner for one. Her father’s heart was encased in glass and steel.
“I know,” Jaya murmured. “But I can’t live like this forever. Torturing myself has run its course, love.”
Max wiggled free of her warm hold and grabbed Jaya’s hands. “Every kid wants to see their parents together. I always thought it would happen. I’m so sorry.”
Jaya was an Afro-Portuguese beauty queen, of some two hundred years old. Tall and thick, she got attention from every guy on the street. Poor thing had soccer mom style and loved her Velcro sandals, but god, she was ethereal. Tracy was a stupid, stupid man.
“As my matron of honor, you’re gonna have your hands full.”
Jaya giggled with bubbling tears in her eyes. “Really?”
“Yeah, you are my Mom after all… if that’s okay with you.”
She nodded. “You’ve always been my daughter, honey. Now, we gotta do something about this outfit. That boy wants to say hello.”
Max put on a half-cocked smile and shrugged. “Maybe I’ll dye it purple and turquoise. I wanna be hideous as possible,”
Jaya laughed, and Max joined her with a hysterical cackle. Life wasn’t great, but lemons and lemonade.

Hi y’all, I hope everyone had a good Monday! Day job is kicking my ass, but I am still here. Still pushing these chapters out for y’all. And what a chapter it is. So, by now, I know you hate Tracy. I get it. He’s not my favorite person either. He’s one of those parents who are hell on earth but will also do the most for their child. Tracy is that parent. Does this excuse his behavior??? Noooo. Poor soul believes he knows best. Sad. Anyway, I felt so bad for Maxi. I wanted to slump Matthias then and there. No lie. I remember cussing his ass out while writing this scene. Whew, chile. Anyway, it’s about 11pm and I ammmmmmm sleepy. I’m gonna turn in now. As always, thank you for reading. You are a good human who makes a difference in my day-to-day.
I hope y’all have a good week and see you sooooon. Bye, loves.

