AB worked a lot as late and through the weekend. He stayed home last night to regroup and relax. Tonight was fully booked, with plans aplenty. Ones that called for black on black. Givenchy broken logo joggers, a tank, and Balenciaga speeds. Monotones made sure an assortment of gold pieces became the highlight of his outfit. Neck, ears, fingers, nose, and wrist. He was dripping in twenty-four carats and wasn’t shy about it either. Sex was pretty close to wearing fine fabrics and jewelry. Acquiring luxury brands damn near made AB orgasm in any given boutique. The high he received from shopping was intoxicating, and it didn’t stop at Kiton. No. AB just loved buying shit. He was an impulse shopper. Tupperware or Dior. Brand made no difference. Especially during long trips to Five Below. He needed an intervention for his addiction. Such wonderful things he found at TJM. God, the priceless doodads. A box made from recycled barn wood? Yes! He desired it. A mirrored owl figurine? Yeah? Big-eyed dogs embroidered onto a pillow? Fuck yesss! Sucking down a lung full of a Moonrock blend, AB checked mirrors. Was he being ghosted? It was a date or anything, but common courtesy and all. He’d been parked under his place of work for the last thirty minutes. A text came through at around 4 pm, agreeing to an outing. AB hit back with a location. Seeing as they were still strangers, he offered to meet at Brickell Condominiums. Low texted thirty minutes ago. How long did it take to…well, he had no idea where the man lived. Holding a creamy cloud, AB clutched his phone, eager to send another text when a rumbling engine and bass-heavy music alerted the senses. I’m Da Man? Yeah, E-40. Releasing smoke, he noted a sedan six spots down as Low parked beside him. Before hopping out, AB grabbed his FOB, device, and blunt pouch. With everything in hand, he emerged from the great value ride. “Well, God damn, Red!” Low’s size was a surprise, to say the least, being a halfbreed and such. They were neck and neck, almost. Non-threatening, he considered AB and smirked. “I shoulda wore my Give-inchy too. Tryna look cute, tuh. You can’t see me, though, on your best night.” Low rounded to the passenger side and listed against the classic big bawdy. AB couldn’t speak with a blunt between his lips. He observed smoke streaming from his nostrils. AB didn’t want to laugh in the guy’s face, but he was clearly delusional. Poor soul. It don’t get any better than Jaxon Aubrey. Was Low ugly, unseemly, or drab? No. Absolutely the fuck not. Even in a t-shirt and sweats. Gray. Pulling the backwood, AB signaled to the chunky boy downstairs. “You plan on using that?” Low reeled. “You checking my shit already? I usually like some conversation and—” “The gun, dumb ass.” “Aye, watch yourself. And only if I have to.” He shrugged, opening the door. “Can’t be too careful with headhunters running about. Let’s go, Red. That summer moon is shy.” When Low slid in, AB stepped to the driver’s side and eased behind the wheel. “Whoooa shit.” The woodgrain was smooth and crisp white interior butter soft to the touch. Smelling like flowers. “Wait.” “Boo!” AB flinched like a pussy when the female sprang up. He gave Max and Low more than enough to amuse them. “Oooo, the salty, sassy alpha be skittish.” She was a delightful sight, but her glasses were an irritant. After a quick hit, AB smirked. “Maybe it’s your face,” he said in good humor, ‘cause she wasn’t ugly either. Far from it, actually. Max had silver screen old Hollywood beauty on lock, but those tattoos launched her into the ethereal. AB loved ink on everyone. As he glanced at a snickering Low, Max hollered from behind. “Don’t be messing with me, Irish Spring,” she hissed. “I am not in the mood. I’ll shove my taser right up your ass.” AB stabbed the dash in search of good music and took her ‘threats’ with a grain of salt. She was five-two, maybe three. “You hella annoying, to be honest.” “I aim to please, Jaxon,” she chimed. “You better believe her.” Low paused to light his own wood. “She done tased me a few times.” While AB messed with Bluetooth shit, she yammered on. Cautionary tales or whatever. Max had a pleasant, silvery voice, so he tolerated her loquaciousness. “There we go.” AB grinned. Max screamed in celebration, and Low coughed, spewing smoke. “Muh’fucka! Is this Whitney Houston?!” “I know that’s right!” She clapped. “Low only plays rap garbage all night. This is real driving music.” Max giggled on all in his ear. “You like Whitney, Big Red?” “I love Whitney.” AB glanced at Low, putting the Chevy in reverse. “I dare you to speak ill of my late queen.” With the blunt back in his mouth, he turned up I’m Your Baby Tonight and floated onto the street. The Monte Carlo SS was a magic carpet ride. “Listen, I ain’t got no issue with Whitney, but damnnnnn.” Low toked, then spoke on release. “You a cold-blooded alpha, bruh. How and why are you cruising around bumpin’ this? And, you white.” “I’m Irish.” He cackled, but AB grimaced. “Where can I…” Low tapped underneath the stereo and revealed an astray. “Thank you. And what does my complexion have to do with anything? All that shit is inconsequential. Music is universal; it’s for anyone who wants to listen. There ain’t no restrictions.” “That’s true,” Max added as a foul, manufactured blueberry odor assaulted him. “What is that?” “My vape.” AB smacked his lips. “It stinks.” “I hate it too,” Low muttered. The city was alive with those coming and going. It was 10:30 pm, and most were on their way home or off to get into some shit. They were the ass end. “You live in Brickell, with all those other rich folks?” “No, I work there.” “Ooooh, right, right. Your accounting office?” “We call it a counseling office,” AB corrected, but had zero intentions of talking about work. “I have to hand it to you, she rides great. Smooth as silk.” Low chuckled and puffed for a minute while Max sang along to Mark Morrison. Music was AB’s first love as an adolescent. That’s why he liked everything; hell, Vivaldi might play next. Perhaps Stevie Nicks, Korn, Nat King Cole, Michael Bolton, Etta James, or The Beatles. His playlist was on shuffle. “Low built this car.” “For real?” AB asked, fully invested in Low’s response. The male’s wry smile spoke before he did. “Not built. I restored her a little. You know, put something fresh on the body, and got up in them guts…” His glittering storm gray eyes swung over right on time. “I fixed what was broken, but I’ma replace the block in about two years.” AB nodded, ignoring the sexual undertones in his statement. Smashing for Coconut Grove, he hit a few lights, but kept things nice and easy. “Aye, make a U-turn right quick,” Low suggested. “What?” “Just do it.” Once able, AB doubled back and whipped the bitch. “The hell going on.” “What’s wrong?” Max asked. “I have no idea, but we being followed. Seriously, I’ve watched them tail us for the last ten minutes.” Retrieving his blunt, AB laughed and made another U-turn. “What you doing?” “Don’t worry about it.” Low bolted upright, looked at Max, then pegged him with a hard stare. “I don’t know you, and ain’t nobody finna put my shorty in harm’s way, fuck you mean.” “They’re with me.” “The tail?” he blurted. “Yeah.” “The hell you have them fa’?” AB inhaled his Moonrock skittle mix and entered Coconut Grove. No need to divulge sensitive information this early on. He wasn’t even sure if it’d go past tonight, but who knew at this point, right? His passengers were a desirable hodgepodge of gardenia, Bergamot, and Shea butter. The aroma was erotic and enticing. It’d been years since he had a menage. God willing, he’d have another soon. Max appeared in his peripherals and stared. “How old are you? Where are we going and why are people following us?” AB snorted and said, “You ask too many questions and haven’t answered mine.” “You ain’t asked me nothing.” “I will.” “Okay, how old are you, whe—” She lurched forward as they came to an abrupt halt. “You ‘bouta go on my list, Irish cream.” “I’m seven hundred and twenty-three, and getting older every night.” Low hacked and leaned forward once again. “You the oldest vampire I’ve ever met. Holy shit. I thought you were like, three-fifty, four hunnit or something.” His eyes traveled from north to south. “I mean you well kept, though, Father Time. You are older than this country and the Declaration of Independence. You’re older than this whole state. The dirt we walk on, you older than—” “I get it! Oh my god.” AB snagged his blunt, killed the engine, and tossed keys to Low. “Oh fuck! You almost hit my dick, be coo’, bruh. I know you don’t need yours no more, ain’t no way it still works, but mine is fine.” Max cackled like a hyena. He found the sound unappealing yet adorable. “This shit will get old, fast.” “Awwww.” She patted his shoulder, and he loved the contact but shrank away in irritation. “Poor alpha feeewings hurrt.” She giggled again. “Move, so I can get out.” “Ask me, nicely,” AB growled. “No, move.” “I said, ask me nicely.” Low jumped out of the car, groaned, and pushed his seat forward. “Let’s go, baby, I ain’t got time.” “Ha!” Max cocked a brow as her ‘friend’ offered a helping hand. Ab followed, intent on setting some motha’ fuckin’ boundaries.
Goooood evening, y’all. I hope you’ve had a phenomenal week! I’ve been editing mostly and adding to Patchwork. If you don’t know what that is, it’s my fantasy serial. It’s lighter than this and lower stakes. Anyway, this week we get a glimpse of The Troublesome Trio. I had A time writing their story, and you’ll continue to see why. I know this chapter was short, but you’ve got quite a bit coming in the next two weeks (maybe sooner). A little action, SMUT, and Maxi antics. Once again, I’d like to thank you for still being here. Stay amazing and hydrated, y’all. See you next week, bookies. Byyyye!
