Chapter 20: Twice Shy

Unbelievable. How had she folded so quickly? Jasper was celibate and didn’t want to fuck anyone. Hand jobs don’t count! They didn’t count in her world, so this was fine. She was okay with what had transpired, but her heart said otherwise. Her anxiety, fear, and hesitations called her bluff. Jasper was a liar and a coward.
Popping upward, Jasper peered into Nieema’s lustrous carmine eyes and shook her head. “I have to go.”
And she left, in a puff of gold smoke. This was the quickest mode of transportation for a demon, though not her favorite. With a flick of the mind, Jasper could go anywhere she’d already been in seconds. Buuuut, she didn’t travel that way often because her stomach hated the motion and magic. Despite being born with the ability, her body wasn’t built for it. Moments after transporting, Jasper was irrefutably fucked.
The short journey was unkind, rough, and always sent her straight to the god damn lavatory. Her guts were too sensitive for the trip, and with everything else, she was in shambles.
Jasper popped up in her cabin, on the pot, and stayed there for a torturous thirty-five minutes. Every so often, Kit’s terrifying demon cat shoved its furry paw under the door. Their claws were menacing and creeped her out. After what seemed like an eternity, Jasper flushed, washed hands, and even showered.
She needed to recalibrate and refocus to get sex off her mind. Lust and sexual gratification gave Succubi purpose and essentially made them happier. Jasper loathed the peace and joy riding her bones. She was elated, energized, and ready to dance under a harvest moon for hours.
Why were they meant for pleasure? Her only real sustenance was an orgasmic release, sexual energy, and a thick masculine soul. Without sampling at least one of those things, she’d die. Could she ever truly be celibate? No. And she’d never really, actually been that. According to the Internet, she was abstinent. Buuuut, she fucking tried. Nieema’s fingers had been the only thing inside Jasper after months of nothing. And gods, did it feel amazing. She wanted more, but it’d be a mistake on her part to carry on down that road. They were a royal couple, and Jasper couldn’t go there. No matter how desirable the Sunsides were.
Being a celibate Succubus was hard as fuck at the moment, but it was better than getting married off and showcased like a doll. She cursed her mother’s strong genes and traits every fucking day. Carrion spread his seed about without shame. He sampled every pussy and hole Undervell offered. Succubi were his favorite, however. They were everyone’s favorite.
Jasper could’ve been half Leer demon like her sister; they were common brimstone types with normal sexual appetites. They weren’t highly sought-after commodities. Comely but not stunning.
Because Succubi conceived when they wanted and how, their population was small. The last time Jasper checked, there were eighty-four living Succubi left in Undervell. The High Mother protected most of them because of their numbers and how gross demonic males were around them.
“Uggggh!” Jasper roared as her body hummed with desire. She’d be frustrated for a few days and needed to keep busy. After moisturizing with citrus-scented body oil, she donned a pair of boxers and a tank top. Jasper wasn’t in the mood for night gowns or robes. “I need games and food.”
She trekked into the kitchen and grabbed whatever. Sparkling water, muffins, and hot chips. It’d be good enough for now. On the turnaround, she jumped and growled at the ugly cat.
“Shoo!” It hissed, tail flicking with their ass on the counter. “Get off! That’s disgusting.” Jasper went to shove the beast, and it scratched her. “Ow! You shit! Move or so help me—thank god,” she exclaimed as Kit waltzed through the door. “Please get your asshole cat off the kitchen counter.“
“Yoooooou wretched thing!” Kit slammed his satchel and notebook on the island and chased the cat away. “I have told you, Julep! No felines in the kitchen. Gods. He is by far the most stubborn soul I have ever encountered. How are you, sister mine? How was your night?”
“Well, not great to be honest.”
“Pardon? What’s the matter?” Kit opened the fridge and snapped his head around. “Did someone slight you? Touch you without consent?”
Eyes sharp and sparking with fury, he was a sight. Her heart warmed and swelled as her big brother threatened harm to anyone who had hurt her. It kind of made Jasper rethink her silence on the Trevor matter. Maybe he deserved to suffer and shit, if anyone could do the job, it was Kit.