Neon Red: Chapter 2

CW: Physical violence, talk of predators, grapists, PTSD, and

Two thousand square feet wasn’t a lot of ground to cover when half was locked up. Jiggling the handle on the only external entry gate, Elliot ‘Low’ Collins was good with it. This house had a weird, zoo vibe with the pool and backyard safely tucked away in a bulletproof glass case. It was some overzealous shit, but it gave him peace of mind, as always.
Traveling back the way he came, Low followed the well-laid brick path around to the front lawn and scanned. He ain’t seen nor heard a thing. As expected, rich folks never made noise after dark; they had no viable reason to be out and about. As Low crossed the driveway, he gave three garage door handles a tug. Like them jokers were finna move.
The one downside? There was no gate and nothing to keep strangers off the property; any ol’ body could run up. Maybe he’d finally talk Tracy into getting one. The man was cautious, to a fault. A two-man detail wasn’t ’bouta cut it forever. Not with how business was lookin’.
Venturing around to the porch, he nodded at Hollister.
“You good, dog?”
“Yep.”
“Want something to drink? It’s hotter than hell out here.”
He shrugged but ultimately hummed his acceptance. “A little something.”
“I gotchu, hold up.”
Low scrubbed boots and pushed into the house. Every last light was on. He wanted to sweep through the mini mansion and turn them all off. Didn’t make no damn sense, why you wanna run your bill up for no good reason. But again, rich folk. They ain’t have to worry about bills. Tracy Bisset sure in the hell didn’t, and he lived like it too, not that this was his real home. Nah, if you wanted to talk technicals, this wasn’t shit but a trap house. A packed one, though, and not like any Low ever seen.
He sighed, cleared steps, and marched down the hall. The ‘TV room’ was a dumb, smooth-brained invention. He scoffed at the frivolity. ‘Cause god forbid a seventy-inch Samsung sat in the family room where it belonged. His boss had it that good up in this bitch. Low passed both sitting areas on his way into the kitchen, which held more clean chrome and stainless steel. Kohler appliances and long, glinting counters.
“I’d never be so pretentious,” Low whispered, grabbing a 7-Up from the icebox. A brotha’s first mill was already spent, and he hadn’t even made it yet.
Low ran the can back out to Hollister, and the man gave thanks. Which was something he did often, having manners. Hollister was a down-home boy raised by good-hearted people. He was the type to wear boots and a Stetson with a three-piece suit.
As Low closed the door, Tracy jogged downstairs in a huff, per usual. He was too rich to be stressing as he did. Something else that ain’t make a lick of sense. If Low had M’s in the bank, he’d start the night smiling and singing.
“What’s up, boss?” Low asked, following Tracy down the hall and into the family room.
“They’re late, that’s what. Where—my phone— gooood damn it.”
“It’s in your pocket.” The frazzled male patted himself down, and Low threw a line. “Left pocket.”
“Ah, thank you, Elliot. Always on ten. Wonderful.”
“That’s right.”
Tracy must have been born with a scowl. The expression rarely changed, like somebody had shit in his oatmeal. He texted on a nasty, poisoned apple, plopped on the sofa, and snarled.
“They’re ten minutes out, Elliot.”
“What do we got?”
Boss man’s head snapped up. “Oh, uhm, potential buy.”
“Good, a quiet night then.”
“Yes… I’m assuming.”
Despite Tracy’s perpetual glower, he remained composed. A little disorganized, but calm, and self-righteous as hell. For a third time, rich folks… not all, but some, had an ingrained superiority complex. You garnish that fat bank account with a bit of grown male vampire, and you got a self-proclaimed king.
“Is Hollister out front?” Tracy asked.
“Yeah. But I gotta ask, where do they come from anyway?”
“Um…” His eyes bounced from wall to wall. “I’m not sure on that. They just popped up at the office.”
Low cocked a brow. “They popped, up?”
“Yes, is that a problem?”
“I mean, nah.”
