Neon Red: Chapter 18

“But I caaaaan’t move Maxi, I swear to you I can’t.” Max stood over Chrissy and laughed at her theatrics. The cute, bubbly blonde was flat on her back and ready to cry again. She threw out a hand, and Max tried to help her up. “My body doesn’t work anymore. Just throw me in the ocean.”
“See, this is why I don’t date Scorpios.” Jordan’s input made Max laugh, but Chrissy glared at the man.
“Not funny, you bitch.”
“I may be a slut, but at least I’ll sleep without a broken heart. Ah! Ndari!”
“Leave her alone, Jordan, she’s in enough pain.”
“Come on, baby.” Max pulled Chrissy up, and the girl whined, but got to her feet that were tucked in strappy heels. She never wore sneakers or boots; she’d rather saw her feet off than wear anything below six inches.
“We only have two hours left.” Chrissy slumped over the counter. “You can do iiiit.”
“We’re not gonna get customers anyway,” Jordan said, with a massive dose of irritation. They had two walk-ins and no appointments. Which, given her father’s financial matters, wasn’t good. Business needed to pick up, and like now. Either that or accept Jaxon’s offer.
“I shoulda’ called out. It’s shit, niiiight, Maxi. I canceled a dick appointment for this.”
Rounding behind the counter, she smiled at Ndari and shrugged. “Sorry, can’t relate.”
“That’s because you have Low slinging his tally whacker in your face all day.”
Max giggled and opened her sketch book. Grabbing a pencil, she sighed at the eyes staring back. She’d added color two days ago.
“Low was only a participant last night.”
“Uuuuugghhh.” Jordan stomped his big foot and groaned. “Here we go. Another threesome, I take it? I hate you. You get laid more than anyone I know.”
Ndari nudged her. “Who was it this time? A construction worker from your dad’s job. A model who wanted to kiss you, or a girl who had cute hair. Oooo, what about—oh, dear lor,d this is beautif, ul Maxi. Who is this?”
She sighed again. “Jaxon Aubrey.”
“Who?”
“Jaxon, the redhead.”
Chrissy popped up from what may have turned into a power nap. “The snazzy fella that came in here the other night? Oh my god!”
“I knew he liked women!” Jordan stopped sweeping and deflated. “He looks like a pussy beater.”
Max clicked her tongue ring, “Naaahhhh. He loves himself some dick too,”
The lumberjack dropped the Libman and gasped. “No way, bitch. Please, do tell.”
“I am gonna kill you.” Ndari barked, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It just happened last night. And it is not happening again.”
Chrissy grimaced. “Cause of your weirdo rule about second dates? Live it up, sweet cheeks! I do, and I’m one hundred and forty-five.”
“Old skank,” Jordan blurted.
“Troglodyte. Go wash that hobo beard, it smells like gym socks.”
Jordan flipped Chrissy off as the bell rang. Their group scattered, revealing the last person Max wanted to see. Despite how nice he was, she didn’t want to deal with him.
“I hope you don’t mind. Tracy told me where to find you.”
Ndari was perplexed, glancing at Max. “Uhm, I’ll go restock your room.”
Raymond stepped to the counter, and Max wanted to scream. Maybe curse and knock this man in the head with the cash register. If he died, their problems were over.
Slamming her book closed, she battened down the hatches on her attitude. This wasn’t his fault; they were both stuck in the middle. Although he probably wasn’t involved in his father’s affairs. Max had her reasons. The allowance was barely enough to care for everyone.
“Uh, no. It’s fine. You might as well see where I work and what it is I do.”
Raymond meandered and stared at the cluttered wall of art.
“I don’t have any tattoos, never thought to get one. Looks painful.”
“It’s not so bad once you get used to the needle. It can actually become quite addicting.”
He smiled and dragged kind eyes over to her. “I can tell. Not a single person I know with tattoos has only one.”
“Nope, can’t say I met anybody with one tat. They’re like unicorns or—”
“Mermaids.”
She blushed and gestured to the one on her neck. “Yes, exactly.”
Raymond sighed and looked out the window, then returned to Max. “I was wondering if we could go somewhere and talk, if you’re able.”
“You know what? I can’t.”
Chrissy appeared with a pristine smile and golden ringlets. “I got ya, girly, go on. I’ll lock up. Might leave earl,y though. It’s dry as my mother’s apple pie.”
“You sure?” Max grimaced.”
“Yes, hun, go.”
Ndari squeezed her arm and smirked. “I want you to text me when you get home.” She made eye contact with the mal,e and Max snickered. “The moment you get in.”
“I will, Mom. Don’t worry. Can you open tomorrow?”
“Like I did tonight?” Ndari cocked a brow. “Yeah, sure. For the tenth time this week.”
“I lovvve you.” Shouldering her purse, Max pointed at Jordan. “I want you booked by next Friday, and I mean it. All of you. Tilt will be back from vacation in a week, I don’t wanna hear his mouth about how he’s the goat or some shit.”
“It’s so quiet without him.” Jordan’s disdain for Tilt was due to his crushing…and bad.
“Okay, I’ll see y’all. Be good!”
Max let Raymond lead, and the gentleman opened the door.
“Thank you kindly.”
“No problem.”
Miami heat, brine,e and moisture stuck to her skin. A shower was next in line after a meal. She followed her escort, and he stopped in front of the Mercedes E-class. Damn, talk about saucy. Raymond remained helpful and allowed her to get in first.
“Thanks.”
Once safely buckled, he ran to the driver’s side. The interior was lavish and smelled of men’s Cologne. He started the engine,e and Ronald Isley came on just in time.
“Oh my god, I love the Isley Brothers.”
“What?” Raymond grinned as he started off to wherever they were going. “Me too, and this one? That Lady is my jam.”
“You got good taste, my man.”
“So, it’s Friday and 1am. Where would you like to go? There are a few 24-hour spots around here.”
“The Tavern,” Max prompted. “I go there a lot, especially this time of night. It’s close, and they have great fish and chips.”
“Ohh yeah, I know the place, Hotel Croyen, right?”
“Exactly. It’s legit, six minutes away. Right on Collins.”
Raymond smiled. “The Tavern it is.”
There wasn’t much of a trip at one in the morning, but they filled the time talking about music. He had a love for golden oldies, that was it.
“Must be fate, look at this. Right in front, gosh.”
Gosh, she thought. Did the male even cuss? To be fair, not everyone did, but Max needed to say ‘shit’ at least once a da,y or she’d explode somehow. After Raymond paralleled like a master, he got out and beat her to the door.
“Are you gonna do that every time?” Max asked.
“If left up to me, yes.”
She snickered and paced to The Tavern. Sensing him on her heels, Max looked back. “They have wonderful apps, and the Nutella waffle? Holy shit.” Being a woman on her own, she didn’t like to be waited on hand and foot, so she ran for the door. “Ha! Too slow, honey! You gotta be quicker than that if you rolling with me, now.”