Low was in his element. Standing over the six-range Viking, he tested his famous gravy. “Mhm. Can’t get no better than that.” Some spent money on cars, jewels, and watches. Nah, he loved plants and kitchen appliances. Subzero, Vikin,g, and Mielie. They were Boujee and pricey, but when you were a homebody, you needed reliable shit. And in this age of obsolescence, expensive goods tended to last longer… as planned. On the menu for tonight was slow-cooked garlic pork roast, fried cabbage, truffle mashed potatoes, and homemade French bread. Not his loaf, but Max’s. The female baked her ass off but could not cook rice. Washing hands, he nodded at the boys who were in the living room, lounging like they had not a care in the world. Low turned the warmer and timer off. “Ashton, can you set the table?” He heard a whistle and shuffling. “Teddie, kill the game boy. It’s time to eat.” “Yup, I’m super hungry.” “I know the feeling, bruh.” Mitts on, he retrieved a loaded pan filled with sizzling meat from the oven and marched to the table. “Ohhhhhh, Low, that looks amazing.” “It’s finna taste better too.” “I believe it. I told Ron you make the best shrimp and grits in Florida. He said, ‘hell nah, my mama does.’ So, I said ‘bet’. You have to make some shrimp and grits now.” The boy talked a mile a minute and took no breaks unless he had to breathe. “How you volunteer me like that?” “Simple. I know yours is better.” Ashton rushed around carrying utensils, cups, and condiments. He loved setting the table, but Low knew it was more so outta habit. Pops made damn certain his sons set the table for their entire lives. Low had done it ‘til moving out at a hunnit and twenty years old. Sides joined the main dish, and seconds later, they were seated. Low ate breakfast or lunch with them, depending on how he felt. But supper was to be eaten at the table. No matter what, at some point during the day, he enjoyed a meal with his siblings. “Hands.” Palms up and outstretched, he gripped the smaller ones. Bowing their heads, Low waited for Teddie. It was his turn. “Lord, we thank you for the food you allowed us to have. And thank you for giving my brother the know-how to cook it, and in Jesus’ name, bless those who are without bread. In Jesus name we pray, Amen.” “Amen.” Low paused talking to stack protein on his plate. “How’s gymnastics going, Teddie?” His brother smiled and passed around the mashed potatoes. “I’m second in ranks.” “That’s what’s up. You been going at it all month. See? Practice makes what?” “Perfect,” Teddie sang. Theodor was a happy teenager on the cusp of manhood. Sixteen, innocent, and never been in the streets or seen a gun. Their parents did well until the moment they left. “I have a shot at the championship this year.” After loading his plate, Low clapped palms with Teddie. “I know you gon’ make it. And if you keep going. You’ll get that scholarship, too.” Teddie beamed, his brown eyes shining with pride. “I know I will. It’s about manifestation. Max told me—” “Here we go.” “What?” Teddie frowned with a mouth full. “She’s right. A positive mindset works. You stick with it and make things happen. When you realize how powerful your own thoughts are, the faster you can wipe out negative energy.” Low laughed and shook his head while chomping on potatoes. Looking at Ashton, he ran a hand over his short, pre-dreads. “And what about you, boy? How are you doing in the band?” Ashton nodded, dropped his fork, and signed. It’s going good, though, I’m still kinda bad. I think the violin is my instrument. I really mean it this time. “Are you sure?” Low asked with a smirk. “You ain’t tried drums yet.” Ashton shook his head and signed. Nah, too noisy. You know I love classical strings. I just had to decide. Cello, violin, flute, clarinet, trumpet. I got the piano down, thanks to Max. But I’m sure it’s the violin for me. I like how it feels in my hands. It speaks to me. This little boy was fourteen and growing too damn fast. Ashton was seven years old when they were abandoned. Now, he wore braces, stood five-foot-seven, and talked about girls. Pretty soon, he and Theodore would be grown men. Time ain’t stop for no damn body. Low smiled, flashing fangs. “Whatever you do, it’s gonna be great, Ash. Once you learn a skill, you excel. I’m proud of you.” Glancing at Teddie, he said. “Both of ya’ll. I just wish I could be there for competitions and recitals. I’m sorry about that.” The middle brother shrugged. “You always say sorry for things you can’t control, Low. You didn’t ask to be a vampire who has a sun allergy. It’s the weirdest thing. Don’t you think, Ash?” He nodded and signed. It makes no sense. And then, one day, I’ll be allergic too. But I’m more of a night person, anyway. “Yeah, but you remember,” Teddie shoveled cabbage and snorted. “You remember when I put garlic in your room?” “I do.” Low sipped his cold, sweet blood happily and smiled. “That was when I first told you, right? Yeah, yeah. Y’all wanted proof so bad. You put garlic under my pillow and about burned me to death.” He side-eyed Ashton, ‘cause that sneaky boy got him fresh out the shower. Low walked into his room, and Ash ripped the curtains aside. Ashton rolled his eyes and signed. I believed you afterwards. “Yeah, I would hope—” The doorbell interrupted their chatter. Standing, Low checked the time. 9:30 and barely vampire hours, but he had called for Mrs. Piper to watch the boys, since they ain’t know how to act. Hitting a u-turn, he jogged out of the kitchen and hustled for the door. “Max?” She waved from beyond the glass. “Hay, baby. I was just about to text you, too. I was finna hea—what’s wrong?” Her feet dragged along with her face. Maxi was a positive ball of happy-go-luckiness. Sometimes, her never-ending jubilation got on his last damn nerves. But when Low closed the door, sadness clogged a dark silence as her forehead met his chest. “What’s the matter, Max? Talk to me,” Low said, his demand terse. Linking arms around him, she mumbled. “What is it?” He stepped into the bar area, entrance adjacent, and sat on a stool, pulling Max onto his lap. “Woman, you gotta speak up.” Low hated it when she was sad and blue. It didn’t feel good on the inside. Cupping her cheek, he yanked off the frames and tossed them on the bar-top. “I’m getting married,” she muttered, about ready to cry. Low heard those words, but the loud racket behind his ribs made it tough to make out. “You what?” “I’m getting marrieeeed.” Hands dropped away as he recoiled. Who would have thought he’d care this much? Low remained willfully ignorant for years. He refused to scrutinize what had blossomed between them for his sanity, her mental health, and the job. They had an agreement, an arrangement that worked great, but… “When did you meet somebody?” he asked, unable to look at her. Staring at rows of top-shelf liquor and hanging martini glasses was a better game plan. The sudden feeling of betrayal had him fucked up. It was unwanted and ridiculous. They were grown adults who set boundaries from the first time they… “Low?” “You said we would tell each—” “Oh, my god. No, I didn’t meet anyone.” He cut back to Max with questions. “I don’t understand.” “My dad did this.” He jacked to his feet and paced. “What the fu—what the fuck?!” Linking fingers atop his head, Low halted and gawked. “Are you playing with me right now?! Max, don’t play. Please don’t.” “I’m not. This guy named Matthias came over, and basically, I have to…” Some shit hurt Low’s feelings, other things turned his pillows red. Then some issues and dilemmas made a man wanna rip his own heart out. And to be trill, this was the second time Low felt the latter. As Max explained the whole ordeal, he wanted to vomit. What was finna happen? Was Raymond Lawry going to take her away? Would they move out of state? The bleak thought threatened every bite he swallowed. “Is everything okay?” Teddie asked. His concern called Low’s muddled mind into the present. “Uh, yeah.” He nodded. “It’s fine. Max, baby, you hungry?” Shaking her head, she smiled. “Hay Teddie.” “We have mashed potatoes.” He knew how much she loved the spud. Ashton ran in next, slipping on socked feet, and slammed into her. “Hi, kid,” she chimed as the boy pulled her into the kitchen. “Guess I’ll have a bite.” Both of his brothers were taller than she, but it never stopped the woman from babying them. Low was about to flip. Like, he needed to smoke, or he’d kill one of his children. Not the boys, but a plant. They were his kids. Well, not all. Some were closer to him than that. “See.” Teddie showcased a tub crammed with slices of bread. “He even let us have some. Cause you know he’s stingy with it.” “It’s mine, the eff you mean.” Low barked. Max gave him the nastiest scowl in return. “No.” She snarled and said, “I will tear you up. Y’all can have as much as you want, and if you like, I can make another batch tonight.” When they sat, Low cleared his throat. “Mhm, nah, I’m heading out. Which means you are too.” “I don’t wanna.” “You do.” He smirked. “Where are we going?” Max asked, handling baked goods. She smeared butter on its fluffy white top. He shrugged. “Don’t know. I ain’t the one driving.”
Good evening, y’all. I know it’s late, but it’s still Friday! This is a win! Also, I am writing this half asleep, but I did it. I really hope you have a terrific weekend, and per the norm, I want to thank you. If not for y’all, I wouldn’t keep doing this. Your time and interest mean everything. Have a wonderful Memorial weekend, loves! Byyyyeee.