Yeah, it was a problem. Low was bred not to trust a ‘pop up’ muh’fucka. In this business, however, hearsay ruled. He said, she said. Word of mouth made money, so it was hard to shake and move how he wanted. Low didn’t like leaving his paycheck wide open, and that’s what Tracy was. A payday, a good one. Solid and stable. If something happened to ol’ boy, he’d lose much-needed stacks.
Okay, Low was buggin’.
Just money, really bitch?
“I would have liked to meet them first, Tracy. You know me.”
Mr. Bisset sighed and focused on his phone. “I know, I knoooww. My apologies. They threw dollar signs at me. I heard a cash machine.”
Greed for the green made people do crazy shit, and they were both here to make cream. Tracy was running rotten red meat, as in predatory humans for profit, and Low worked for him. They only snatched sex offenders, the ones that hurt kids and rapists. The worst of humanity and vampire kind deserved whatever hell they were given. It was illegal as fuck, but didn’t nobody miss their trash.
The cost of getting bread was high in the U S of A. This gig was more honest than his last, but shadier than most occupations.
Low listed against the divider and slipped a hand between the flaps of his leather jacket. A loaded .45 offered an extra dose of peace.
Formal living rooms seemed like a waste, cause they were made to look cute. Back in the day, folks called it a parlor or drawing room. He never understood it. This was just as ridiculous, two couches and throw pillows. Nothing else in the space. So the high walls swallowed them whole. Low preferred personality over style. Warm tones and single-story. All those damn stairs wore him out.
It was a stark contrast to Tracy’s real joint in Miami. His lofty crib had class and old-world elegance. Mahogany, glossy floors, and aged brass. Low liked it more than this sterile, hardly lived-in box that smelled of paint and sawdust.
Despicable.
Dollars to cents, somebody else decorated the house. Ain’t no way Tracy did it. Homeboy wore suspenders and penny loafers. He fit in perfectly with the other spot.
“Statues creep me out, Elliot, as you know. And you are in statue mode.”
Low cut to Tracy as he slid his phone back home, in the left pocket. “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean. When you don’t move and go stealth. I’d forget you were there if I didn’t catch your scent.”
“Sounds like I’m excelling at my job.”
“You always do,” Tracy affirmed with a curt nod. “Which is why you’ll be my private guard for quite some time.”
Like fuck, Low thought.
Working for someone else ‘til his deff date was not the plan. Hell nah. He wanted his own business, to be his own boss. He’d had enough of this shit. ENOUGH! However, to get where he was going, bruh needed capital. And he wasn’t finna ask no bank either. Loans were a trap, a blatant lick for poors like him.
“Have you thought about what I said?” Low asked, quickly changing the subject.
“Yeah, but I don’t think I need three guards.” Tracy slouched into the cushions and sighed. “I’m not doing big things over here.”
“To hell you ain’t. Think of it as a precaution. Better to have…”
“Yada yada. Yeah, I know.”
“Well.” Low shrugged just as Hollister entered with three trailing.
Shoving off the wood, Low stopped them with a hand and jumped the steps. “Did you pat ‘em down?”
“Yes, sir.”
“My goodness, Elliot.”
Low ignored Tracy’s lack of caution and checked each man in the face. One smiled and snorted.
“We got no weapons so…”
Sniffing their guests, Low clocked a bunch of shit, but no aggression. If their scents got buck, then it was on sight.
“Go ‘head.”
Moving aside allowed the group to pass. All three were vampires; halfbreeds. Light work, plus one was short and stocky.
“Hello.” Tracy extended a palm, and they shook on it like friendlies. “It’s nice to meet you. Please have a seat. Uh, Lester, right>”
“Yeah, good memory. This is my brother, Miles, and our associate. Emerson.”
Low stood with Hollister, blocking the exit. He didn’t like it. No aggression in the air meant nothing, truthfully. Snakes were always in the grass, and this, Lester, ‘popped up’ at the office. First of all, how did he know where to find Tracy?