Raymond chuckled as she made way inside. Fried food and coffee tickled her nose as cool jazz played at a hushed volume. The all-hour diner was packed and bustling. Waiters whipped to and fro carrying trays, while others jotted orders with a smile.
“I did not think it would be this busy,” Raymond said.
“Mhm. Kids are starting to come in from everywhere. This time next week, we’d have to wait an hour to get a seat.”
“How many?” the cute hostess asked.
“Just two,” Raymond replied.
Raymond handled formalities while Max headed for the exit. A fifteen-minute wait wasn’t much, but she didn’t want to pass it by standing around.
“Uh, outside?” Max pointed to the door and strolled back out. The heat be damned, it was stuffy in the waiting area with nowhere to sit. At least they had a bench to kill time on. Dropping her ass on down, Max rifled through her bag. “Where is…god dam—oh, found it.”
With her hooka—instead of vape—in hand, she turned the thing on and inhaled all that cherry goodness.
“Oh, shit. I’m sorry. Do you mind?”
Raymond shook his head. “Nope. Have at it. I smoked a joint once, back in college.”
She giggled at such an innocent answer. His admittance didn’t surprise her. This male came from money. He was well educated and straight as a fresh line.
They’d been given the same opportunities, but Max hated the square, trad wife bull shit. Pressed, prim, and proper had turned wicked within.
Raymond was nice. The Black hipster, aci berry, and oat milk smoothie quality worked for him.
His locs were tight, neat, and in a masculine updo. Something most men would appreciate. Ripped jeans and a plaid button-up screamed Ambicrombie, though. Other than his whack ass attire, he seemed affable with a non-threatening, soft coral stare.
“It’s not weed,” Max stressed. “I don’t smoke Mary Jane. It’s hookah.”
“What’s that?”
Max pulled the metal tip from her lips and examined it. She smiled and said, “I don’t really know.”
“You’re smoking a mysterious substance?”
“I mean…” She looked at it again. “Well, shit, yeah. It tastes nice. I think it’s tobacco of some sort.”
Raymond grinned, his pearly whites making a brief appearance. “You live on the edge, I see.”
“This ain’t even close to the edge, Raymond.”
“Call me Ray.”
“Okay, Ray. You can call me Max.” Before inhaling, she sighed. “Sorry about running out on you the other night.”
“Don’t apologize, I understand. This is… I don’t even have the words for it. I hadn’t planned for this. My Father barged into my house yelling commands. Stating how I had get married.” His shoulders sagged, and his expression darkened. “I never wanted to get married. I don’t want to. You seem like a decent woman…I just, I’m not ready for any of this.”
Max gave him a second to fume; hell, they both needed it. She didn’t want this either, nor was she ready, or fit to be anyone’s wife.
Pushing smoke through her nose, she shrugged. “If I didn’t need my Dad’s money, I’d be gone.”
Ray scoffed. “I wish it were monetary for me. I’ve been doing what Matthias wants my whole life. Became a Lawyer for him. I’m the Viscount’s personal attorney. Just like he wanted. Now, I’m getting married. With little hope of him acknowledging any of it… Oh, Max, forgive me. I don’t mean to trauma dump.”
“Don’t say sorry for shit. We’re in a fucked up predicament, and if you ever need to vent, I’m here. I’d rant, but it is what it is. Can’t blame anyone but myself, really.”
Raymond rested his elbows on his knees and looked back at her. “Thank you for not telling me to go shove it.”
“I know how an overbearing and controlling parent can be. Lived my entire life with one. I know your pain, bruh. Not to change the subject or anything, but uh, how old are you?”
“Fifty-one.”
Max high whistled at such a low ass number. “Whew, baby, you fresh meat. Hey now, you better be careful, I might let you get to know me.”
The male blushed hard and straightened. “How about you? I don’t want to ask a lady overtly. That’s highly inappropriate.”
Max took another hit and wrinkled her nose. “I’ll be a centennial next year.”
Ray’s eyes popped. “Wow, gosh.”
“I know, I know. I’m an old lady, but I got style and sass. I can teach you a few thangs, don’t you know?”
He beamed and said, “I believe that, but no. I was going to say you don’t look a day over twenty-one…as expected. But you fit in with this time so well. Not many of us do. You obviously shop at Hot Topic.
Max exploded in genuine laughter. She crackled and tapped his arm. “Was that your attempt at a joke?”
“Maybe, was it bad?”
“No, I liked it.” She snorted and stashed her hookah in the bag. “I love expression. In all forms, Body art and modification is an excellent outlet for someone like me. I love piercings, and I definitely want more. I forget how many I have.”
“I counted two in your nose and one in your lip there.” She was impressed by how fast he noted everything. “Nine on your left ear, annnnd four on your right.”
“You, sir, are correct. But you’re missing some.”
He frowned. “I am, where? I don’t—”
Max extended her tongue, shutting him right the fuck up. The male recoiled and blushed again. He looked elsewhere and cleared his throat. “You have one just there… in—yeah, there it is.”
She buckled down on a bout of giggles. “I’m gonna get a cross bar real fuckin’ soon though.”
“Whatever that is.” He nodded and glanced her way.
“It’s a horizontal piercing.”
“Ohhhh, okay. That looks like it hurts really bad.” Raymond grimaced.
“Nope, a quick stab and it’s all done. Plus, we heal quick. An hour or two and donezo.”
“Hm. Well, if it’s any consolation, they suit you.”
Now she diverted attention. To the ground, her shoes, and various couples enjoying a late night out. God, Max didn’t want to do this.
Raymond wasn’t who she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. More to the point, she didn’t want to get married. But her luck was shit, and there was no going back.
“Thank you,” Max said. “I do it for me, not for acceptance.”
“Good for you.” Raymond’s reply held zero snark. He spoke genuinely, but the slice of sadness gave her pause. Max wanted to find out why, but his name came through the speakers.
“That’s us.” Max chimed.
Bouncing up, Ray showcased a palm. “Oh my god, what is that?” He pointed, and Max jumped, prepared to wield her taser. Spinning around, she saw nothing.
“Made you look.” The male’s voice got her attention. She laughed at the corny shit as he stood there with the door open.
“After you, m’lady.”
Max snapped her fingers. “You got me, Ray. I’m gonna have to keep my eye on you.”
“That you will.”

