Drunk Moxxie Novels & Stories

Chicago’s dark underbelly growled outside, rumors of Caleb Warrick’s savage hits, Dominic Voss lording over a Streeterville penthouse of steel and wealth. Noah dodged that life, but its icy touch grazed his neck. The music swelled, his body a rhythm of defiance, each step a bid for survival. A drunk whistled, waving cash, and Noah leaned in, fingers grazing the damp bill, the man’s stale breath brushing his knuckles. “Nice twist, kid!” the drunk slurred. “Save your breath, pal,” Noah snapped, pocketing it quickly. The set ended, applause dying like a hollow promise. He snatched his jacket leather groaning, and stepped into the storm outside.

And problem never stops coming. “Boone,” I looked at Finn who called me. He’s still holding his untouched drink. “Did he texted you yet?” I grabbed my phone from my pocket even though I know that there will be no notification. “Still, no.” He pouted. “Would you like some whiskey, Finn?” Moe offered. “This help you relax.” He grabbed the bottle that he ordered and put some on a glass. I glared at him. We both know that Finn has low tolerance with alcohol and yet he still plan on giving him heavy drink. I gave him a confused look but Moe chose to disregard me and handed a glass on Finn that he accepted.

He lets out a low chuckle, his breath reeking of alcohol, and nearly topples over in the process. His friend lets out a deep chuckle, shaking his head as he turns to the third man. "Yeah? The hell you put in those drinks, anyway, Ryder? That shit hits hard!" His words slur slightly, but the curiosity in his tone is evident. Ryder smirks, the kind of grin that reeks of trouble. He takes a slow drag from his cigarette before whistling out a puff of smoke. "A bit of Moondust," he replies, his voice smooth and self-satisfied. As if to prove his point, he pulls a small flask from his pocket, tilting it just enough for the liquid inside to catch the dim light. The purplish substance swirls hypnoti

'𝙸 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚖𝚢𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚒𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞' -_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_- 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 5:𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝙹𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚜'𝚜 𝙿𝚘𝚟. Its 2Am I'm here studying his reports. My hair is in bun. My glasses perched up on my nose. Im wearing my Pjs. Leggings and oversize hoodie. As i study he is injured quite bad. He is shot near heart and the bullet grazed his the leg. The bullet could damage his vein which could cause paralysis.

Maddox and Jaxon were already inside when Drexton came in. "News?" Jaxon asked with a smirk, puffing out thick, dark smoke from his cigarette. "Hmm," Drexton replied. Maddox raised his head from the table. There was some white substance below his nose, giving him a mad look, fitting the short form of his name, Mad. "And play pet?" he asked, sniffing. "As expected, she came," Drexton replied, a wicked, sinister smirk forming from the corner of his lips. Maddox nodded and returned his head to the cocaine on the table.

"Don't you think I'd know whether Ms. Sanders has siblings? Where the hell would a nephew come from? You'll say anything to climb the social ladder, won't you?" He gestured to his men. "Bring me some liquor." One of his guys immediately handed him a bottle of vodka. Rex twisted off the cap, grabbed my jaw, and started pouring it down my throat. The burning alcohol seared my throat as I choked, my face turning bright red while the liquid spilled down my chin onto my neck and clothes. Rex's expression turned vicious. "Drink it! Finish the whole damn bottle! If you dare spit any of it out when Ms. Sanders gets here, I'll throw you into the underground arena and let all the guys there have a tas

Surely she wasn’t answerable to her mom now. “I’m at the hospital, Mom. Maddox is fighting for his life. Someone had spiked his drink with a high dosage of Gamma Hydroxybutyrate (GHB). It’s deadly, and he’s fighting for his life at Glendale Hospital. The cops will be here for his statement soon. The doctors want the entire family here.”

Max's POV The sound of the party buzzes around me, a constant hum as I steadily drink down more of this ridiculously good scotch. The burn of the Macallan is a welcome distraction from the absolute shitstorm swirling in my now pretty fucking drunk mind. What a fucking mess. I don’t have a clue what I’m supposed to do, or how I should feel about... everything.

I can’t even manage myself properly, so how can I be a father to a little one? I’m feeling lost; I need to figure out what to do and how to escape this situation. I couldn’t resist; I needed a drink, and a strong one at that. I drive home and consume enough alcohol to get tipsy and clear my head. I needed it to think. "Diego, when did you return, and what are you doing !" I look at my mother, who is shouting at me. I’m baffled by how she got here and into my house.

broken. Phobos inhales a deep breath and gazes down at her with blues that are engulfed by sadness. He squats down settling in front of her heat as he lays his right palm over her trembling shoulder. "Moira." He calls her name so gently like he calls mine as if he is her male. My quivering hands ball into tight fists as I take a step closer to get a more satisfactory view. I do not understand what is going on not even a bit. Is she unwell? Her eyes snap up to collide with his as though his summoning hauled her out of her trance. "How much did she drink, Drakho?" My male's orbs never leave hers not even for a second and it unsettles me in a way I cannot put into terms.