Close quarters and molten delight. Buck wasn’t one to push or the sort to add pressure until within the arms of promising darkness. He let folks live and die however they wanted. There were too many petals to pluck. Why worry himself silly over one fragrant flower? It was no secret that he was for whoever wanted him. Be it man, woman, or them, he’d be there. Slipping between walls and digging ‘em out. He wasn’t picky. Buck had a good woman with great pussy he tasted with every swallow. “There ain’t much to it,” Buck said, smoke puffing and curling. He applied another price sticker and glanced at Jasper. “You got it.” “Surely.” “How many jobs have you had?” “Not many, but enough.” “You like dealing with people?” Buck asked, plucking his pipe from the shelf. “And don’t be shy. Consider this an interview.” “Thought I had the job already?” Gold flecks sparked in her eyes like agitated fireflies. Jasper’s unbidden attention yanked at his soaked roots. “I need some personal info to put on paper. Mater fact…” Buck brushed past the demon, and she chuckled while he was left to burn. Her scent dared to raze his soul. “Step into my office.” He sauntered between stacks and units. Shelves cluttered and dusty. Nieema hated the task and refused to handle it. The aroma of sawdust, mulch, and metals reminded him of them early days. When the hardware store was their only means of making ends meet. Buck smiled and trekked onward, across twelve hundred square feet. Their first baby had grown up and out since times of old. “We gotta fill out that application and such. Got health care and whatnot.” The back of house wasn’t shit but a bathroom, office, and an adjacent break room. They cut wood outdoors because Buck couldn’t stand the sight. They weren’t sentient trees, but watching the work made his ass itch nonetheless. “Let’s see here.” Buck hustled to the bookshelf, set his pipe next to a fussy ficus, and located the folders. He snatched one and dropped it on the desk. Jasper was a cold piece, feet kicked up atop glossy mahogany. Ankles crossed, she rocked in the chair, hands on her soft belly. Buck grunted and smacked her loafer. “You don’t pay for nothing. Feet off my shit.” She cackled and snagged the folder. He picked a pen from the holder and offered it. Jasper snatched the damned thing and locked her scorching stare upon high. Buck matched her indignation. He smoked in silence and gathered much from her quick script. “I don’t take to demands well, Buckley.” “Sumn’ else we got in common, huh?” She flipped pages and continued, eyes on the application. “Your wife is beguiling.” “I agree.” “Nieema was respectful and forthcoming. Intent on fucking me.” Buck grunted and ambled, mouth to the teak tip. He waited a tick and stared out the single four-pane window he’d installed nearly two hundred years ago. Still held up, much like his marriage. “You tryna make a case or convince me of somethin’?” “I don’t want you to think I came onto her. Or that I sought to do anything with your wife.” He scoffed, clouds undulating as he pivoted. Jasper finished her duty and leaned in the chair. “I wouldn’t care if you did.” “Understood.” He sniffed, smirking. “What’s your plan now?” A dire wolf might deem her smile a threatening show of fang. Buck loved this part. He adored them self-assured types. A pretty woman to step on his neck and make him beg for pain. The sweet dame who’d clutch his nuts and make him pray with reverence. She’d do it to ‘em. Buck believed this succubus to be kind, personable, and everything her kind wasn’t, but she had the beating pulse of a domineering demon. One he could trust to do him right when the occasion called. “I don’t want complications,” Jasper asserted, rising. She pressed forward and rounded the desk, seeking to devour Buck right on up. Her magic spilled and pooled between them. Fine florals, sweet nectars, and spice. He inhaled every note and became a glutton within seconds. She settled on his tongue, coiling around Nieema’s essence. The richness roused his old bone and wood. Buck inched closer as she grabbed his pipe. He watched, fascinated. Jasper pulled with ease and exhaled. Smoke billowed, framing her strong features and capped horns. The succubus pushed his most prized blend through her nostrils and said, “I’m at a point in my life where all I seek is peace. What y’all bring to the table is trouble, and I don’t want it. I don’t want anyone in my face. I don’t want to be paraded around by king and queen.” Buck shivered as their proximity forbade another breath. Breast to breast. Heaving and creaking under her sheer demonic weight. The air was thick with it. Lust, desire. It laved the skin. He growled and bore into her gaze. “I don’t want my business in the street.” “You got my word,” Buck rasped, drunk on her presence and scent. She hadn’t pulled a single succubus card, but he was ready to drop for it. Crawl and kneel for a crumb. She paused for a second hit, and squinted. “I don’t want expectations.” “There ain’t none.” “You aren’t easy to read,” Jasper said, grinning. “I find this to be both thrilling and terrifying. It’s sickening how undeniable your darkness is. Heavy, potent, you carry on the wind and strangle me. I’m choking on it even now. Don’t make me regret this, Buck.” “Never.” She placed his pipe on the desk and sat on it. “You may touch me now.” As if the soil demanded him to, he heeded her words and closed the distance in half a second. He locked an arm around her waist while his width forced her legs to part. Buck claimed Jasper’s mouth and demanded entrance. She gave. Allowing him the pleasure of exploration. Sweeter than morning dew and honey tree sap. He threaded claws through her short hair and gripped strands. Jasper responded in kind. Lighting him ablaze, she fisted the fabric at his back. A telling heat pulsated on his bricked dick. Succubi came on strong as hell and turned that ass into a fiend. He wanted to be seated within her. Deep and burning between her luscious thighs. He growled while she hissed from the belly. It was packed with deadly promise. Buck wanted her bite. He craved her fang-filled kiss and loved how she took to him. Desperation fueled their fire. Flint to parched tinder, he was ready for conflagration. “Hello?!” The holler ruined their moment. Buck rumbled, furious with the world. He snapped her head back, and she yanked herself free. A beat later, teeth and fangs penetrated bone. She’d struck him quicker than a pit snake. To cool his ass down and keep from nutting in his pants, Buck escaped her clutches. He stumbled into the shelf and patted at the bite wound on his shoulder. Blood seeped, staining his t-shirt. “You ain’t shit!” Buck yelled, rushing to pluck a tissue from the box. “It’s seven in the evening and you biting motha fuckas’. This—you know wh—I got something for you.” Jasper laughed, pleased with herself. She leveraged weight on her palms and shrugged. “Who says I want it?” “Don’t get cute.” “I’m not.” She slid to the floor and said, “I have plans with the wife.” “Mhm. Yeah. I bet you do.” She arched a brow while Buck blotted. He loved the sting, tug, and burn. Jasper had no idea how close she was to getting fucked out in this god damn office. He would have, but something about it ain’t sit right. Buck was going to give this demon more than a quickie in the back of his hardware shop. She deserved more than that, and he was more than happy to give her time if need be. “After you, ma’am. I got customers.” “We have customers.” Jasper winked in passing and exited on her high horse. “I want my first check on Friday.” “You can want it all you like, don’t mean you gon’ get it. The hiring process takes time.” “I need the money, Buck.” She spun about, walking backwards through stacks. “I’m serious.” “You want me to spot you a few—“ “No!” Jasper fussed about not taking handouts anymore. He truly didn’t give a fuck and wasn’t about to let the woman talk him down. She’d take his money and like it.
Happy Tuesday, I know it’s a day late, but bookie, the 9-to-5 is gnashing its teeth. Taking a chunk right out of my ass. Buuuut, we persist. We keep it moving and march forward. Just like Buck and Jasper! We have arrived! First kiss for both husband and wife. They’re cute as hell, and I’m still discovering new things about them. Jasper has no fight left, and I feel her because Buck is some fine shit. Big, bold, and dark. We love us a morally gray forest daddy, don’t we? I know I doooo. Anyway, I love how they’re not taking each other seriously while being nothing but themselves. Jasper isn’t one to fuck around, and Buck ain’t either. He loves to be handled with care, but make no mistake, he can and will make demands. I’m anxious to get these three alone. And the moment I publish this, it’s off to see about them. With that, I will bid you farewell. Until next week, folks, have a wonderful night. And don’t forget to drink more water, watch your favorite show, and get some rest! Byyyye.
Tracy missed newspaper stands and bookstores. Those days were sadly gone. 2028 was the year of digital re-branding and a paperless boom. Printing presses were shutting down all over. A tree hugger’s dream come true. Of course, you could still read the Sunday Times, for a ridiculous monthly fee. Paywalls and dollar signs were the wave of the future if you sought to know anything of substance. Horse shit. A paper used to cost ten cents. Now, twenty bucks, and he had to scroll or swipe. Kindles were a joy, but sometimes, he rather the aroma of ink and parchment. Tracy sighed in defeat, returned to the latest issue of Forbes and… swiped left. Tech start-ups were the rage. Tracy pondered on it for a spell, but knew nothing about technology aside from phones and e-readers. He still owned an LCD TV and a Gateway desktop that had seen far too many repairs. Tracy was having a swell moment with his espresso, reading material, and Bossa jazz, until Max, made her presence known for the fourth time. She groaned and undoubtedly wanted something. Placing his cup on a saucer, he eyed the girl. “Sit up, child.” She sighed again, but did as instructed. “And take those ridiculous shades off at the table. Good god, you know better.” It was akin to watching an adolescent pick at food they had no intention of eating. Sliced bone in ham, poached eggs, blueberry scones, and fresh strawberries could have been worse. Not to mention Jaya went through the trouble of cooking. “I hope you eat what she has painstakingly prepared.” “Yes, I am.” “What’s wrong, Maxine?” Her eyes and head lifted. “I wanna go somewhere.” “Like where? Orlando?” “No,” she