Ooooop, I bet y’all thought I was going to forget, huh? Nahhh. I gotchu! As long as y’all read it, I will publish new chapters. I want to finish this book so y’all can hate me for the second! No, because I’m serious, you’re probably gonna hop into my inbox afterward. Buuuuut, don’t fret, it’s all gonna be okay. But not for Max. (insert crying emoji) She and Raymond are being put through helllll. When I wrote this book, I was so into torturing these poor souls. I was all about putting my characters through the absolute worst. And I think that speaks to how dark my own life was at the time. I was trapped with a violent, abusive man. I felt as though I had nowhere to go. Like I’d lost all autonomy. I wrote this series to give myself hope and to vent, kind of. Yes, the road to our HEA is rough, but it’ll be worth it. This was the story both Max and I wanted to tell. And you know what? I’m happy I wrote it, but I’m even happier that y’all are reading it. Thank you so much for stopping by, and please stay cool. It’s hotter than hell, and Y’ALL, my AC is broken. I live in Vegas. Send me SNOWWWWW! Anyway, y’all have a beautiful night and see you next week, bookie.

Neon Red: Chapter 17

Low didn’t know which way was up as he yanked his boxers off the floor. He couldn’t focus or form a single coherent thought, and the male’s scent made it worse. Assssss hole. What was Low supposed to say now? Nothing, not a god damn word.
Low grunted and pulled on his underwear. Halfway decent, he located his sweats. The shirt was harder to find.
“Where is it?” He dropped to the floor, confused as to how it had crept under the bed. After dragging it out, he donned the cotton. Next, his glasses. Low squinted, hoping to find them quickly.
“My glasses? Man, what the—”
“Nightstand,” Red supplied.
Low whipped about, spotted and plucked them. Sliding his frames on, the world appeared with booming clarity.
He didn’t appreciate it.
“You going to hell with that suit on,” Low murmured.
“Pardon?”
“You heard me.”
“I assumed red was your color.”
Low frowned and patted pockets. “What you mean?”
“The Pirus tattoo on your arm.”
There were several things wrong here. Red’s attention to detail was attractive. Low loved the suit and, yes, it was his color. Red, however, was getting a tad too close, and Low didn’t trust himself not to punch the elderly vampire in the face.
Lastly, that chapter in his life was closed.
“I turned over a new tree. Fuck a leaf. I ain’t banging no more. I haven’t since ninety-eight. Not that it’s your business.”
In a pocket, he felt for the waiting blunt and fished it out. Low ignored the male’s closeness and opened the oversized window.
He needed air, and Florida offered nothing stepping onto the patio. It was too damn hot for this shit, even with more rain in the near future. Precipitation gave no reprieve. Low’s lips hugged the blunt happily as he found a lighter and lit the tip.
Stress-free and hungry coming right up. As Low inhaled, Red disturbed his nightly ritual.
“You look like a French toast man,” Red stated, like he knew him or some shit.
“Wrong. I do waffles.” The hell was his goal, after hearing their whole discussion. To humiliate Low further.
It wasn’t being a bottom that bothered Low. Nah.
He wanted to fuck and get fucked, otherwise, for him, a proud verse, there’d be no point.
Low’s problem was how thoroughly Red obliterated him. At the end of the night, Low was a vampire. Halfbreed, but still a bloodsucker. Biology and instinct ran heavy in their species.
He felt manhandled and small. Dominated. Low shuddered and pulled from the wood.
“If it makes you feel any better,” Red sighed, “we are in the same boat.”
“It don’t.”
It did.
Knowing Jaxon felt like a cum slut, too,o made his chest swell with pride. It meant Low had laid some mean pipe.
“Maybe a little,” Low murmured.
He extended the blunt to Red as an olive branch.
“I’m working. The hell do I look like?”
“No need to get smart.” Low snorted. “Uppity ass.”
“Oh, okay. Mr. I’m working, don’t talk to me.’”
Low chuckled, expelling a cottony white cloud. Warmth coated him from head to toe, promising a good night.
“I can’t be distracted,” Low added. “I do real shit. I don’t be sitting behind a desk all night like you.”
“You think you got everything figured out, huh?” Red asked, facing him. Low minded his eyes and lifted them to the sky.
“Yeah.”
“Where’s the food and blood? I’m really starving. Like, I’m about to throw up.”
Low giggled as Max’s voice brought him back down to earth. He ditched the roach on the turnaround and watched as she searched for something. “Your phone is under the pillow, baby.”
“I dont remember putting it there.”
“You always do, though.”
“So what?” Max tossed pillows and squealed. “There you are. Okay, purse, glasses, and phone. We move.”
Low did the honors and grabbed her fuckin’ trash bag. Who needed a bag this big? She might as well carry a duffel.
“Huh.”
“Thaaank you.”
Of course, she paid Red no mind. They never did this, stayed after a threesome. It was weird, and she was nervous. Low knew every look, fidget, and tell.
“Alright.” Max donned her large, round hippie frames. “Solids, liquids? Where are they?”
“Why are you so flustered, Maxine?” Jaxon asked. The grin on him was devious.
She wrenched the door open and said, “I’m trying not to hurt you in some way, asshole.”
“You already shot me. Is that gonna turn into a habit?”
“I don’t know, depends on how you act.”
Low snickered as they filed into the hallway. Max had a mouth and an inexhaustible need to use it as a weapon. But so did Red.
“Play around if you want to, Maxine.” The male dropped down to her level and snarled. “I will snap your fucking spine in half next time.”
Shorty had them shades on, but Low saw peeped her glower. Jaxon tried to intimidate, and in a different setting he’d get lucky, but the spell done wo’ off.
“You mighty presumptuous, Jaxon. Assuming there will be a next time. As you heard we,” she gestured between them, “don’t do that. You know how it goes. This was fun…you seem great….so on and so forth.”
Red snapped back to his full height and spun on a chuckle. They followed, close behind. Low needed a bite immediately. Their journey down an empty hall remained quiet, save for Red’s noisy shoes.
The man was a force. His walk and talk demanded attention. And in a red suit, bruh had a way about him that made Low reminisce…Max slapped his arm.
“What?”
“Don’t,” She gritted.
“I ain’t do nothin’.”
She showcased a hand and shook her head. He wanted to assuage his girl with a kiss until they halted.
“I never seen a kitchen so dark, damn bruh. It’s like a mausoleum. Too much black.” Low hopped three steps and jogged to the flat, matte island. “Oh yes.”
Sitting down, he snagged a plate, and Max did the same. Low ran out of space, loading up on eggs, sausage, and potatoes.
So, of course, he grabbed another and dropped on it.
“You hate waffles,” Max said, too god damn loud. Not minding her own business, she popped her brows. “What are you doing?”
“Girl, you know I lo—” Laughter punched from his chest. “I love waffles. Mmmm. Yum.”
Low stole a quick glance. Red leaned ever so sexy like against the counter, handling a mug.
“I have never seen you eat them,” she added. “You like French t—”
“Shhh, shut up. I’m flipping it. Trying something new.”
Max shrugged. “Okayyy. I’m telling you, they’re good.”