“No, no nothing like that.” Jasper sighed, dropped her goodies on the counter, and snatched up a muffin. She tore open the plastic and bit into it. She didn’t know what to say without divulging too much information. So, she went with the obvious. “I went to look at my house for some construction stuff and got attacked by tiny rock-eating fairies. They messed me up pretty bad, thank Undergods we heal fast. I mean, they were tiny but quick. Also, like half of my roof caved in. The whole house is shit, and it’s ruining my mood.”
Kit tsked and rummaged in the fridge. “Gods, you’ve had a bad go of it. I think your house is cursed.”
“Me too.”
“Who sold it to you anyway?” Kit asked, slipping into his apron. “What piece of shit had the audacity? It is abundantly clear that the home was inhabitable. Whomsoever sold it to you knew this. What was their name?”
“Hawke, uhhhh Nathan Hawke. He was the real estate agent.”
“Hmmmm.” Kit got that look. The flaying look. The expression he took on moments before someone saw their end. “I’ll talk to Joe about this matter tomorrow.”
“Joe?”
“Yes, he’s Nieema and Buck’s great-grandson.”
While Kit busied himself in the kitchen, opening his giant cookbook and gathering ingredients, Jasper jumped up onto the island. She polished off the muffin and grabbed another.
“The young man is chatty and knowledgeable. He’s snappy but a complete goof. Not someone I’d fraternize with in Undervell, but pleasant company. And, he’s also the Sheriff.”
Jasper recalled Buck saying something about this. “Sheriff, huh?”
“Mhm.” Kit nodded as he cracked open large brown eggs over a big bowl. “Yes. He’s allowing me to accompany him on a ride-along tomorrow.”
“What the hell is a ride a long?”
“It’s when a civilian rides with the Sheriff in their motorized vehicle for the day. And possibly, we’ll dispatch a bit of law and order. The Platter boys have been running amok, don’t you know. Thieves are about, sister. Stay vigilant and watch your gourd.”
Jasper cackled, feet swinging. The thought of somebody stealing squash in this town was funny but Kit didn’t think so. His scowl shut me up.
“This is no laughing matter. Mr. Carol has worked hard to grow just enough pumpkins for this year’s festivals. He can’t afford to lose anymore. It’d be a travesty.”
Jasper chuckled despite his grumbling. “How do you know more about this place than I do?”
“Because you, Jasper, are a solitary creature. You’re not curious about others, and you don’t like people. You’d rather stay locked in your chambers with bits and baubles. You’ve always been this way and don’t think you’ve changed much. Are you less than for preferring your own company? No. I think, it’d be good for you to explore Indigo Plains. Especially if you intend on calling it home.”
“I am curious. I like to try new things and go places. I went bowling today, thank you very much.”
“Good for you! Say, how about you and I visit Maggie in a few days?”
“The witch?”
“Indeed. How do you know about her?”
“Buck mentioned her.”
“She makes fine cakes.” Kit lifted his chin and folded hands atop his belly. “Yeees, that is my reason for scheduling another visit. What a delectable bite. You’ll see. Oh, after that, we can go into town and buy more wares.”
“With my money?”
“Yes.”
Kit spun around, turned on the radio, and fussed with it until finding classical music. That was her cue to leave. Jasper slid off the counter and snatched her loot.
“Same goes for you, Jasper. Keep your rump off of my counters!”
“What are you making?”
“A common quiche.”
“I don’t know what the fuck that is, but call me when it’s done.”
“Will do.”
Kicking her door shut, Jasper mulled over what her brother said. He was right, she was a loner, and so the fuck what? She didn’t want to be bothered, and the best way to make that happen was to be by herself.
Jasper ignored the ache at the base of her tail and threw snacks on her bed. She’d had it coiled around her thigh all day. It often had a mind of its own, but she was the boss. Over the years, she’d become self-conscious about it, thanks to who? Trevor Fucking Voaremont. He, didn’t like her tail. Said it was weird and trashy to leave out in public.
“Leave me alone,” she muttered, plugging in her laptop. Settling on her bed, Jasper placed her computer on a tray, donned her headset, and booted up Streamer for the first time in weeks. After finding a cheap game to download, she popped open her chips. He hated eating in bed, hated her eating junk food, and hated the way she crunched so loudly. “Go to hell, Trevor Voarmont.”