snipped, staring at a full plate. “Like, a trip.” Tracy’s lips thinned as an arched brow spoke of his displeasure. “You know that’s out of the question.” “And why, exactly?” “Because it’s not safe.” “For whom?” she asked, crossing her arms, defiant as ever. Maxine had always been a handful, since the day she learned to walk. “I’m almost a centennial.” “Age has absolutely nothing to do with this. Hunters are running rampant. They are free to do as they please, and kill indiscriminately. I rather not risk—” “You travel all the time,” she countered. “For work, and you know that.” Fork and knife in hand, Tracy sliced into his chickpea and mushroom omelet. A subject change was a splendid idea, as he would not budge on the matter. Ever. Besides, her presence was direly needed. “How many customers did you have last night?” Tracy asked. “I don’t know, I was off.” He dabbed his mouth with a cloth napkin and draped the fine material over his crossed legs. “It’s Friday, which means you were off three days in a row.” “The shop can take care of itself. Ndari is technically the manager while Tilt is on vacation.” “I understand,” he said, holding his tongue. “But your job is to ensure everything is in working order. We will be audited soon.” She dropped arms and returned to her meal. “Why are you just now telling me?” “It slipped my mind quite honestly. Tedious business. I sifted through mounds of paperwork for hours, to no avail. So, I hired someone.” “Like an accou…” Tracy narrowed his gaze, warning made clear. “Do not, talk with your mouth full. It’s uncouth and not how a woman behaves.” Most probably assumed she was raised in an unkempt, rowdy home. No, never that. Far from it. This was Maxine’s way of acting out because she knew he disproved of tattoos, piercings and the hair. By god, it reminded him of rebellious punks. White and turquoise tresses turned the girl into a spectacle. She’d sullied herself so much, at this point, there was no going back. Anything in the corporate world was out the realm of possibility. No one would hire a woman with the word ‘manifest’ riding her left brow. His daughter had two options, the tattoo shop or marry high. The latter had been a tough road to traverse. “So, you hired an accountant?” Maxine asked. “Indeed.” As a bit of espresso washed down the omelet, Tracy smiled at Jaya’s approach. “Ah, you are a gem. Thank you.” “Nooo problem,” she sang, offering two steaming mugs of b-positive. “Figured you’d need it.” “Why don’t you join us, Jaya? You’ve made more than enough.” She assessed their set up and shrugged. “I guess. I was gonna go for a swim in a minute, but I could eat.” Tracy, ever the chivalrous type, pushed out her chair. “Look at you, Tracy. Thank you.” “You are very welcome, here…” Being of use, he grabbed two scones and dropped them on her plate then added a thick slice of ham. She didn’t like strawberries, so he left those, but slid a poached egg in there as well. “Thanks.” Jaya beamed. Tracy nodded and for a brief moment, their eyes met. Cheeks heating to a degree, he pulled away and looked to Maxine. She was amused. Clearing his throat, Tracy handled the mug and downed its contents. Nectar of the gods. Their very own fountain of youth. Blood kept them spry and lively. He enjoyed feeding more than any other pleasure. It was better than sex. Or so he recalled such. It’d been years… decades since… Tracy swallowed the last drop along with unpleasant memories. “Delightful,” he announced. “You might have tasted it if you slowed down.” Jaya smiled and he followed suit. “It was delicious.” “I know,” Jaya said, with a frown. “I don’t like vegans, their blood is thin. But it’s fresh as all heck.” “Yes, indeed. That’s why I prefer it.” “Fattier the better, in my opinion,” Max interrupted. “You love a decent hearty sip, honey.” Jaya leaned over and lightly pinched the girl’s cheek. Tracy found her affection satisfying. It was good to know Max received comfort from someone. He wasn’t a toucher, a feeler, or a hugger. The experience was nauseating. Tracy avoided affections as if they’d cause him harm. “So, Dad. This accountant, can you trust them?” “With what?” She stared and blinked. “Ah, yes. I doubt he’ll find anomalies and if so, people and silence can be bought.” “That seems risky,” Jaya replied, voice echoing her concern. “I assure you, all is well.” Tracy polished off the espresso and dabbed his lips once more. “They’ll be here shortly, in fact.” “Here?” Max questioned. “Yes, is that a problem?” She shrugged and bit into a strawberry. “It feels counter productive. Too many eyes and ears. After what happened last week, I think you should be cautious.” Tracy recoiled. “No one is more wary than I.” Jaya nearly lost her apple juice and his daughter sniggered. “I am.” “You try to be,” Max hedged. “But we don’t even have an alarm system in this house. Which, I have said, is a bad idea. Since like, forever.” “Like… forever?” Tracy mocked, in his best Valley Girl accent. “You kids these days and the word ‘like’.” “Morgan Freeman is younger than me.” Jaya laughed and he smirked at the slight. “So truuuue and he’s been old for a long ass time.” “Jaya,” He chuckled, steadied himself and made certain to remain composed. “I’m serious, she looks great. Being older than Father Time.” Maxine and Jaya got a good laugh as the doorbell chimed. Their illustrious caretaker rose with haste, Tracy stopped her. “I’ll get it, you eat.” “Fine by me.” On the way, he stroked his cashmere sweater vest and snapped the hem. When satisfied, he yanked the door wide and smiled. “Ah yes, Mr. Aubrey.” The towering male clutched his palm and entered. “What a magnificent home you have.” “It’s modest,” Tracy added. And it was, before he and Jaya remodeled every square inch. “So, would you like coffee, warm red, or a snack, before we begin?” Mr. Aubrey spun with eyes high and nodded. “I’ll take caffeine, six lumps and extra cream.” Liquid sugar it is. “Sure, follow me. I’ll have something made for you.” “Splendid.” They weaved through formal dining and crossed into the kitchen, where Maxine gasped. “Is you fuckin’ with me right now?!” “Maxine!” Tracy shouted. Jaya shot to her feet in a hurry. She had better calm the girl.
Hoe. Lean. Shit. This must be a joke. No way in hell. “So I turn you down, and you follow me home?!” The chair screeched as she hopped to. Her five-foot nothing ass glared behind dark frames. He knew it. The sneer was unmatched. “You have nerve. This some stalker shit. I’ll call the cop—have you been stalking me?!” “Maxine Bissette, by god. You calm down this instant.” “Dad, he’s a predator.” “What?” Tracy snapped, confused as hell. “Get him outta here, Jaya.” Short Stack was audacious stepping to him. “Or I’ll cut his ass.” This girl behind the sunglasses might provoke him to say some crazy shit. He didn’t enjoy her disrespect or the scene. As an old, Purevian, or Pureblood, as the world called them, this was top-tier challenging behavior. But… AB bit his tongue. ‘Cause he loved money. No matter how small the amount. Tracy grunted and said, “He is the accountant I hired. You’ve mistaken this gentleman for someone else, I fear, and, humiliated him.” A distinct clicking in her mouth riled an extra dose of curiosity. Steel and enamel, was it?. “He’s—yo—you? Mhm. You hired him?” “Yes.” She nodded and glanced at a tall, hovering female. “Wooooow.” Back to him, she shrugged. “Small world, huh?” AB grinned. “Very.” “Well, I’ll leave you tw—” “Apologize.” She groaned at Tracy’s demand but AB appreciated it. Basking in the moment, he lifted his chin and waited for her loud mouth self to say sorry. “Dad, I don’t think that is really nec—” “In my house, you will apologize after spitting vulgarities and accusing someone of crimes not committed.” Her head bobbed from left to right as arms crossed. She huffed and muttered, “I’m sorry.” “For?” Tracy prompted. “Imsorryforcussingandaccusingyouofstalkingme. Can I go now?” When her father slashed a hand, she vanished, sprinting away. An elegant floral scent swirled, tickling his fancy. “My goodness, Mr. Aubrey, I do so apologize.” “Jaxon, please.” “I haven’t the words, Jaxon.” He paused for a tick, brows furrowing. “My daughter lacks decorum and etiquette. I don’t know where it came from. Jaya, will you please prepare our guest a cup of coffee? Five sugars and extra cream.” “Coming right up.” “Oh, is this the wife?” Tracy winced and chuckled. His hazel eyes dilated and the female dropped a saucer. They were nervous. Cute. “No, no. I uh, no.” Tracy snickered again. “My dearest died years ago.” “Jesus, I’m sorry.” He dismissed the condolence and pivoted. “Jaya, he will be in my office.” “Okay.” Her high pitched reply was adorable. They were onto something. AB smelled it in the air. “Shall we?” They cut a u-turn and AB trailed. He took quick notice of large comfy couches, a mounted seventy-inch TV and a fire ass recliner in the family room. Tracy lived the good life. White walls and dark stone. Medieval with a modern twist, if that was a thing. Keeping on course, they trekked across the foyer and he clocked a sumptuous formal area. Sofa, coffee table and armchairs. AB checked everything and quickly established a median income. This gave him something to work with. The house ran an easy mil, at least, maybe one-point-seven. Tracy could afford one-forty an hour. Hell yeah. On their way down a compact hallway, he felt like a rat in a shoe box. This was an old floorplan. Passing a closed door stinking of flowers, AB gathered a deep breath. That was her space. ‘Max’s’ room. Funny how he got her name anyway. A nd the way it happened blew is fucking mind. Small world and beyond. As their journey ended in the office, AB dropped his Botega on the desk and suddenly remembered what it felt like to sleep in a coffin. The stuffy, confined feeling intensified by the second. Tracy was unorganized, a hoarder, perhaps. It wasn’t uncommon for their kind to collect things. Hoarding their loot and gold pieces like sleeping dragons. Papers and books were strewn about in piles and on the floor. Ohhh god damn it! Jaxon knew before Tracy even opened the gates of hell what this was about. “And here are my files.” “Excellent,” AB chimed, though screaming inside while his blood boiled. Why the fuck, would you throw financial records in plastic tubs?! “I need you to be aware, that my hourly rate will need to be augmented. This is stodgy, wearisome work and will take me at least a week to sort proper.” “Whatever you want.” AB’s eye twitched. “Ballpark? Two-hundred dollars an hour, but that might change.” “Sure.”