No, they weren’t. Low hated them truthfully. Waffles got soggy quick with syrup pooling in soppy cubes. It wasn’t a horrifying experience. Never one to back out or cower, Low poured the sticky shit and shoved wet napkins into his mouth.
He gagged. It was a textural nightmare.
“Why don’t you just eat the French toast?” Red suggested.
Low hesitated, but surrendered. Fuck it. Without looking at the man, he pushed the waffles aside.
On a third plate, he stacked it with his tried and true. They went down easier because he lovvvved the mouthfeel and taste. When a glass of grapefruit juice magically appeared, Low downed it. He went in on eggs and sausage next.
“You do this for everybody?” Low asked. Making sure to set a keen eye on the male dripping in red.
“Yeah, it’s a common courtesy,” Red admitted, much to Low’s surprise. “Y’all not special. And Max, we are in agreement.” Biting into a danish, Red shrugged. “You don’t go back for seconds, and I didn’t ask for it. I’m good.”
“Cool.” Max snipped, focused on her food.
Low scraped up his French toast that held the bitter aftertaste of rejection. Double-dipping was against the rules. Their rules. And Low never overstepped. Individually, they were allowed to do whatever, but if by chance either found someone, then it was fair to let the other know.
Low never met anyone worth enough to let Max go. Nobody made him yearn for more, aside from her.
Saluting with his glass, Low smirked. “Glad we got it sorted.”
“Feel free to let yourself out.” Red checked his watch. “I’m done with Tracy’s financial business, so…see you around, I guess.”
Max considered Red for a beat and tilted her head. “Not likely.”
“You two have a good evening.”
Low nodded and scooped the last of his potatoes. Max giggled, but neither spoke for a minute. They left the house and were in his car on their way to the tattoo shop when he sighed.
“That was weird,” Low said.
“Riiiight? Talk about awkward. Jesus.” Max retrieved her vape and puffed. “I’m so glad he wasn’t needy about the whole thing, you know.”
“Yeah, yeah. Me too, but at least we ain’t never gotta see him again.”
“Who you tellin’, honey?”
Fun as it was, a recurring threesome was bad news for all parties involved. And Low, for one, didn’t have time for that shit. He had kids at home and bills to pay.

*All predators catch their death in my books

Hours later, AB found himself wandering about in a shoe box. It was an apt description for Joel’s house. The low ceiling was less than an inch above his head. He examined cabinets overrun by ants. They scurried to and from boxes like busy little soldiers.
He didn’t have much. Flour, baking soda, and salt. A blanket of dust coated everything, aside from one counter where a thick layer of grime waited to be scraped off with steel wool.
The house wasn’t in bad shape,e structurally speaking. It had good bones but needed to be bleached.
A pungent aroma of mold and rotted flesh made for one helluva cocktail. It added to the ambiance Joel’s nasty ass was going for.
In the sink, dishes waited, and had been for a while. Creeping around the tiny four-burner stove, AB grew nostalgic.
A quaint, one-bedroom abode with low-hanging beams and plank floors. Candlelight, instead of bulbs, and the smell of freshly baked bread replaced decay.
AB and his mother lived in dozens of hovels and holes. But every so often, they lucked out. Acquiring enough coin for an actual home or cottage, with a fireplace and a roof. Where AB rested on a soft palate and not the ground.
Squeezing through the hall, the floorboards squealed until he reached the living room.
A lawn chair, a mounted forty-inch, and an empty beer can weren’t exactly inviting. AB hit a one-eighty and sprinted upstairs, where death settled on his skin.
He stepped into a room that should have housed a bed, a dresse,r or even a desk.
Being dangerously close to eight hundred years old, AB had seen it all and done enough. He didn’t have aversion to blood, gore, or homicide. But even he had to hold his breath and turn away.
Caked layers of Lysol, Lyme, and baby powder didn’t help.
“Fuck,” he whispered, taking in the scene again. AB growled. Vampires, at best, were decent, and some had the balls to do something compassionate, like save lives. Thanks to decades of dilution, humanity helped calm and tame their inner proclivities. AB worked hard to control his own issues. Massacres and serial killings were frowned upon. Most vampires didn’t give a shit about who they killed.
AB only snuffed two women, and he had to, ‘cause they wanted to harm his mother. Two Behld witche,s soaked in black, blood magic, wanted his mother dead.
He couldn’t let it be.
AB didn’t have a code or nothin’, but he was raised by a woman, and held them in high esteem. He tried not to kill innocent men, but they tasted the best. In his days of overindulgence, brutality, and debauchery, he happily dined upon plump dignitaries with fat pockets.
They were drained of blood and funds.
AB used his dick and addictions to make the most of this life. But children were always off limits. No amount of money or blood was worth vanquishing a soul so young. His dark past was a safe space for nightmares, but AB never, ever touched kids.
Dropping to a crouch, he stared at the little bodies, ill-wrapped in tarp and tape. They were so tiny. Decomposing toes and hands. There were twenty-eight missing children in this room.
“He’s downstairs,” Ines said with a bite. The male had kids of his own, grown and in the world doing adult shit. He refused to look inside.
AB shot upward, crossed creaking woo,d and snatched two duffels off of the floor. Pacing out, he coughed as the odor stuck to him like bad cologne.
When he reached the bottom, he tossed the heavy bags in front of Joel. Mr. Liston sat in the lawn chair, as his legs had a motor attached. He chewed on fingernails with pupils big as dimes. Sweat beaded on his waxy, tight skin.
“You lookin’ bad, Joe.”
“I’m—I was only taking a little. You’d never notice.”
Ines took residence on the last step and paid witness.
“But I did. You must be smooth out your rabbit ass mind if you think I wouldn’t notice when five bricks of Brown Sugar go missing.” Lowering to his haunches, AB looked up at Joel and smirked. “I keep note of every ounce, because it’s mine. And stealing from me won’t be tolerated. Furthermore, your ass is high as a kite.” Standing tall once again, AB leered. “If you use my shit?! You pay me! You polished off two ounces, so where’s my motha fuckin’ money, Joe?”
“I don’t have any money an—” He looked back at Ines, but AB slapped the bitch back around. Blood splattered all over his shirt.
“This is Gucci, you sick fuck.” AB growled, shaking his head. “You stole my product, refused to pa,y and now… You ruined my favorite shirt. Bitch…” He chuckled and studied the mess. “You know, humans have one life, and don’t live past a certain point. But us, we are so much fun, ‘cause no matter what you do, we breathe. We are sturdy, solid. I mean, unless you cut our head off…or have halo bullets on-hand.”
Ab strolled over to the four-pane window and peered at the moon. “Torture ain’t no fun with humans. You push too hard, they break and wither. Not us, though.”
“Please, AB,”
“Four years you’ve been on my payroll and I,” AB purred, pinning Joe with a searing glare, “paid you well. I give everybody raises and shit to avoid situations like this. But youuuu Joe, are greedy. So, we’re gonna see how much that stomach can hold.”