See, given the type of man Low was, he questioned any and everything in these streets. Cats like Mr. Bisset was game, goofy, and wouldn’t make it ten hours on the block. Differentiating a narc or an opp from a civilian wasn’t a skill Tracy possessed, off tops.
He’d never spot a shiesty scammer grinning in his face. Even more, Tracy wasn’t about to keep his ears and eyes open. But luckily, Low had the game on lock, and Hollister was a military vet.
Two seconds later, Tracy would have been brain-dead.
Their Cowboy lunged for the twenty-eight, and Low collided with a vampire that barreled through the front door. He wielded a bayonet and slashed the air until burying cold iron in Low’s shoulder.
“Ahhhh!” That pissed him off. Receding into himself, Low shoveled deep and exhumed a fighter. A big bitch who used his fists as lethal weapons.
Low pulled back, cracked the opp in his jaw with a right hook, and the bastard blacked out. Neck snapped, and eyes rolled. He shoulda have yelled timber with how the barbarian kissed tile. Low sprinted for the living room and was shocked.
“God damn boy.”
Hollister loomed over his work and steamed. “The hostiles been put down, sir.”
“You bleeding, big dog.” Low pointed at the man’s thigh,
He laughed, brows arched. “Hot damn, I am. But so are you.”
Right, the knife.
A familiar burn sliced through bone and sinew as Low ripped the blade free. “Beautiful. I’ma keep this for my trouble.”
Tracy peeked from behind the couch and studied the display. “Three bodyguards would be efficient.”
“Oh, now you want three, huh?”
“It wouldn’t hurt.” He chuckled and swallowed. “I don’t see why not.”
Low scoffed, “Come on, Tracy. Let’s get you home. This was a bust.”
“Obviously,” their boss mumbled begrudgingly, rising to his feet. “And, I’m offended. What do you think they wanted?”
“Money, sir.”
Low aimed the sharp steel down at Hollister, who slapped cuffs on the assailants. “Exactly. This was a quick hit.”
“A what?”
“They were going to rob you, Tracy.”
The man’s lids peeled. “As in my money?”
“Yeah.”
Tracy mounted his hands on his hips and said, “I don’t keep cash here.”
“They don’t know that.”
The rebuttal confused his boss, and Low couldn’t deny how dumb this man was. Not academically, of course, being an intellectual or whatever.
Tracy graduated top of his class in 2000 with a modest MBA. It took him places in this generation, but he had soooo much to learn about the world.
Damn shame he was pushing three-hundred. It was also crazy to think they were around the same age. Low wasn’t far behind at… maybe two-seventy-five? Two-sixty? Two-fifty-five? He lost count some years ago. It didn’t matter no way.
“Assholes, trying to rob me. Shows you right.” Tracy kicked the slumped soldier and damn near fell.
Pathetic sight for a vampire.
“Get your stuff, Tracy. I need a patch-up. And don’t worry about them. I’ll take care of it.”
“Are you certain, Elliot?”
“Yeah, I got it.”
“Yes. As always. Good man, good man.” In passing, Tracy slapped his shoulder, making Low growl.
“Oh shit, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s all good. I’ve had worse.”
“My god, are you serious?”
“Yeah, I’ll tell you all about it in the car, go—”
“My stuff, I know.”
He sprinted off while Hollister bound his ankles with a ripcord.
“Where you be keeping all that shit?”
“Under my hat, sir.”
“Makes sense.” Low snickered and said, “Aight, so you stay here and Imma take him home. I’ll be back to assist with clean-up. Don’t go nowhere, and I mean, don’t even open the door.”
Hollister stood and gave a tight nod. “Yes, sir.”
“It’s been like six months, you ever gonna stop calling me sir?”
“No, sir. You’re my superior. It’s in my blood. I was in the military for forty years, sir.”
“Forty years? Wow. I did not know that. It wasn’t on your resume.”
Hollister’s eyes fell to the sleepers. “You put stuff like that in there, and folks think you done lost your wits. I got my PTSD under control.” His gaze lifted, and lips thinned. “Don’t you worry, sir.”
“Don’t trip, boy, we all got PTSD from something. We both been in the trenches. Mines was just on home soil.”