The tide changed swiftly. This particular equation wasn’t adding up. Tracy had a million-dollar spot, a Jeep, a Rav-4, and a lowly Lexus out front. The cost of living in this neighborhood was highhh. Upkeep and utilities. Mr. Bissette had a maid, for Christs sake. He couldn’t afford two- hundred bones an hour for a week. Which translated to 14k, maybe more. If AB milked overtime, and he would, because cream that thick got his dick hard. “Okay, let me get started.” Wagging a finger, AB smirked. “I’m going to need that coffee.” “Yes, sir.” “Oh and Tracy, if you don’t mind, may I tidy a bit? I’ll make certain you’ll know where everything is.” “Whatever you must do, feel free.” “Greeeeat. Thank you so much.” Tracy nodded and hit the exit as AB observed the trash heap. There was no reason for it to look like this. None. He removed the TF suit jacket, vest, and tie. After rolling sleeves, AB dug in a pocket for his buds and shoved them in each ear. Play No Games was a winner, so he kept it. Big Sean had classics. “Where to start is the question.” The desk was overwhelmed with notebooks and journals. He wouldn’t invade Tracy’s privacy, so he stacked them tower style. From largest to smallest. Bills were stashed in the file cabinet he alphabetized. Then, the planners. Why keep them? “What the fu—” He grunted at the unnecessary clutter and moved them to the bookshelf housing biographies and novels on the African American struggle. Some AB had read himself. James Baldwin was a masterclass, and Maya Angelou was his favorite poet, next to Langston. He dusted shelves and sorted. Paperbacks and hardcovers weren’t to touch. This wasn’t his house, but that shit drove him up the fucking wall. He went by last name, as was expected. When finished, the eight-foot oak behemoth looked better. AB accomplished said tasks in under ten minutes; vampire abilities were a godsend. A knock forced him to pause, Hall and Oats, and greet the hostess. “Here’s your coffee, Mr. Aubrey. I apologize for the wait.” She placed his beverage on the desk and shrugged. “I had to clean a few other things.” “No biggie, thank you.” “Thank yo—I mean, you’re wellcooome.” She blushed. He was used to such behaviors. “Jaya, right?” “Yeah, you remembered.” From fifteen minutes ago. “Sure did.” She was pretty, gorgeous even. Long, dark spirals flanked classical features. Green eyes, freckles, and a sepia complexion. No wonder Tracy was smitten. “Okay…uhhh, I’ll leave you to it.” “Yes. I may need more coffee, though.” “I’ll set a pot aside just for you. And by the way, nice job.” She gestured at his work. “I have never seen it this clean. Tracy won’t let me touch his things.” “Well, Mr. Bissette didn’t have a choice with me.” He smiled and she turned coy. “I’ll leave you to it,” she recited again. “Alrighty.” Jaya backed out and waved. He lifted a hand and sighed when she vanished. “0ookay.” AB went for the dainty teacup and growled at a black hole. “I really hate you.” In an act of war, folders slid from the pile and fluttered onto the floor face down. “You mangy bitch. This is some good coffee. Sheesh.” He drank the rest in one gulp and set it aside. AB fixated on the battlefield and rubbed his hands together. “Let’s do the damned thing.” Sitting cross-legged in the closet, he pulled out shit. Fifteen boxes, six briefcases, and three full tubs. AB snagged a manila folder and skimmed. Taxes. A home he no longer owned. Great. Throwing that, he found another. House number two, three, four, five…more followed. “What the hell.” His turnover rate was quick. Every two years. That was mad moves. A lot of waste, honestly. No way he got a decent return. The tub gained his interest. And you know whaaaaat? Tracy bought tons of property and sold it post haste. Gaining with some, losing with others. Maybe he flipped houses or some shit. A vampire keeping equity for an extended period turned the waters murky. Boats, yachts, vacation homes. He had to have a digital trail. It was unavoidable these days, and activity of this sort might raise some eyebrows. Those of the human persuasion. Hm. Setting aside his suspicion, AB compiled it. Equity and depreciating assets. There was a lot and some of it wasn’t even in his name. Probably an alias, which may have saved his ass more than once. Even AB had three names on deck. Jaxon Aubrey was dead on paper. To everyone else, he was Barton Sparks, Alexander Urchin, or Tucker Roberts. He’d be Jaxon again, in fifty years or so. It was the closest to Jack he’d ever get, seeing as he’d left the boy in Ireland eons ago. With speed and efficiency, AB formed neat stacks. They’d be much higher in a few hours. “I’m definitely going to need more coffee.”
What’s good? I hope y’all are having a swell week. Not too much to report. I am taking some time off, but I have vowed to keep a steady pace with posting. I am going to try my best to post Neon Red on Fridays and Patchwork on Mondays. My day job hours are all over the place, so there’s no telling when I can edit and then post, but I’m doing my ultimate best, y’all. Still trying to see what works and what doesn’t. This week, we are reacquainted with Tracy. He’s overbearing and a pain in my ass, though he has reasons. As I have said before, y’all will hate him by the end of this book. But keep reading, he may surprise you. And with a new chapter comes another chance at meeting Jaxon. On occasions, this man works for the monarchy (underground vampire kingdom with a long history and five books of its own, I finished seven years ago) as an auditor. He’s great with numbers and loves monotony. Im super excited because this is where the journey truly begins. The moment when our trouple gets the page time they deserve. I hope y’all have a lovely weekend and don’t be doomscrolling. Shit is too real out there, y’all. Please stay safe and give yourself grace. Thank you so much for reading! See you next week.
Low climbed a short flight of stairs, stopped at 7b, and banged on the screen door. Time was ticking, and at 4:15 am, sunrise was due in roughly forty-five minutes. Sliding to his house took thirty-five, no traffic. On a Tuesday, though, that morning commute was on its way. “Fuck.” Low pounded on the steel mesh again and thanked god he answered. “What’s up Low, c’mon on in.” Paul pushed on the screen and allowed Low entry, peeking outside for a hot second. The boy was cagey and kept to himself. Paul was against technology; he owned one cellphone. A flip burner. No email or social media presence. He was three hundred years old with soulful eyes to tell it, but physically remained a lanky seventeen-year-old. “The boys are out tonight,” Low’s plug stated as three bolts clacked into place. “What you want, youngsta?” “Half, and some wax, like usual.” The white boy, er, man, sighed and marched through a compact kitchen. His joint was a tiny linoleum haven with coral walls and tiled counters. “So listen, my supplier ain’t supplied, Low.” “Is you for real?” “Said they had a hiccup.” Paul opened the cabinet under the sink and yanked free Cali Kush, not even a half. “This all I got. I can’t hit you with half right now. I got tourists I need to hustle, you feel me. I’ll give you an eighth, though. And throw in some edibles my old lady made.” Low smacked his lips, but accepted the offer. “Aight, shit. I don’t got no choice.” Digging for cash, he knew there were others to call. A brotha needed that half. A muh’fucka smoked too much for a punk ass eighth. At least there were some cookies for Max. Shorty didn’t smoke, but she liked edibles on occasion. With the sale finalized, they clapped palms and Low said, “I’mma hit you, stay up, blood.” “Right, right.” Low hit the exit and rushed downstairs. He slid behind the wheel and swapped goods for the forty-five, tucking it back under the seat. “Ooooo cookies.” “That shit potent, knowing Ulinda, so don’t go crazy.” She laughed and shoved chips in her mouth. “Can we go now? I wanna relax.” “We on the way.” A thirty-minute journey was whittled down to twenty. He was ready to get in the house, smoke, and make Max holler. Plus, the pinkish horizon concerned him. They were in the home stretch and zoomin’ down SW66th when Max tapped his shoulder. “Low, ain’t that Teddie?” “Where?!” He slowed and peered through her window. Low didn’t have much of a view from where he lived. Directly across the street from his house was a soccer field. It belonged to the Korean church and was private property. But sure enough, Teddie was on the lawn doing flips. Low punched the horn and swerved into his driveway. “I’ma kill him.” “Be nice.” “Hell nah.” Without turning the car off, he slipped out and ran across the narrow avenue. “Have you lost your mind?! Get your hard-headed ass—it’s three in the morning and you flipping and shit. The neighbors finna call CPS!” Teddie grimaced and jogged to the fence. “You told me to practice. That’s what I’m doi—“ “Booyyy, you lef—” Low fumed, pointing at the house. “You left Ashton alone?” “No…” Teddie nibbled on his bottom lip and looked at the tree Ashton stood behind, peeking. “Get the hell over here!” The boy smiled, mouth full of high-priced braces. They cost more than Low’s golds. “What’s wrong with you? Bring your behind on. Both y’all in it.” Teddie snickered. “How do we get out?” Low clapped his hands. “Don’t play with me. Theodore!” They thought this shit was funny, and he didn’t find a ‘nere thing humorous. After they cleared the short chain link, Low shoved them across the street. “Get in bed, now! And wash up too!” Knucklehead one and two rushed for the door, grinning like they weren’t in trouble. Teddie stopped and waved. “Hi, Max.” “Hay, love,” she said, daring to be nice. “You stuck that last one, boy.” “I did, huh?” “Go’on,” Low shouted. It got them moving, and the moment they disappeared, he killed the engine. “You get everything?” “Yeah. And you don’t have to yell.” “Girl, I’ve been raising those boys for eight years, I’ma yell at they ass. And that little one, he gon’ give me a stroke.” Max shook with mirth as he slammed the door and remotely closed the gate. They paced for the house, and she tried to show him the bright side. “They’re growing young boys who will turn into men. Y’all will be inseparable.” “Shit, we already are.” Low scrubbed Vapormaxx soles on the welcome mat and stepped over the threshold with his lady in tow. Keeping it a hunnit, Max wasn’t his. Matter fact, he didn’t have a lady. No relationship to speak of. Just how he liked it. What they had, was a situationship. Mutual as fuck. Both parties carried baggage and neither wanted to unpack that shit. For various