AB nodded at Ines. He hopped to it and sprinted out the door. Staring at Joe, AB smiled. “I’ll kill you for stealing from me, but I’ma have some fun for what’s upstairs.”
“Don’t you judge me. You’re no be—”
“I what? I ain’t never hurt kids.”
“They wanted it, they begged me to love—”
Ab’s backhand found Joe’s face. The assault sent him careening. On his side, the male choked on his own blood. “You the worst kinda vampire there is. We don’t have many taboos, as you know.” He rammed a Nike boot into the asshole’s stomach, making the prick heave. “But we all agree that children are out of the question. No siring, no feeding, no killing…and definitely, no…touching! Ah, Ines, you’ve come with gifts.”
His old friend entered, carrying a box full of things that made him happy. “What do we have? Boric acid, sulfuric acid, pliers, drills, and hammers? Nice! Arsenic, molten silver. Oh shit, I can’t touch that. Uhmmm, ooo mercury! You know, I’ve taken a sip of this. It’s got a citrus tinge. Oh! Bella Donna. Ines, you shouldn’t have.”
Keeping a fanatical eye on the sick bastard, AB dropped to the floor, punched through his mouth, and ripped out that slick pink muscle.
“I don’t need you screaming.” Gurgles and moans filled the silence. “Drill.” He pushed Joe’s lanky body over, popped the button on his jeans, and unzipped.
Ines handed AB a Craftsman,n and once the males member was free, hands tried to intervene. “No! No. You weren’t shy with those kids. Why be bashful now? Move!” AB smacked his drunk fingers. “That’s why you got a small dick, Joe! Open wiiiiide.”
The head of him winked just as Ab kissed it with an auger bit and pulled the trigger. Joe worked hard to holler, but Ines held his mouth shut.
Mr Liston thrashed as the spiral bit dug deeper, shredding skin and muscle. Blood oozed over AB’s knuckles as the drill worked like any food processor might.
Eating him raw and tearing his urethra to shreds. Ab enjoyed the carnage and freedom. Droplets whirled, and mangled pieces landed on his face. Tiny chunks of meat covered clothes and speckled the floor.
“Look at that.” AB giggled. “Pate.”
He removed his hand and sucked the pureed fixin’s from each digit while Ines yanked Joe’s molars out. Just in case. He went for fangs, and his green eyes disappeared to the back of his skull.
“He tastes like shit,” AB admonished. He spat and grunted at the foulness of tainted flesh.
“Yeah, all those drugs. Now you’re gonna be high, dumbass.”
AB laughed. “That’s the least of my worries. I wanna work him over slow. Like a pot roast. My dogs will love the bones. Chauncey has a thing for femurs.”
“I thought he liked tibias,” Ines said as he popped the cap on a tub of bleach. “Yeah, that one dude up in uhhhh, Tallahassee, who robbed you.”
“Ohhh no, yeah yeah. Chauncey did like his tibia, god. He gnawed on it for weeks. I’ve gotta flay em’ good this time, though, and roast the bones so there’s no residuals. No bad stuff for my babies. Okay, down the hatch, Joe.”
Ines poured bleach into his pie hole until it overflowed. He’d wake and drink it eventually, but a little Bella won’t hurt. At least not yet. This was another all-nighter, but of the bloodiest kind. It gave AB something else to focus on. Because the alternative irked his fucking nerves.
AB dropped Bella into Joe’s mouth. It mixed with bleach. Soon after, odd fumes percolated. “Maybe we should wear masks. Where are you taking Char for your anniversary?
“Oh shit, you’re right. Last time we passed out. I still got some in the trunk. And as for Char, she ain’t getting nothing. I’m taking her co-worker, Tonya, out instead. The bitch has got knockers like you wouldn’t believe. Hair platinum and legs for days.”
“You’re a piece of shit, Ines.”
“Eh, it takes one to know one.”
“You are most certainly right.”
“The wife ain’t going nowhere. She knows I get curious. We’ve been married for eighty god-awful years. Her yakking about money and whatnot cost her another anniversary. Maybe the old bag will shut the fuck up from now on.”
The male cackled in his crackly, husky manner and ran outside. Ines was a four-hundred-year-old Bostonian. He smoked like a chimney and used pomade in his hair. His style remained in 1960. If Ines didn’t wear a knitted shirt and trousers, something was wrong.
His buddy, as if he was auditioning for the next Scorsese mob picture, was proud as hell of it too.
“Okay, here. I got a whole box of N-95s from—”
“Don’t speak it, please.”
Ines grimaced as they put on masks from another time. Years Jaxon wanted to forget. Humans weren’t the only beings who had a shit time. Set and ready, he and Ines got busy. This was a great way to end a night.

Neon Red: Chapter 14

A suit was one thing, a mussed dress shirt was another. But this, the lack of formal wear, suited Jaxon well. Max’s thoughts were in a continuum. Visually, he overwhelmed her. The heady cologne waged war with its high, dark notes and a sweet musk riding low. She’d lost her tongue in the car and battled an impulse to moan.
“Where are we anyway?” she asked, as Low helped her out of the car. And, oh yeah, him too.
“What she said.” Low smiled deliciously.
What had she done in her past life to be tortured so ruthlessly? They were thick pieces of vampire male, and standing between them, waiting, Max never felt small or delicate. And she was a far cry from demure.
Low was Jaxon’s speed, so it was good if he wanted in on that. Elliot Collins often used his sensual elegance to get what he wanted most.
“So…” Max cleared her throat.
“I heard you the first time.” Jaxon lowered a lidded gaze and grinned. “We’re going to my friend’s house. You remember Ines?”
Smoke swirled in murky, mid-June air and framed his perfect features.
“Of course, the Italian from Boston, not New York.”
“Nice observation. Let’s go.”
Jaxon started their journey, and they fell in line willingly. What would a man like him want from her? Nothing was the answer; that’s why Max knew his interest was a farce. He had a fluid gait and voluminous waves. The color of an irate Venus sky and adorned with thin strips of spooled gold. It was gorgeous.
Unnatural.
Max felt sleazy, gawking like a swooning teenager. She focused on Low, who was no better, and jabbed him in the torso with her elbow.
“Don’t stare,” she whispered.
As they marched down a quiet street, Max gathered from high brush and gates that this was a classy neighborhood. These people made more than her father, median easily in the multi-millions. Mansions towered behind stone and ivy.
“I would have liked a heads up, bruh.” Low pulled from his blunt and purged smoke. “I typically like to look better for a kick back, you feel me.”
“It’s not that serious.”
“Still, I prefer it.”
“What you searching for?” Jaxon glanced back at them with a nasty smile. “A compliment?”