The Beasts of Saint Nell: An Excerpt

Kenny

I didn’t think much was gonna come from this year’s growth. Not with them skunks and demonic hoppers fucking with my garden. I assumed the worst, but thank the River Gods I was wrong. Digging up another perfect hillberry, my heart swelled. Folks loved Bilo’s berry pies, and that Hill Time special was one of our best sellers.
After loading another basket, I scooted on over and surveyed my beans. They were perfect for picking. I snatched them too. It’d be another week or so for squash, but them peppers were ready.
With gloved hands, I gently twisted, plucked, and pulled. Halfway through harvesting my yams, a howl echoed into the night. It came from the woods, beyond the clearing. On a slow rise, I watched the treeline sway in the early autumn breeze.
A second desperate wail startled me into motion. Not giving it much thought, I vaulted over the fence and ran for it. The wounded beast was in need of assistance. Something in my gut said go, so I went. Wasn’t no time to backtrack the moment I crossed that line.
The Wallow Wood wasn’t for the faint of heart. A lot of foul shit went on out here. Hell, I was a somebody once who quite possibly dumped other somebodies in a marsh few miles west. Mere feet from the commotion, I lifted my nose and scented dogs.
Hellhounds. Two males. One Female.
The thought urged me forward. I cleared stumps and booked it. I wasn’t no youngin’ but a motha fucka still moved.
Spotting the group, I waved a glowing hand and tossed one of two hounds across the woods. The other got buck, released the female’s hind leg, and growled. Most hellhounds were male, which made females rare in these parts. Nine outta ten, they’d attack a lone female from any species.
They were tussling over this one and her pups, hiding in their pouch. I smelled them too.
As I rolled up my sleeves, the giant canine with its barbed tail, flaming eyes, and venomous bite charged.
Palms high, I blasted the beast with red, crackling energy. Both strikes stopped the dark devil dead and sent them flying into the nearest tree.
They sizzled and smoked on the way down, which meant the bastard wasn’t getting up. Hellhounds weren’t like domestics. They hated anything with a pulse and only answered to demons. Even field wolves and lycans feared them.
The female was a Drear Fox. Large, with a thick onyx coat, massive paws the size of my head, and gold stripes. She was a special sort and sturdy. Built to rumble and kill.
“What you doin’ all the way out here, girl?” I inched closer and crouched. Bleeding profusely, she was on guard. Head down, Mama was prepared to fight yet again. My respect for the shifter mounted. “You got heart, I give you that.”
She snapped and snarled, hackles raised. I surrendered, palms high. It was dark, but she had perfect night vision.
“I ain’t gon’ hurt y’all. As you can see, I got rid of your problem.”
The moment I extended a hand, she nearly took it. Molten gold eyes trained on me, she retreated.
“If you need help, I’m right across the way in that red house. Free room, hot water, and food.”
A master in her element, she’d become a shadow and blended well.. When able, I backtracked and took my ass back home. Five paces and I smiled, facing The Wallows. There she was, couple steps behind but wary.
“Smart, you got them babies to think about.” Lowering her head, the fox growled. “I know when to take a hint.”
With Mama on my tail, I made way towards the house and left the gate open. I didn’t pay her mind but made it clear I wanted to help.
After filling two bowls, one with water and the other with leftover beef pot roast, I set it on the back porch and closed the door.

