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

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

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