Low shook his head when the male faced forward. “If I was? You up here in the latest and greatest. Balinchi-gaga and shit.”
Max frowned at her lover. “Don’t do that, you know better than anyone how good you look. Name brands mean nothing.”
He cocked a brow. “Says Shorty in Chanel.”
They embarked on an incline that turned into a winding drive. At the tippy top was a decent home, if you loved dreariness and glass. The house was nothing more than tinted windows and steel beams.
“Wow, I dig the architecture.”
“No, you don’t.” Max dismissed Low’s lie. He loved inviting and warm. Wood and greenery. Nothing too bright or clean. Whereas Max enjoyed modern, architectural wonders.
After taking the shallow stairs, Jaxon didn’t knock before opening the door.
When he barged in, they followed, and Low grabbed her hand. Oohhh, how she swooned over his protective streak and attentiveness.
Entering the house, various scents and sights captured her attention. The cool air was a jarring contrast to the sticky summer heat.
Creeping through a narrow foyer, they brushed shoulders and squeezed past kissing, grinding couples. Bodies on top of bodies. Music drummed in her ears, and she appreciated the vibe. Glass Animals was a good choice given the intimate atmosphere. Zaba was a great Album, their best, to be frank.
The foyer opened to a three-way street; Jaxon banked left. Max was grateful for wider halls and the breathing room.
“Damn.” Low chuckled and said, “I like this party.”
Standing slightly above the crowd, Max giggled. “Me too.”
Their trio stepped into the sunken living room, doubling as a nightclub,b and eyed some goodies.
“Aye,” Jaxon shouted, nodding at someone. A female, a woman, a human. Max licked her lips. The girl bounced over and stopped in front of Red, as Low called him.
“Hay AB, I got some left, you want a sip?”
Jaxon didn’t respond, but his actions were swift and visceral. He yanked the woman by the back of her neck. She dangled three feet off the ground as fangs penetrated. There was growling, slurping, and carrying on.
“My third leg finna start walking,” Low whispered into her ear. Max choked on laughter. “I’m serious. Look at him.”
Oh, she was looking alright, and trapped in hell too. Little Miss was happy when her feet touched the hardwood. She sighed, as if he hadn’t almost killed her.
“Y’all want some?”
“Sweetheart, do you know where you are?” Max yelled in the girl’s face and clutched her shoulders. “Have you been drugged? Abducted? I can get you outta here, my taser is my bag, honey.”
The wee one let a high-pitched laugh slip. “No. Why would I wanna leave? I’m making money. And my mortgage needs to be paid somehow.”
“Oh.” Max relinquished the bitty and nodded. “Ohhhhh okay, I get it. My bad.” She shot a glance in Jaxon’s direction and regretted it. The male sucked on a digit and licked the tip. “I thought, you know.”
“You have a problem with not reading the room,” Jaxon clipped.
Low giggled and added his commentary, though no one asked. “She do. I tell her all the time.”
“Shut up,” Max growled. “Nobody asked.”
With Red leading the way, they weaved through a tasty crowd and landed on an enormous sofa. “Every human you come across is being paid to be here.”
“Damn,” Low muttered. “Like that?”
He was astonished, and Max shared his view.
“Yeah, and if you partake, tip them.”
“What you mean, tip?” Low grimaced. He was a cheap, penny-pinching grandfather at times. They didn’t go to strip clubs often ‘cause of it. Despite Max begging for a trip to K.O.D., he remained a Scrooge.
“For what?” Low queried.
“They are providing a service, sir. So it’s only fair if you tip. They have a half pint minimum; if you go over that, it’ll cost you a blue note.”
“God damn,” Low snarled, sitting on the arm of the couch. “What kinda scam you running up in here?”
“I don’t have anything to do with this. Do you want anything?”
“Nah, I’m good.”
Max bit her tongue, knowing he only liked cold blood. For valid reasons, but still.
“Nothing? We have about twenty humans up in here.”
“No Red, damn, stop asking me.”
“He don’t like hot blood.”
Low hissed and shoved her. “That wasn’t any of his business, yo big ass mouth, bruh.”
Jaxon’s stare raked over Low, disgust riding his pretty face. “Oh, so you weird, weird. This is extremely odd behavior for a full grown vampire. You know how it looks, right?”
“Listen, calm down with tryna fit in, talk white,” Low spouted.
Jaxon cackled, and Max wanted to dip her tongue in those dimples. “What does talk white mean? I speak how I want, how I have for over a hundred years. You don’t like it, kiss my ass.”
“Ooooo.” Low chuckled and diverted attention to some ugly girl. She was lanky, bowlegged, and her hair was dry. “There you go, being uppity again. Don’t make me break yo ass in, bruh.”
Max gasped and smacked his shoulder. “Be nice, Low. Don’t be doing too much, now.”
“I don’t give a damn, and I need a drink, I know that.”
Jaxon threw both arms over the couch and watched as Low ascended. “What gives you the impression I need to be broken in?”
Another gasp punched through her mouth. Though Max kept her hands to herself this time. “Y’all are getting mighty candid. Should I give you two a moment alone?”
Low snorted. “Please, he don’t know what to do with a king like me.”
“Can you bring me back something?”
“I don’t think they got no brandy, baby.”
“Then tequila on ice.”
“Ight, don’t get fresh, Red… unless she lets you. But I wanna watch.”
“Get the fuck!”
“The bar is upstairs,” Jaxon smirked. “You can bring me back a glass of cognac. Neat.”
Low ran off with a giggle, and that ass bounced with him.
Jaxon glanced at Max and leaned into her. The action made her melt. “Are you into that weird shit too?”
“Me? No, but I need a ripe one.” Scanning the room, she took in the droves of men and woman. “I want her.” Max pointed to a stacked, tall dame in a corset. She filled out the top and bottom.
Jaxon high whistled. “Carmen!”
“Of course, you know these women by name,” she mumbled, not surprised because he exuded ‘no good ass man’ arrogance. His attitude and demeanor made that shit clear as day.
Carme used her bountiful hips like weapons. “Hay big daddy, how you doing?”
“I been better, she wants a nibble.”
Carmen held a warm smile as she sat next to Max. Her blessed map of veins illuminated beneath glowing mahogany skin. Ambient lighting was her best friend. God damn Black women were gorgeous.
“They treating you good?” Max asked.
Carmen recoiled. “They always do, and they pay, okay.”
“You so pretty, and you smell nice, too.”
“Awww, thank you.”
Max admired her corset, growing more envious by the second. “Where did you buy this fit, though?”
“Torrid or Fashion Nova…I can’t recall, but it was one of the two.”
Max nodded but stared at Carmen’s main, pulsating artery. It taunted and tempted her empty stomach.
Licking her lips, Max noticed how her fangs had come on down to play. “Well, where do you um… You know, wrist or wherever?”