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.”

Neon Red: Chapter One

“Okay, but caffeine is a controlled substance at this point, teetering on the edge. Let’s be for real. It should be just as, if not harder to get, ‘cause it’s strong as hell, I ain’t lying now, and you know this chile.”
Max stared at the sketch she’d been working on for two days and hated it. She hated a lot of her work. It was never bright enough, perfect enough, or even slightly artistic. At least, in her humble opinion.
“I love it when you talk like a grandma.”
Max smiled and put pencil to paper once more. It was tough to concentrate on the mermaid slash steampunk piece with Can’t Stop by After 7 blasting.
“That’s ‘cause I am, a grandma, Ndari.”
“No the hell you are not.” She chuckled and said, “You’d have to be a grandmother for that. And you don’t even have kids.”
“Annnnd I never will,” Max sang, meaning every word. Kids were a scary, sticky fingered bunch, plus the idea of growing another body inside of her own was revolting. She shivered, blew a huge Bubblicious sphere, popped it, and examined the girl’s face etched on white parchment.
“She looks like Gary Busey.”
“You always think they look like Gary Busey.”
“’Cause they do, bruh. Like, swear to god. Look!” Spinning the heavy book around on the glass counter, she shoved it at Ndari. The girl stopped with her broom work and glanced at the buxom mermaid.
“Nothing like him.”
“Lyin’ ass,” Max muttered.
Ndari giggled and returned to sweeping the two- hundred-square-foot waiting area. A high-gloss black floor meant everything was visible, and Ndari never missed a speck. Little miss was a bona fide neat freak. She peeped allllll dust, dirt, and debris.
The girl swept about twenty times a night, and the entire shop smelled like Lysol. Which, was actually a good thing considering their specialty.
Snagging her three-hundred-page drawing book, Max got back to business and shaded in her tail. The fins were adorned with bolts and wires. She loved mermaids, sirens, and the ocean. The mermaid thing was borderline obsessive.
“I have no appointments!”
“And here he goes…”
Max slammed her book closed, threw the pencil, and watched as Jordan stomped from the back and fell onto a fancy sectional.
“And whose fault is that?” Ndari barked.
His enormous frame filled a five-seater without issue. The six-foot-eight, two hundred and ninety-pound mountains Doc Martens stretched well past the arm.
“Shut up bitch, I am boooored, okay,” Jordan cried, while Max cocked a brow.
“Seeing as it’s June 3rd,” Max said, “you are ‘bouta be crying in two weeks. ‘Cause our shop will be booked to hell. So look here heffa, don’t come hooping and hollering now. Take this time, ‘cause yo lazy behind will be the first one moaning about how you’re tired and overworked.”
The man bolted upright and gasped, full on drama with a hand on his broad chest. “Why do you have to drag me like that, honey?”
“’Cause I love you,” Max chimed.
Jordan blushed and waved a hand. “And I love you, boss lady.”
“Move!” Ndari yelled, shoving at his foot with the broom.
“You know what? You can stop yelling at me, Cinderella.”
They both giggled while Jordan lifted his feet. Big mister had a voice like Barry White, a beard he kept braided Thor style, and perfectly tailored. Folks often assumed he was in a biker gang or a motorcycle club, whatever they was calling it these days.
“Can we play something newer?” Ndari groaned as she sprayed large, spotless windows with stank glass cleaner. “Like, Nsync.”
“Nsync?!” Max balked, recoiling at the audacity. “You know better Ndari, this ain’t an Nsync safe zone. It’s New Kids on the Block, or Backstreet Boys. Mint Condition and shit. Nsync is not welcome, and that ain’t news. You showing your age, now.”
Ndari cackled as she swiped and polished. “I am only forty-nine.”
“Girl, we got cougars up in here.”
Max ignored Jordan and his eighty-two-year-old ass. Pointing at her best friend, Max snorted. “Honey, forty-nine is edging fifty; you are almost a senior citizen.”
“Shhhh, don’t.” Ndari snickered and threw a paper towel across the room. It landed on the floor, she ran for the thing, and snatched it quick. “If any of you drop even a crumb my floor, you’ll have to see me in a duel.”
Of course, there was a clatter of metal on granite. Jordan emptied his pockets. He threw a handful of change and mints at the girl’s feet. Ndari screamed, jumped on his dumb self, and put him in a choke hold. She’d taken four years of Jujitsu and was not to be trifled with. Jordan, on the other hand, ain’t never been in a fight.
Standing behind the counter, Max booted the POS and clicked until finding their ordering database. She checked what was low and restocked, two of everything.
“Incoming!” Jordan shouted and hopped to it. Ndari went with him and hung from his neck like a pendant. “I’m ready! Move girl. I need to make some money.”
“Yes, you do.” Max peered through tinted double panes as two men approached in a hurry. They looked stacked from afar. “Damn.”
Ndari dropped the broom and ran behind the counter. She tended to her job, as a receptionist. Max slid in and leaned beside the woman who readied her tits and fluffed a cute pixie cut. It shooolll was a setup.
Heavy spice and blood wafted at the exact moment two fine men entered her tattoo shop. Ohhhh, yeah, those two would turn a girl out and into something nasty.
“Hay, you takin’ walk-ins?” The brunette asked, in a Goodfellas accent.
Ndari nodded. “Indeed, you lucked out. We don’t close ‘til four.”
The testosterone-heavy boys admired their high wall covered in art and drawings Max personally sketched. People liked her shit… ‘shit’ being the main word there.
“Cool, ‘cause we stopped on South Beach, at The Tatt-”
Max snapped her fingers, cutting off the insult. “We don’t say that name around here.” She smiled, showed and teeth ‘cause them was vampires staring at her.