Frankie

My hind leg screamed over my babies whimpering. They were scared and hungry as I was. We’d been traveling since dawn and running on fumes. Stopping wasn’t an option til we reached Saint Nell. We were close, I knew that much. If not for the hellhounds, I would’ve made it.
They scented me quick and wanted my hide.
The babes wiggled in their pouch, making me slump. Eloise was the first to slip free, my curious girl. She bounded for the bowl of meat and attacked it. I lagged and felt bad for not sniffing the helpings first. The man mighta poisoned it, I didn’t know. Perhaps he’d like himself a new fur.
I gruffed and nudged Eloise with my snout. She growled and snapped at my nose. I forced her back and examined the helpings. Fatty beef, butter, herbs, and wine. It smelled delicious and arsenic-free.
When satisfied, I allowed Ellie to eat her fill and sat on my haunches, avoiding the bad leg. With little miss chomping, Earnest watched and waited. He was more cautious and observant. After Eloise yapped at him, Earnest crawled from the pouch.
As my babes filled their tiny bellies, I remained on lookout. The pain had spoiled my appetite and need for nourishment. Though if I didn’t eat soon, my children wouldn’t have much milk to calm them. At nine months, they were still on the breast and fed three times a day, but my supply was dwindling. We were down to an ounce a day and that wasn’t good for their shifter needs.
Hunger, thirst, and agony caused me to pant. Though apprehensive, I joined my children anyway.
That first drink of fresh water was heaven-sent. Without the rains, we’d have died due to dehydration. Every beast and shifter knew marsh water was toxic, unsafe.
Rot and waste had become a sediment. Bodies were dropped and left to decompose. The stench was unbearable and indescribable.
The bit of beef left was marbled with fat and iron. I savored each nibble and instantly wanted more. My kids had polished off most of it, which was fine, but I was ravenous for another helping.
The last thing I wanted to do was scratch and paw at this unknown magic man’s door. He was a stranger, and I didn’t trust anyone at the moment, but he had come to our aid.
He killed them hounds without hesitation and offered us shelter. I snuffled and limped on over to the door.
My babies nipped at each other and pranced in the garden, Ellie stomping all on the cabbage. Before they made a mess, I snarled and yapped, calling them over. They hustled into their pouch. The added weight put pressure on my wound. The stabbing sensation damn near toppled me as I scratched at the back door.
At this point, I didn’t give a shit if he was a stranger.
We needed help and somewhere warm to rest for the night. Weary to the bone, I had no fight left and was prepared to beg. Using both paws, I raked at the paint and howled like any fox shifter. Shrill and loud, it got his attention.
The door swung open and I dropped my front paws, stepping back to assess. Smokestack Lightening and sweet tobacco escaped into the night as he stood, filling the doorway.
He was a giant, but I couldn’t find him intimidating, even as he peered down at me. Amusement glinted in his topaz stare.
“Too smart,” he drawled. “Get on in here.”
When he side-stepped, I crept forward, sniffing for danger. Rich spices, floral notes, and lush plant life delighted my senses. The oxygen within his home was clean, free of city stink. No groundwater or rat piss around here.
Not only did it smell nice, but the furnishings were fine. Dolled up and expensive. They’d put money into this house. Wood paneling and fluffy rugs said so.
I wanted to bathe before touching anything else. My paws were filthy, claws caked with dirt and blood. No doubt my coat was matted. Them fleas picked at my twitching ears something awful.
“I suppose you ain’t got no clothes or a toothbrush?”
In this form, I hadn’t the ability to speak but gruffed anyhow.
“It’s okay, we have extras.”
The magic man went about his business, and I followed, of course. Like a lost puppy dog. My leg protested with each and every step.
With his home being so spacious, it took too long to reach the spare room.
“Here you go.” Mister listed against the jamb and pulled from a slim cigar. On a rough exhale, he said, “Go ahead, I won’t bother you. There’s a lock on the door, by the way. Give you peace of mind. There might be a gown or two in that dresser. Toiletries and such are in the bathroom. If you want me to patch up that leg, I’ll be close by.”
He didn’t linger and shut the door. Ellie was the first to pop out and go sniffing about. She was adorable with a glossy red coat, white stripes, and ears dipped in ink. She was older by two minutes, which was why Earnest always let her lead.
As I lay on my good side, Ellie babbled in baby Drear fox fashion and forced her brother out. He peeked before waddling free.
They were joyful balls of excitement in a safe space. Children were resilient, bouncing and roughhousing like the world wasn’t crumbling around them.
If not for my leg and their dirty coats, I’d never shift down. No matter how helpful he was, I was terrified he’d hurt us. My fox form was larger, stronger than my fragile human body. My other half was easily bested, scarred, and misused.
It’d take nothing for a mammoth like him to knock me out. Despite my worries, this leg wasn’t gon’ heal itself. Unlike most supernaturals, shifters didn’t have magical healing abilities.
On a sawing breath, I forced myself to stand on all fours. The pain had me seeing stars and spots. My babies ran circles around me as I focused on blooming.
Shifting was different for everyone. I thought of it as a night blooming jasmine awakening from its sunny slumber.
A icy chill flushed through my veins as I stammered on two feet. I caught myself before falling face-first.
“Yeah,” I rasped, working vocal cords for the first time in five days. “This hurts a lot worse now.”
The kids tussled and yipped, playing on a clean rug. “Y’all are making a mess.” Mud and bugs speckled the spotless fibers. “Get over here.” I snapped my fingers, and they bounded behind me. “He’s being nice enough to let us stay the night. We’re leaving at sunrise.”
Wobbling a few feet to the washroom turned into a ten-mile hike with my throbbing leg.
“Thank the gods.” The tub was deep, claw-footed, and matched the sea foam theme. “You two first. Let’s go.”
Ellie barked, catching an attitude.
“Baby, Mommy can’t chase you tonight. Please be good.”
Her ears flattened in defiance.
“Earnest?” He pawed at my shin and hopped. “My water baby.”
With the leg going numb, I rushed through our baths. Bubbles did it for Ellie. She wanted to play and swim with Earnest as the mound of white fluff grew. By the time I finished scrubbing the babies, I was too tired to wash my ass.
The thought of it made me cuss, but it’d have been rude not to. Plus, I couldn’t get in bed smelling like outside and must.
While the twins settled on the bed, I turned on the small clock radio. They loved jazz, and it often lulled them to sleep.
“My turn,” I whispered, pulling a pink gown from the drawer. It was too small and thinner than a dinner napkin. “You don’t have any other choice, Frankie.”
Shaking my head, I hobbled into the bathroom and vowed not to fall asleep in the tub.

This historical paranormal romance takes place in the fictional city of Saint Nell, Illinois, from 1958 to 1963. The setting is about two hours South of Chicago and where most supernatural call home.
Vampires, witches, and shifters live among humans, and not in secret. Their existence is well known and normal.
The Beasts of Saint Nell, is a story rooted in trust, justice, true love, and perhaps, redemption.
Come along with me as we explore these themes through the eyes of a reformed vampire gangster, a powerful shifter, and a hardy warlock.


Coming August 2026