“Right,” she laid a hand on the curve of her breast, “here.”
“Okay.” Max agreed, quick and without deliberation, she growled. Sinking fangs into Carmen’s flesh, she gripped onto her waist. Digging deeper, Max gnawed. Max hadn’t taken a fresh vein in five years. This shit was a narcotic, addicting, and soooooo much better than drinking from a cup. Max would rather not stop, but knowing she must, and when to, she paused.
Her forehead rested on Carmen’s shoulder as the heart slowed and the body went ape shit. Pleasure and euphoria worked like any vice. She groaned and settled into a cloud.
“Oh my god, Carmen,” Max smiled. “You are sweet and full-bodied, baby.”
“Thank youuuu. I work hard for that.”
“I can tell, shiiiiit.” The music reverted into something slow, chopped, and screwed. “You gotta a uhhhmmm,” her mind buzzed with feel goods. Lazy and dragging, her thoughts came together, “Cash app? Zelle?”
“I sure do, honey.”
After sifting through her heavy bag for what seemed like eons, Max found her phone. “You deserve a nice tip, Carmen.” Tapping numbers, she giggled. “Three hundred should do it.”
“No, no I—”
“Shhhhhh.” Max waved at the chit chat and sent her funds. “There you go, doll. Us big girls gotta support each other, okay?”
“Thank you, baby. You want anything, AB?”
“Nope, I’m good, love.”
Carmen rose with them thighs, and Max sighed. “I enjoyed that very much.” She giggled again and said, “I can’t even think straight. It’d be nice to get that every night…”
“Why can’t you?” Jaxon asked, his buttery timbre casting a naughty spell on her.
“’Cause it’s unnecessary, Red.”
“I’ve never let anyone call me that.”
“Until Low? Yeeeahhh, I get it, but you need to watch how you talk to him. He comes on friendly, but in truth, Elliot is as nice as a rattlesnake in a box.”
“Noted. I still want your number, though.”
Lifting a heavy gaze upward, their eyes met,t and she had issues with talking again. “No, you don’t. You only wanna pity me and make jokes.”
He chuckled. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“I told you already. There is a pecking order; we both know how it goes. I am not a pureblood.”
“I give no fucks about no league or vampire etiquette or class. I’m not into none of that dated shit. I don’t adhere to things like pecking orders anymore. And I haven’t for a very, veeerrrry long time.”
Drifting to his full lips, the tips of his fangs made her shiver. This was lust, unbridled and unhinged.
“Don’t let me interrupt.” Max inhaled and tore his attention away from the Pureblood as Low handed her a cold glass.
“I wouldn’t say you were interrupting, Elliot. Where’s my drink?”
Low cackled, sitting on the armrest nearest to her. “Muh’fucka, you are more than capable. Fetch your own Hennessey, shit.”
Max shook her head and said, “I told you.”
“Told him what?” Low gripped the back of her neck. “You running your mouth behind my back?”
“Yeah, now get off me!” Slapping his hand off, she sipped the bitter alcohol once, then gulped. “Oh, this is my song.”
There was no way Max would sit down while Janet was on. Getting to her feet, she held out a hand. “Low, get your fat ass up and dance with me.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Are you telling me no?” Her eyes narrowed.
“Girl—”
She grabbed hold of his t-shirt and pulled him down to her level. Smiling, Max flicked his ear and hissed. “Be good, and I’ll let you taste it in the bathroom.”
“Fine, you wanna dance, let’s dance. Damn, baby. All you had to do was ask.”
She snickered and looked at Red. “Watch my purse.”
“You not giving me orders.”
“I just did. Unless you plan on letting someone steal my shit.”
He snarled, and with that, Max dragged her man to the middle of the living room.

The show put AB in a mood; their two step wasn’t so PG. Moving ass and hips, they were in sync. It was an erotic waltz AB appreciated. Max had soft curves Low handled with finesse.
Frothing with jealousy, AB growled, wanting them. It was a familiar sensation he remembered with fondness. For a time, bedding two or three at once was commonplace.
Prey excited him, up until getting what he wanted. This pair would get two or three nights tops before AB called it quits. At the moment, he wanted to touch something. To wedge himself between them and make music of their own.
Low took Max from behind while she did the impossible;twearked with jeans on. The tight denim barely stayed on her ass. Ohhhh, how he filled with glee knowing she was real. Every inch supple and untouched. Dimples and cellulite.
He grunted as the vision gave his dick a start. AB had to get the hell away from them before coppin’ a brick.
Rising, he yanked the female’s handbag and pushed people out of his way. In a foul state, booze and a blunt would do him well. He cleared the steps in a single bound and trekked back toward the foyer, but kept onward.
Ines had bleak taste in decor. Grays, blacks, and polished ash. On the way to where he slept on occasion, morbid, monotoned paintings of mutilated bodies winked at him. Grotesque shit. To be fair, Ab killed many. He occupied various jobs in his lifetime, and not all were above the line. Some required homicidal acts.
As a pureblood, he welcomed a carmine-soaked chaotic profession. Alas, the wonder and joy turned to static, as did everything else. Food, sex, money, and shit had long ago become white noise. Though he did love a lengthy shopping spree annnd okay, getting his dick sucked brought about massive doses of pleasure. Plus, yeahhhhhhh, his dogs made him happy. Okay, maybe AB wasn’t that broody, but life grew stagnant on occasion, god damn it.
Stopping at his bedroom door, something sparkled against the high gloss floor. “Ooooo.” He plucked the small button and gleamed. “I like this one.” The brushed metal had a shimmery quality he adored.
“I did it.”
AB stashed the button in his pocket, and Ines showed his face. When AB entered, he crossed the vacant womb of a well-dressed guest suite.
“You did what?” AB asked. Tone scalpel sharp, he tossed Max’s bag in an armchair.
“I got you a meeting with Paola.”
“Good.” He smiled and wheeled around, making sure not to touch the Afghan with his soles. “That’s great news, bro, it’s your fucking job after all. What she say?”
“You think she talked to me?”
“Where am I going?”
“She’ll be at your place on Saturday.”
Stupid bed whench was throwing her annual fit. “Sure, I’ll be there.”
Willing the glass wall open, he wished for a ripple, a whisper of cool air, but there was no breeze to be had. At least the crescent moon grinned from above. Ab sauntered onto the patio and longed for company. “Aye, go get my guests.”
“You’re really gonna bang the fat bitch?”
Facing Ines, with his turned-up nose and judgment, Ab sneered. “Why do you have to be so disgusting? Why does she have to be a bitch?”
“She’s fat too.” Ines grimaced.
The male had a preference, fine, cool, whatever, most people did. As stated once before, AB did not. If there was a hole, he’d fill it. What they looked like mattered naught.
In passing, he frowned. “When has a woman’s size ever mattered to me, Ines?”