“Oh, my fault.” That one was naughty as eyes found both sets of cleavage. Sex sells, okay. They’d booked so many clients after a glimpse of tiddie meat. “Anyway, they were closed, so we asked around. We were told, Ink In Hell was the next best thing.”
“I should turn you away for that, Paulie.” Max tsked playfully as the big ol’ hunk of muscle smirked. Those baby blues sparkled as she swung attention to his buddy. A spicy red he was. Taller too, six-five, maybe six. Wide, thick, and tatttted.
She clocked a couple of clovers weaved into ornate markings on his forearms. He was obviously Irish. As if his brazen, long mane wasn’t enough evidence.
Red nudged Gotti and whispered in his ear. They cracked in heavy masculine laughter. “Alright, alright. I don’t know what I want. Fuck outta he’.”
Jesus, he was a bold cliché.
“So, what do you two have in mind?” Ndari asked, in her ‘tryna fuck’ voice. “We have plenty of options.”
“I don’t know.” The Italian Job shrugged and went on. “I never even had a tattoo before. I’m old school, body is a temple, and all that. You know. I was raised Catholic. My Gma is gonna have a stroke if she finds out.”
Big Red turned and pinned eyes on Max. She wiggled a little. He was fine. Like, handsome in the extreme. A full-grown ass male like that was not going to bark up her tree.
Then he spoke.
“I’m hoping to pop his ink cherry.” Sex, his voice was a lengthy four rounds of deep and sweaty.
Max laughed and slapped the counter. “’Nough said, come here, church boy.” She gestured for their company and snagged another full sketchbook. Good lawd, they smelled nice. Cologne, aftershave, weed, and soap…male vampire. The latter got her carpet wet, honey.
“Okay, so you’re Catholic and Italian.”
“How’d you know, I—”
“Lucky guess, it’s your sense of humor.”
He grinned and tapped his buddy’s chest. “Look at this youngsta here. She got a mouth, don’t she?”
“I am ninety-eight years old, Frankie.”
“Aye, Frankie is my cousin, I’m Ines.”
Her brows popped. “Wow, not what I assumed at all.”
“Yeah,” Ndari hummed, considering Ines. “Thought you more of a… Giraldo, maybe.”
“That’s terrible, I’d slit my own jugular.”
Their quad chuckled as Jordan appeared and cleared his throat. “I’m ready when… ever. Hi…” He waved at Ines and…
“What about you? What’s your handle?” Max asked the handsome fellow. He dragged a low-lidded gaze over and smirked. Like a nasty Sphinx.
“Jaxon.”
“Ohhhh, kaaaayyy.” Jordan chimed in from behind and did everything to shove his big ass between them. Max brushed the wall and giggled. “That’s rustic and rugged.”
“I think it’s classy, my mom has good taste.”
“She does.” Jordan nodded and twiddled his braid.
“Okay, back to you, Ines.” Max pushed at her cock blocker… that was funny. No way in hell. “You’re Italian, catholic, and have a grandmother. So, I’d say, medium-sized, and nothing too flashy.”
“Yeah, yeah, exactly.”
Max chewed quickly and blew a bubble. She flipped plastic pages with vamp speed and stopped on an Italian flag number. The words, ‘Chaoi bella’ in cursive, were etched under it.
“Dai nemici mi guardo io, dagli amici mi guardi Iddio! I will protect myself from my enemies, may God protect me, from my friends.”
Max recited the words, and Ines tapped Jaxon again.
“You know Italian?”
“I do.”
“Il tuo un breve asno intelligente.”
“You are right on both accounts, I am short, and I am a smart ass.” Max shrugged and sighed. “Thanks for noticing.”
Another bubble emerged and exploded while he cackled.
“I like it, I wanna get that one. My Gma will approve, and it’s not so big.”
“Perfect,” Ndari said. She started the formalities of payment and such. “Have you fed within eight hours?”
“No.”
“Okay, great.”
“Alllrighty.” Jordan had to say something. “When you are done, Ndari will bring you into my office.”
The male spun on his heels, happy as hell. And so was Max, this guy was their third customer of the night. Summer was a pain in the ass. They had roughly five hours to work with, and humans weren’t allowed…sort of, so they were short on time.
Max watched them exchange money for services, and hot damn. They were a duo made for GQ or Vogue. Ines had a rough quality, handsome and dark, tanned. His other half was pretty, runway-ready, and fuckin’ seductive.
Being escorted, neither took a second look, and yeah… story of her life. Males like that never gave Max the time of day.
Ndari shuffled back in her Crocs and met Max face to face. “I am sweating… everywhere.”
“Shhhhh.” Max grabbed the girl’s hand, her vape, and ran out the door. They giggled into the night and flopped down at one of the small bistro tables. “I cannnot,” She blurted. “Honey, I—two?”
As Max turned on her pen, Ndari squealed. “Two purebloods at once. My god, did you see Ines and those shoulders? I swoon.”
“Okay, but that ginger boy?”
“Makes you think, does everything match the drapes. You should shoot.”
Max chuckled, expelling a light mist of smoke. “I know you fukin’ lyin’. Big boys like him do not fool with women like me, a lowly halfbreed. I know my lane, ‘aight. And I stay in it.”
Her best friend knew nothing about living as a six, seven on a good night. Ndari was fabulous, a classic beauty queen from Indonesia. Lithe and athletic. By no means did Max hate herself, but she preferred to call a spade, a spade.
“Not this again,” Ndari mumbled. “You’re always so humble… and self-deprecating.”
“I am not self-deprecating.” Max paused to suck down cherry-scented smoke and spoke on exhale. “I’m a realist, I ain’t ‘bouta set myself up for humiliation.”
She wasn’t no dummy and wouldn’t play the town fool either.
“Tuhuh, not I. Aye, did you see how high he was?”
“Yeesss.” Ndari slouched in her chair. “Mr. Jaxon was baked. Flying.”
“Must be nice. Weed makes me nervous.” Hitting the pen one mo’ gain, Max nodded. “Give me a bottle of brandy, and I’m straight.”
“Old ass. You sound like my aunt.”
“I am an auntie, hell. Got on cotton briefs to prove it.”
Her girl cut up, and they cackled at the self-burning. But hey, at least she wasn’t delusional about her geriatric status.