reasons. “God, I love the way your house smells. It never gets old.” Max recited the same line every. Single. Time. Low figured it was a compliment, and he could never receive too many of those. When it came to his home, yeah, he deserved some recognition. For time and money spent. Vaulted ceilings dressed in polished cherry planks and beams. Mid-century modern decor and foliage were his vibe of choice. From the door, house plants greeted them, and as they trudged along the terracotta floor, he jotted mental notes. Pruning and watering were in order. Low watched Max bank left and dash through a pair of doors leading to the master suite. He loved the privacy and sheer size of his room. She hurried onward, hit a final louie, tossed goodies on his bed and ran for the bathroom. “I gotta peee.” Low dropped his keys, phone, and lighters on the highboy dresser. His place smelled so good ‘cause he kept incense smoking. And not them cheap ass Wallyworld sticks, nah, his came from an online independent Afro shop. Black Butter, Pattie Labelle, and Somili Rose stayed in rotation. The latter was his go-to at the moment. After Low sparked a roach, he slipped off his shoes. “Whew, my bladder was full. Oooo that’s the Somali Rose.” Max cleared the bed and dove into her purse. He knew she was about to spout some spiritual mess. In an effort to stop it, he stood on a grunt and aimed for the stereo system beside his dresser. The master wasn’t small, by any means. But he packed it tight with more plants, a cal king, and a heavy oak number. A four-bedroom with dual vanities, a sauna, and a sit-in shower would cost close to five million nowadays. Low was big-headed, even though he hadn’t paid for it. He was also proud of an enormous vinyl collection. Years’ worth of long-forgotten music followed him through the decades and filled four shelves. As Low lifted the lid on an HMV stereogram—purchased in 1972—sage wafted. “Annnnnd here she go.” “Your energy is off, love. We gotta cleanse all this mess. I told you to get you some lavender and sage incense.” She swirled that shit all in his face. “I don’t believe in any of your new-age garbage, and you know this.” “Don’t talk like that. See, and you wonder why all those bad spirits won’t get off you.” The scent was okay, but not better than his incense. “A daily smudge would do you good.” “Break that down for me, baby.” “Yup.” He pulled free a winner and chuckled. Vinyl records almost died when compact discs emerged. Luckily, the former prevailed and made a hard comeback. Everybody and they mama released an album on vinyl. Which was good, ‘cause he liked the analog sound better. Low was a hip-hop head, and even Kendrick had ‘em. Though, sometimes, them oldies came in handy right on time. After carefully pulling the record from its jacket, he placed it on the platter and dropped the needle. Teddywas a classic album, and Mr. Pendergrass set the mood quickly. “Freak nasty!” Max yelled mid-giggle. “Mister penherass dowwwwwn… senior.” Low crawled on the bed, observing Max bust down the weed and backwood. She dumped tobacco into an abalone shell and used her magical hands. The woman could roll. Her shit was tight and dry. How she did it with those sexy nails was beyond him. Max ain’t even partake, then again, she had been rolling his blunts for ten years. Irritated, Low reached and snatched her shades off. A rumbling growl was to be expected. “You know damn well you can’t wear them up in here.” Max scoffed, sealing with a pierced, pink devil. It was his personal hell on earth. “What is this? Cali Kush?” “Yup.” “I can taste it.” Max was an old hippie type with weird habits. Face tattoos and piercings fit her personality. Come to find, she acquired most of it as an act of rebellion. “Can you hurry up?” Low snarled. He got nothing but her usual side-eye. “I will flush this down the toilet.” “I’ll put you out, keep fucking with me.” She laughed, pressing his nerves. “Here, damn! Rushing me.” Max frowned and threw the blunt at him. “I’ll be in the shower.” Her little ass scooted off the mattress as Low lit the tip. The first drag did his soul right. Holding smoke, he slid on down to his back and attempted to unwind. Ten minutes and four hits later, he yearned for sweeter offerings. Low snuffed his blunt in the ashtray and popped up. On his way towards heaven, he lost the durag and clothes. Her favorite soap and scent, which heavily resembled gardenia, ignited a violent brand of lust. Airy and floral, it drove him to madness many a night. He needed it on his skin and in his lungs, helping the kush along. With desire coiling in his gut, Low wrenched open the shower door. “I’m tryin’ to wash up, now. Move!” “Don’t be yelling at me,” Low snapped. “You in my house.” “Ugh, your wound is still bruised.” Headscarf on and body soaking wet, she was divinity in motion. The vision moved him forward until she slapped his shoulder. “Ow! What you do that for?” Max scrunched her nose. “Did it hurt?” “No.” “Okay.” She slapped it again and laughed. Low was over her shit. As water streamed and steam billowed, he fell upon her. Supple and buoyant, her lips woke his shit right up. He shivered, and she jumped, locking legs around him. Home was right here. Body to body, their tongues worked in sensual duality as Low gripped her ass. Hands full, his dick jutted in anticipation, but their kisses never lasted long enough. Separation caused a pinprick of pain. He dropped onto the tiled bench and kneaded her behind. “You finna sit on this dick?” “Yeahhhh.” Max moaned and whined. “You gonna be nice?” “Mhmmm.” She nodded and grabbed his face. Her kiss traveled, leaving fire in its wake. Cheek, jaw, and neck. “I wanna taste, too. Can I have it, baby?” she whispered against the sensitive spot, just under his jawline. Low grunted in agreement, losing wits and sense. Two hundred and sumn’ years was a long while to live and more than enough time to lie with any and everybody. Low wasn’t an amateur; he knew how this game was played and had been at it for generations. He’d had countless companions, but not one had claimed his vein. Until he’d met Maxine. Low never turned her down, never said no, but it wasn’t a thing. In truth, vampires biting each other wasn’t normal unless mated. Low didn’t care ‘bout none of that, ‘cause the shit was addicting. Fangs deep in his throat as her pussy hugged him close set a muh’fucka on the straight and narrow! “Let me have it,” Max demanded, straddling him. She gripped his stiff shaft and positioned his blunt head right where he needed to be. Low’s eyes slammed shut the moment her heat licked the tip. Max’s pink, silken walls teased, flexed, and soaked him good. Lowering and sliding, she mewled. Low’s fingers sank into her soft, plush hips. “Shi—” “Fuuuucck,” Max cried. Tight and soul snatching, her pussy arrested him. His female sat on it from head to base and undulated. His eyes sprang open, and he damn near came from the view. Shorty woulda been madddd pissed if he nutted, but she was a masterpiece. Head thrown back and sharp fangs running a hard line. Her buttery skin adorned with art, shimmered under a dim blue glow. “On me, baby, keep them eyes on me,” Low pleaded. She complied instantly. Unnatural, yet alluring, her gaze matched his. Perfectly arched brows, thick lips, and high cheekbones came in second to her stunning stare. There was something dark behind the innocence. Max hated them, but he’d never see her point. Mismatched and dazzling, they drove him to want without ceasing. One red and the other quicksilver. “Damn,” he barked as she started moving like a starving succubus. “Come on now!” Low smacked that ass, and Max yelped while her pussy bit back. It encased him and forced a motha fucka to beg. She wound and bound him. On fire for it, heaving and cussing, he held firm. “You so pretty, Maxi. Look at you…all on this dick.” Low latched onto her luscious form and gritted his teeth, watching her body bounce nearly took him out. “Damn, you wet as fuck, shorty.” “Oooo, shit, Low!” Her head lulled forward, and motion grew vicious. Ass meeting pelvis and clapping, she put their natural-born speed to good use. At her mercy, Low might as well be a toy. Perfect pussy, soft curves, large brown nipples, and a hammering pulse set him off. He was about to nut. “Ooooooo I’m ‘bouta squ—” Cutthroat and ruthless, skin glistening, Max danced on the dick, her scent thickened with the steam. Breathing clipped and belly jiggling as he loved, she whined. “Lowww! Right—oh dammmnn babyyyy!” She hooked her claws into his arms, but he registered nothing as her mouth locked onto his jugular. Fangs penetrated, knocking bones loose. She touched the depths of his cold, aching soul and set him free. Low erupted. From crown to sole, he quaked and drenched her beloved walls. Truth be told, Max ran the show when they fucked. Whatever she say go. And as his toes curled, ass clenched, and eyes rolled yet again, she ruptured. Squirting on his lap, Max drank her fill and screamed. Nut number two battered his senses. Low gasped for air and looped arms around her. This here wasn’t planned, and they had no business sharing sheets. Her daddy would never approve, but god forbid Low let their situation go. Not for a second, an hour, or a day. This was worth the risk. Max was worth it. Maybe it was fucked up, but Low had long ago become reliant on these secret, stolen moments and refused to live without them.
Heeello. I hope y’all have had a good week and aren’t too stressed out, but I know how it is. Sometimes it can be hard to enjoy the little things like reading, writing, hiking, meditating, or gaming with everything the way it is, but we try, don’t we? Y’all have taken those tiny moments and used them to read my stories. For that, I thank you. It means a lot. Y’all are the reason why I keep at it, cause you’re still here! So, with that, let’s move on to the goods. SMUT. And yeah, this was a little taste of what Low and Max have. They are creeping, sneaking, and freaking, you hear me! Max got the heart of a lion, cause babbbyyyy, what? I ain’t set up like that. Ten years? A whole decade and some change? Hell to the nah nah nahhhh. They cute, though, and I adore them. They’re staying true to the game, and I can’t blame them. Oh, one last tiny tidbit, the word female is used loosely in my vampire universe because they aren’t human. And some, not all, prefer male-female terms instead of woman-man. Anyhoooo, that’s it for now and please, as always, if you have any questions, comments, concerns, let me know! Have a great day, y’all. Stay well, stay hydrated, and STOP DOOM SCROLLING!
“Break, break, me open with your all-seeing eye. Crunch, crunch. My bones. Bite me down to the, the, the core.” AB hissed and clapped his hands. “That’s heat. It’s my best yet.” He never considered himself a Huges type, but shit, he was close—something like him for sure. Langston would probably have nothing negative to say. Feedback from the poets’ group chat was all positive. “Now for a title.” He ruminated for a second. “Fiery cry.” AB saved the document as Brittany interrupted, her voice singing through the intercom. “Mr. Aubrey, a gentleman would like to speak with you, but he doesn’t have an appointment.” AB swiped his tablet, tapped on the calendar, and scrolled. He had forty minutes to spare before the next appointment. “Alright, I’ve got time. Bring him in.” “Yes, sir.” “Mmmhhm.” He loved that, sir shit, it never got old. Especially when she uttered the words. Brit was a vivacious sixty-year-old halfbreed with a pert ass and soft lips. “Buuuuut that’s totally unprofessional, bro.” AB cleared his desk of candy wrappers and Coke cans. He pushed everything over the side and into a tiny trash bin near his desk. With practiced ease, he opened the drawer, retrieved a mirror, and checked for imperfections. “Not a speck.” A small knock alerted him to their arrival. He stashed the looking glass, jumped to it, and buttoned his Dior vest. Britney appeared first and held the door. A male of decent stature sauntered in, confident and friendly. Shoes, Chanel. Rolex. A gold signet ring of some sort. Fresh line and a tailored goatee. AB smelled greenbacks as they shook hands. “Hello, I’m Jaxon Aubrey.” “Tracy Bisset,” the male said, releasing his strong grip. “I apologize, it’s uncommon for me to show up without an appointment, but I am in quite a bind.” “Oh no, I take walk-ins. Have a seat, and we can talk. Britney, get our friend here some refreshments.” “Yes, sir.” She smiled and walked her fine ass out as AB marched behind his long desk, cut from the finest of pine. “You have a magnificent office.” Mr. Bisset spared a moment to examine the expansive space before taking a load off across from him. “Quite welcoming.” “Thank you.” He appreciated small talk, but time was money. “I take decor very seriously, seeing as I spend most of my time here. Now, what can I do for you, Mr. Bissette?” Tracy crossed his legs and frowned. “I would like to retain your services.” Those words gave AB a back rub with baby oil; however, Tracy here needed to be informed. AB wasn’t trying to swindle a paying customer. Yet. “Is this a referral?” “Yes.” “Great, can you tell me who, so I can give them a discount?” “Oh yes, uhm Stan—” “Connors, Stan Connors, ohhhh yeah.” Jaxon nodded and wondered where Britney was with the perishables. “He’s a regular client. Are you two friends? Not to assu-” “Acquaintance. I run a construction firm, and he’s also one of my clients.” Hallelujah. “I asked several colleagues for advice, and you were named three times. I was given human recommendations as well, but I…” Tracy cleared his throat and corrected an immaculate silk knot at his throat. “I’d rather not fraternize with the horde.” “Ah, understandable. Okay, well, I can and will help you after you look over my portfolio.” “I’ve done that already.” “Excellent.” Leaning forward, Jaxon linked fingers atop his blotter and smiled. “First, I will need a compiled checklist of what it is you require of me and a three-thousand-dollar retainer. After which, my rate is 110 dollars per hour.” “Done.” What a gorgeous mix of letters. He might just come in his slacks. “Beauuuutiful.” AB reached and snapped a matte black premium embossed business card. “Take this, and call me when you have what I need. My fax and email are listed as well. Send it however you like.” Jaxon rose, offering his palm once more. “I can’t wait to do business.” “I’ll call you in a day or two.” “Terrific.” Wearing a warm smile, he escorted Mr. Bisset out of his office, watched him leave, and looked down at his doe-eyed secretary. “What happened to the water and cookies?” She gasped. “Oh my god, I forgot. I was sorting brochures.” “Wow. You know…” Towering, he stared at the woman, AB inhaled her precious perfume in a greedy gulp. She smelled like cherries and a simple syrup, batting her long, thick lashes. Peering into her big eyes, he remembered Brit was an employee. Saying what he wanted was grounds for a lawsuit. So AB stuffed hands in his pockets and sighed. “It’d be great if next time, you could remember.” “I will, I swear.” The cutie bit her bottom lip. On that note, AB went about his business. “When our twelve o’clock shows, send them right in. I wanna breeze through tonight.” “Got it.” Rushing into his ‘welcoming’ office, AB grunted at the thought of what was to come. He didn’t want to work tonight, oddly enough. At least, not as an accountant. But work was work. Thanks to an impending dreary summer, he only had five hours on the clock. Though short and sweet became long and grueling, fast. Especially with perusers and clients who had other, more pertinent issues. AB worked out of his office mostly, but traveled often. Minutes ticked by, and the twelve left, then two arrived. She was a sassy silver-haired familiar who wanted a free ride; he might oblige after checking her books. By the time AB stashed his laptop and tablet in a 1976 Bottega, it was 3 am, and he was done. Numbers were so much fun, but a bastard needed unwinding. Willing lights off, he and the bag marched out with the key Fob in hand. Britney vanished ten minutes before and always had. He thought, would it still be unprofessional even if they were off the clock? AB laughed like a creep and strolled across glossy hardwood. His unit was seven thousand square feet. He had an entire floor in the heart of the Brickell financial district with panoramic views. Stuck-up rich people loved it here. His slice of the pie sported minimalistic vibes with bright woods and gray suede. Muted tones, a comfy break room, and even a balcony for smoking. There was a second executive office that served no real purpose other than to store boxes and records. AB had no intention of ever taking on a partner. He liked to work alone and stick to himself. After turning everything else off, he engaged the alarm, stepped out, and secured the locks. Without keys. He strutted down the long, echoing hall and hopped in the waiting elevator. Stabbing the B-level button, he made a point not to look at—there were forty-three— AB closed his eyes and poked at random. “Shit, shit, shit, shitshitshit… I am sooooo sorry, Jerry.” Cracking a lid, AB took a deep breath and felt better since it was over. All those precious buttons glowed bright, setting the world right. He glanced at the camera and whistled along to a dumb ass elevator tune that never changed. The box stopped six times before reaching the garage. AB made haste, ran from the lift, and stopped at a modest Hyundai. It was a good car and had tons of legroom. No matter how long he spent in Florida the humidity always strangled him. Before getting in, AB quickly removed his tie and vest. 2.5 seconds and his knees would start sweating. “Yuck.” There was something in the air; it smelled different here. Moist, stuffy, and ripe with vegetation. Everywhere he went, swamp water, brine, nocturnal vagabonds. And the fucking Iguanas, Jesus Christ. “Move to Miami, it’ll be fun. Girls and beaches. Ass and Margaritas. Bitch!” Once seated in the full-size sedan, he threw on a goody. Keep It On the Real. Decades, plural, could pass, and Stackin Chips would still be fire. Backing out, he opened the middle compartment, plucked a waiting preroll and a lighter. With one hand on the wheel, he put lips to the blunt and sparked. AB threw the Zippo, smashed the gas, and made a hard right. Damn one-way streets. After turning onto SW 9th, he found himself jumping onto the I-95. Now, why was he heading straight for Miami Beach? Curiosity, maybe. With lungs loaded with Purple Haze, he held that shit and found a parking space in front of the shop ten minutes later. It being Monday and close to four am, not a soul lurked on the sidewalk. As AB exhaled thick cream, he stared at the shop’s comings and goings. In truth, he was mildly curious about that mouthy little woman with the weird hair. Apparently, he was interested and laughed at her corny ass joke. So, at the very least, he wanted to suck a tiddie. Whenever AB spotted a potential smash and pass, he went for it. After a final hit, he pinched the glowing cherry and stashed it behind his ear. AB then snatched his shirt tails free, unbuttoned, and let the tank work some heavy overtime. Emerging from the vehicle, he noted a blonde out front who stiffened at the very sight of him. “Sup?” She smiled. “Hi.” The tattoo shop was packed with vampires. Miss Mini Skirt looked like an employee. Music was loud as he entered goth heaven. Black on black. Everything, save for the counter space and a white POS. “Oh wow, you’re back, uhm…” The tall brunette with a short cut squinted. “Jaxon.” “Nice memory.” She smirked and nodded. “Come for one yourself this time?” “Nah, nah. I was wondering if the other…” Lifting a hand to his torso, she snickered. “Short one, is around.” “Yeah, actually. She’s in the back, getting her stuff.” Pixie Cut turned, then looked back at him. “We’re about to close up.” “I feel you. Uhm, I’ll wait here.” The female on his radar returned from wherever she had been, and have mercy, hips and thighs were on deck. God damn! He didn’t know what she was looking for in that bag, but hopefully it was her number. “Ndari, baby, have you seen my phone?” “In the POS.” “Shit, right.” She halted and glanced at her buddy. He couldn’t tell for sure, behind the frames. She had a Corey Hart, Sunglasses At Night, fetish. “Look who it is, Ginger Snaps. I’d love to offer a session, but we are done for the night.” She marched forward and he observed the slight limp. Rummaging through the register, she snorted. “You know wh—giiiiirrl, I don’t remember putting it in there.” Scatterbrained? Unattractive. Slamming it shut, she said, “So anyway, feel free to make an appointment Lucky—” “I fucking dare you to finish that sentence. My Mama doesn’t even call me Lucky Charms.” Eyes darted as the blonde swayed behind the counter and the tall one shook her head. But Shorty, recoiled. “You, are a customer in my establishment, and I can refuse service at any time, Irish Cream. I will tase yo big ass. I got one in my purse, run up.” Unclear on how to respond, AB laughed, cause the Napoleon complex was strong as fuck with this one. “Damn, I didn’t come to get tased shit, all I wanted was your number.” She made an odd croaking sound, looked at her employee, then dove into her purse again. “Why you want my number?” “So I can text you. Or FaceTime.” “Fuck FaceTime, I hate Apple…” she paused with the digging and looked up again. “You wanna call me?” “If that’s okay, I guess. Or not.” “I, uhhhh…” She sought her girls again, shrugged, and giggled. Ah, insecure as well. Strike two. She was racking them up quick, but Miss Ma’am didn’t have a thigh gap, and that was his weakness. Smash and dash. Lick and flip, etc. “You know what, I—” Being rude as hell, a male with no sense of personal space leaned on the counter and smiled at Shorty. “Wus up, baby? You ready?” “Yeah, yeah. Uhm…” “Ohhh, you have a boyfriend.” AB sniffed and threw up his hands. “My fault, you coulda just said that.” “He’s not my boyfriend.” “I ain’t,” the male blurted, eyes tracing AB’s frame. “You wanna holla, feel free. Let me mind my business, over here.” He slid to the sitting area, and Jaxon looked back at… “Like I was saying, name and number.” “I think I’ll pass. Oh shit, my Monster.” She scoffed. “I’ll be right back.” As the female ran away after rejecting him like a trick, AB admired the wagon. God! “Damn, bruh, she curved the hell outta you.” “You’re all up in my space.” It seemed the male had crept in beside him once again. “You don’t own me or the shop.” He chuckled. “The fuck.” “If y’all aren’t together, what’s the problem?” The rude gent smiled and checked him for the second time. AB snarled. “You got one more time, halfbreed.” “Aye, bruh, relax. I was just looking, and she ain’t gon’ let you hit…” Licking his lips, the male met AB in the eyes. “But, if it’s back shots you want, I can ease that pain, you feel me.” Jaxon side-stepped and recoiled. “Excuse me?” “Damn, thought I got one. You old as shit from the smell of it. I assumed you was good with it.” “It’s your lack of tact that has me floored, not you hitting on me.” “I didn’t hit on you, Red. I asked if you wanted to fuck. Different shit.” “Okay, I’m ready.” The woman AB came to see, briefly considered him, then the other vampire, who cackled and pushed off the glass. “Let’s go, baby, we gotta buss some corners before sunrise.” As she came around, AB stared her down. Blushing and grinning were good signs. “So you’re gonna give me nothing?” he asked, as her friend exited. “No. N.O., damn. I know you heard me the first time. Bye, girls, be sure to lock up. You have ten minutes, Jack, or whatever your name is. Shit or get off the pot.” Her ass and attitude left. With it, Jaxon’s patience. Humiliation and rejection were uncomfortable. It happened, but maybe three times in his whole life. Yeeeeah, she was gonna regret this, but for now, he’d find a bitch who’d crawl through broken glass to suck his dick.
As Max ran for the ‘88 Monte Carlo she couldn’t breathe, and it wasn’t the heavy summer humidity. No, it was the thing that followed them outside. “Get in, get innnn.” The asshole cackled and nodded at the trailing redhead. “You like the view, boy?” “I am ‘bouta kill you.” Max squealed and dropped into the passenger seat. Slamming the door, she ducked. “Get in the fucking car!” “Don’t rush me!” he yelled while sliding behind the wheel. “Is he still there?” “Hell yeah. He got them eyes, baby.” “I knoooowww.” “But he high as fuck too.” “Shut up and let’s go. Pleaaaase,” Max begged. The bastard laughed again, and being high himself, he thought everything was funny. But thank god the engine turned over. Jacking upright, Max did the job of hitting switches. The bounce on its rise was always her favorite part. “Why do you gotta play this song every night?!” She groaned as What These Bitches Want came on loud as hell, thanks to them fifteens in the trunk. “’Cause I like it. You can walk, fuckin’ with me.” “I wish you would,” Max said with hard eye roll. “I’ma make you act right, keep on.” After busting an illegal ass u-turn on Arthur Godfrey, they ran a red light. This man often threw caution to the wind and stayed twenty above the speed limit. That’s why he had a glove box full of speeding tickets. Max giggled and reclined, as if there was a choice in his ‘cruising car’, the bench seat was stuck in recline. This particular vehicle only got action on his nights off, or after work…maybe. Candy apple red, loud, and sitting on old school Dayton’s. His Donk was ghetto excellence with coke white interior. She’d love to see it sparkle during the day, buuuut burning to death was a waste of time. Max minded her business and scrolled various social media sites until a thunder clap came down on her thigh. “Owwwww!” she whined, glaring at the driver. “That hurt, Low!” “Shut up.” Focused on the road and biting his bottom lip, he massaged and groped. Kneading and squeezing. “You never texted me back last night. What happened?” “I fell asleep.” “Lying ass.” His big hand slithered in between, and she shivered. Low’s touch worked like magic. Tingly and warm, Max slumped. She spread her thighs, allowing better access. This didn’t make a lick of sense. She was too old to be sneaking around with some boy! Low was a grown-ass man, but still. “I’m serious,” she said under duress. “I forgot and fell asleep.” “You always forgetting something. What you say to that man?” “Who?” Max hissed through her teeth as he clutched her purring kitty. “Red.” “Oh, nothing. I said nothing. In fact, I was pretty mean to him.” Low smiled, and good god, gold fronts suited him just fine. Shame he only wore them when ‘off-duty’. She liked those slugs. And you know, Low gave Travonte a run for his money. He was that handsome. Using his face as a chair was unavoidable; Max moisturized his exceptionally tailored beard whenever possible. Low was a big-bodied, single male vampire, and Max was unmarried, unbound. Free to mingle. They were never exclusive but had shared a bed for ten years. “You mean to everybody, Maxi.” “Not true.” “It is. And why you not gon’ let him smash?” Glancing at her chauffeur, she said, “Are you kidding? He’s a Pureblood.” “He is. Old too.” “Can’t wait ‘til I can pick up on that stuff.” “Give it fifty more years.” Max was about to unbutton her jeans when the car stopped at the nearest gas station. “Can you get me some hot fries?” “No,” Low bit back. She hissed at him and said, “Please, I’m craving them.” He slid on out and snickered. “I been craving some pussy, you don’t see me begging.” She shimmied on down and blushed. “Ooooh my god, say it louder, why don’t you? And Bet!” She giggled at his filthy mouth. He had no filter, unless at work. Low never cared about what came spouting from his mouth. To a certain extent, neither did Max. They understood each other in that way. Their pairing was highly flammable, but he was her best friend. Wasn’t nobody listening to rap for the duration. She poked the screen and connected her phone. Deciding quickly, Max smiled. “Ayyye, that’s more like it.” The Isley Brothers were her go-to. That Lady was a certified jam. Or was it banger? Slang was getting harder to keep up with. “Man, come on, baby, damn. You lucky I like this song.” Low returned, tossing a bag of hot fries and a bottle of E&J into her lap. “C’mon na’! Thank youuuu.” She kissed the glass and hugged it tight. “You drink like somebody grandma. A damn shame.” “Shut your mouth, you still drink Alize.” Low barked in laughter, started the Chevy, and whipped that hoe out of the parking lot. “You right. Why mess with a good thing?” “See, that’s exactly why I keep to my brandy.” Heading up 41st, she knew they were going to his weedman’s house. He had several in Florida and two in Miami Beach. Low picked her up a lot, so it was best to have one close by the shop. Especially when sunrise was due in an hour and racing them home. Max checked on her tattoo shop as they drove past and was happy to see the place empty. Her small, yet lucrative business was flanked by a kosher market and a Chase bank. It wasn’t South Beach, but being only four blocks away from the tourist trap meant she was in a prime opportunity zone. There were barbershops, eateries, and retail stores on every corner. Traffic flow was substantial, even when she operated after hours. At 3 a.m., however, pedestrians dwindled. Besides the unhoused, she was on a first-name basis with the streets, which were quiet at the moment. When they hit a left on Collins Avenue, Low slowed his ass down because the boys were surely lurking. This place was a dream for spring breakers and yacht enthusiasts. Fun in the sun, beaches, and cocktails. Cuban cuisine, Bossa Nova nights, and salsa dancing. Little Havana and coked-out weekends. “I fuckin’ hate palm trees, bruh.” Max deflated and groaned. “I love the ocean, but I hate humidity, sand in my ass, and entitled outta-towners.” “I know, Maxi.” Low sighed, offering comfort by rubbing her thigh. “I know.” She cringed. “This street makes me feel claustrophobic.” Condominiums and hotels rode the edge of either side like impenetrable prison walls. “I wanna move to like, Montana. See snow-covered pine trees. Live by a lake or something. Ninety-eight years I’ve been here. Goddd! Am I gonna have yet another existential crisis?” Low hummed, keeping eyes on Collins. “You’ll have at least ten before reaching a hundred.” “Great. Love that for me.” The moment Collins Ave turned into Dickens, she took a deep, relieved breath. From towering structures to squat buildings. Tom and Jane from Nebraska would go no further. Tourists didn’t like reality. They wanted ocean views and expensive seafood. Where Max and Low were headed reminded everyone that this was a concrete jungle. Granted, Montana had similar streets loaded with corner stores, pawn and smoke shops. The homeless, however, were sometimes better off on this side. “You remember when Florida was fun?” Max asked. “Hell yeah, before the money came through.” “Right. They turned our home into a shopping mall. And made it harder for everyone. I’ve been saving for five years. It’s bullshit.” “I already told you, Max, you can stay with me.” She arched a brow and said, “Yeah, right. So you can irk my nerves all damn day. Boy, please.” He giggled as the car stopped in front of Paul’s apartment complex. “I’ma be right back, huh.” Low reached under the seat and revealed his favorite Glock. He handed it off and Max cradled the cold weight. “You know what to do wit’ it.” “Bust some caps.” His expression flattened. “Don’t nobody say that no more.” “Well what they say then?” “Air it out? Nah, it’s spray it up.” They shared a bout of heavy laughter as he opened the door. “Whatever them kids be saying. I don’t know, hell.” She watched him hop the gate and jog that heavy, bubble on upstairs. Damn, he had a fat ass. Max was forever telling this man to pull up his britches. Why did everybody have to know the color of his boxers? It wasn’t cute, but she sho’ ‘nough stared at that moving picture every damn time.
Hello, you wonderful people. I hope y’all had a good week and have an even better weekend. I’ve been tweaking, revising, drafting, and promoting a book, so my plate is full as hell. I’m talking ham, yams, turkey, dressing, and greens. I’m gonna need another plate for the macaroni and cheese, chile! My gods. Anyway, we are moving forward in Neon Red, and let me just say, you’ll see a lot of focus on music. It carries me through each book and plays a huge part in Low’s life. If you don’t like name drops, I am sorry. One last thing, don’t forget, this is dark romance. And baby, it’s going to get darker. AB is morally gray, not black, but gray. He’s an ancient Pureblood with a past. Anyway, thank you for reading yet another chapter and as always, I wish you a lovely day! If you have any questions, please DM. Don’t be scared, I swear I don’t bite…all the time.
J. T. Frost 