“Yeah, you love pounding the fatties.”
Ab meandered down a hallway flanked by his-hers walk-ins. He peeked in his, then stepped into the washroom.
“Do you feed them when you fu—”
Snapping his fingers, AB killed Ine’s prattle. AB was done. “Shut your god damn mouth and do what I said. Now!”
Towels, tissue—whipping around, AB glared at Ines, who had yet to move.
“Okay, okay.” Palms raised, the bastard retreated and left him alone.
This space looked nothing like the rest of the house. Light gray instead of black, plush instead of flat. He preferred lighter hues and comfy over style. Although the twain met at his place of residence.
AB slipped back into the room and found himself at a tiny wet bar. Hennessey, Remy Martin, Courvoisier, Gautier, Pierre, d’Ussé, Frapin, Hine and Martell. There were over two hundred brands of cognac; he had a lot to choose from, but four at present. He went with Hine.
Just as drops of brown trickled down, the door flew open. “I know you better have my purse, I specifical—oh, thanks.” Max had a baaaaad habit of speaking before thinking. “Wooow, this is nice. What is that cherry blossom? This ain’t nothing like whatever funhouse shit he got going on out there. Dark and moody. I like it in here.”
“It smells and looks like Home and Garden vomit,” Low added. “This is a middle-aged suburban mom’s wet dream. I’m getting heavy Cape Cod vibes.”
“That’s what I was going for,” AB said, turning on the sound bar.
Zapp and Roger.
“You don’t know nothing about Slow and Easy, white boy.”
“You’d be surprised by what I know, Maxine Bernice Bissette.”
With derisive laughter, she ambled toward the revelatory. “Yeah, I’m sure you do, pop pop. You got on those leak barrier depends tonight?”
Low cackled from outside, as a thick cream curled in the night. Of course, he threw in his two cents. “Got some Fixodent in your pockets, granddaddy?”
“Nah, but I got a heavy dick you can suck.”
Max re-entered and ripped her shades off. “Well, god damn, you are feisty. You right, Low.”
“I told you, baby. One can’t be gentle with a muh’fucka like him.”
Their back and forth sparked curiosity. “I love how you talk me about when I’m not around. Please do go on.”
Max settled into the armchair, while Low filled out the chaise. Her eyes traced AB’s frame; he relished the attention.
In their imperfection, her eyes were unique and fiery.
“So Max…” After knocking back the rest of his liquor, AB set his empty glass on the bar and started. “You mind answering a question for me?”
“Depends.”
Giving Ms Bissette his full attention, he crossed his arms and asked, “Did you know your father is laundering money through your tattoo shop?”
Kindling lust evaporated. “Wha—I don’t—I don’t understand.” Her lids peeled as she diverted to Low. “No, no. He’d never do that to me.”
AB shrugged and sighed, venturing toward the chaise. He claimed the spot next to Low, who shared her disbelief.
“I’ve been digging for days now,” AB continued. “It’s not hard to figure out. Your father is a year away from jail time. He hasn’t handled whatever it is he does well.
“Shady property buying, the businesses that aren’t making enough money. I mean shit…” Dragging his gaze to Low, AB bit his bottom lip and wasn’t sure if they’d stay after this.
“There has to be another explanation.”
“Nope. A shit ton of money is coming in, and not enough going out.”
Max dropped her purse on the floor as the mood soured with her expression. Now he felt kinda bad. The uncomfortable sensation intensified when she choked.
Head falling into her hands, Max sobbed. “I can’t take anymorrrre. Oh…oh, my goddd.”
AB grimaced and tried to think of something worth a damn to say.
Think, think, stupid. ‘Haaay, there there’ no, fuck. ‘Let’s not be punk about—no!
While he ran through several responses, her wails intensified. She turned hysterical. Sobs spun out of control and almost resembled laughter.
Yeah, like giggling?
Max lifted her head and dropped the act. Max cackled like a lunatic. Confusion racked his brain until she stopped on a dime.
Her pristine arched brows knitted. “You thought you did something, huh?”
“Wait, what?”
“My Daddy is laundering money through my shop, because I let him.” AB recoiled. He would have never suspected such a thing. “You couldn’t leave well enough alone.”
The female stood and closed the distance between them.
Her short ass loomed in front of him.
“All I wanted to do was fuck,” Max said. “Why you have to go and ruin it?” She shook her head and stepped outside. “Now that you figured us out, what you plan on doing with this information?”
The muzzle of a gun grazed his temple. “Are you serious?”
AB growled at Low, who held the steel steady. He definitely used it, more than once.
“Deadly,” Low said. “Ain’t nobody finna pull my shorty card, Red. And I like you, I do. It’s sad, and wasteful, ‘cause you fine as hell. But I got a full clip of halo bullets, and wouldn’t think twice about putting your pretty ass in a motha fuckin’ casket.”

The Unexpected Resurrection of Neon Red and its CWs

About two years ago, I gave Vella a try. It went absolutely nowhere. I don’t know, maybe it was my lack of marketing skills. Anyway, I took Neon Red down six months before Vella shuttered and said I’d release it on D2D or Smashwords. I can still do that. I’m still thinking about it, but I figured why not give Substack a go and see what happens. If it doesn’t pick up after about six months, I’ll bring it here. No big deal. I get more reads through FB than anywhere else anyway.
So, with that being said, I will post Content Warnings here. Neon red is a Dramatic Paranormal Romance. Keyword: dramatic. It’s dark, twisted at times, and messy.
The story follows four vampires. First up, there’s Maxine, a depressed, ninety-eight-year-old divorcée living at home. Then we have Low, a bodyguard intent on fucking up his career and personal life. And because I love chaos, there is Jaxon Aubrey, a genius accountant moonlighting as a drug lord.
Lastly, and not my favorite character, Tracy. Maxine’s father, Low’s boss, and Jaxon’s newest client.
Neon Red is the first in a three-book series I completed four-five years ago. It’s not my best work, but it is fun and enjoyable. I have been editing and tweaking since its Vella days, so it ain’t sooooo bad.
Neon Red is a journey some may not like, and others might love. Keep in mind, again, this is a dark story with dark themes. I don’t condone drug use or selling, nor do I care for those who actively destroy lives. This is fiction, and trust, I do not glorify it. There are consequences for every action. If you follow along to the very end, you will see what I mean.
The main coupling is a fast-burning polycule. Mmf. Crossing swords and sloppy toppy for everyone! By everyone! I’ve said it many times, but all these characters are Bi or pan. No assuming, just know!
Also, Maxine and Low are Black. Jaxon is not; he is Irish. I suppose this makes it an Interracial and Black love romance. Neon Red is unapologetically Black, and some language will seem dated. That’s intentional. These are old ass vampires with decades behind and in front of them. Time moves differently when you’re immortal.

Without further delay, the CWs and trope card.