Annnd we made it to publishing day! I know it’s late, but I didn’t give a set time for a reason, because I know me. Also, I wanna let y’all know that this almost didn’t happen. I almost made a post stating how I was too sick to edit it. But you know what? I pushed through this flu I got. It’s bad y’all. About six days of hellll on earth, you hear me? Anyway, I said fuck it. No excuses. So I got my lap desk and did what needed to be done. I figured I’d have days to do all this, but I was extremely unwell there for a spell and couldn’t even sit upright. I am now on the mend and felt good enough to get it done FOR Y’ALL. I set a date and I wanted to stick to that. I wanted to prove it to myself that I could do it, no matter what. I’m proud of myself and I’m excited that y’all get meet the Chaotic Trio, as I have called them for a few years. With that said, happy reading, and as always, thank you so very much for stopping by!

What To Expect From Patchwork and Pitchforks

Set in the fictional town of Indigo Plains, Patchwork and Pitchforks is a paranormal romance serial with splashes of adventure, horror, and mystery. The main couple and cast will encounter strange happenings in the rural town. Magic and mayhem will ensue but just know, romance is the plot. Please do not misunderstand, I write romance. Kissyface and smashing will be the bread and butter of my stories. I love love, intimacy and smut. You will get all of that and more.

You may find throughout this serial supporting characters get some air-time. Yes, there will be sidequests! I love them, I’m so sorrrry. Serials are about ensembles, right? Can’t say who will get what and when, but I will read comments on this.

I am a planster. I know the characters and the setting, that’s it. I will give ocntent warnings as I go.

I know a few straightaway and they are: