Kingsman Agent Whiskey Novels & Stories

"Special Agent and Detective Nora Stevenson. Everyone calls Agent 64." A ripple of shock passed through the room. The name Agent 64 carried weight. Every single man in this room had probably heard it at some point, had probably cursed it under their breath. The DiFronzo brothers exchanged looks of pure disbelief. I had been their ghost, the agent who had hounded them for years, always just out of reach. They knew my alias, but they had never known my face. "You are a cop?" Dant was the first to speak. I met his gaze, saying nothing.

He gave me a sly grin and then glanced directly at me, instantly altering his demeanor. “I said, get your ass down, Maya Archer.” He sounded like he was yelling, but his voice was hushed and measured. One of his bodyguards dashed to his side, carrying a bottle of The Dalmore 62 and a whisky glass. After placing the glass in Zion’s hand, the man began pouring the whisky into the glass for him. After that, take a step back. I am now left wondering if this is the kind of man I should be married to, too. I chuckled at myself, knowing that I was already married to him. He swirled his glass, not giving a second thought to who was looking at him. He downed the entire thing in one gulp and has since

I retorted, trying to sound sassy, but my rapid breathing probably gave away how flustered I was. "No, you're not," he agreed, his eyes lingering on my lips as I nervously bit them. "You're far more interesting." He walked over to a sleek, modern bar hidden in the corner of his office. "Do you want a drink? I have wine, champagne, and a very good single-malt whiskey. What's your pick?" "Ooh, how about whiskey?" I said, trying to sound cool. A whiskey girl. Yes. Very sophisticated. "Great choice." He grabbed a bottle of amber liquid and two crystal glasses. He came back to me, his body brushing mine as he poured. His eyes, those intense blue eyes never left mine, and he ended up pouring the w

Katrina’s Point of View “Water? Whiskey?” Aidan offered as we walked into the Loft. His men eye me like some predators, ready to pounce. I smile weakly because most of them don’t stand a chance, especially with Sage fuming the way she is right now. “Water.” He goes to the fridge, taking out a bottle of water before coming back with it, and he grabs a bottle of whiskey. “You look different” he starts, settling down in front of me and I take the seat just opposite him.

"Thank the creator we found you. What if he got to us first?" The man puts his arm around me as we start walking away from our once friend. He is long gone and there is nothing we can do, without getting ourselves killed too. Shit. I hold out the whiskey and look at it. "Ya know, I was saving this for later, but maybe we should bring it out now? What do you say to taking a shot?" He looks at it, his eyes wide as he smiles. "I love me some whiskey. I haven't seen any since the reboot started. Hand it over and we will find us some glasses to swig it from."

The smell of whiskey, wolfsbane, and rogue wolf hit my nose. Connors comes into view. His clothes are torn and disheveled. He's holding an empty liquor bottle in one hand and a whip in the other. The whip looks like a cat of nine tails with tiny rows of barbs at the ends. It is dripping wet with wolfsbane. “Well well well, lookie what the rogue caught himself.'' He slurs heavily. "I got myself a big bad Alpha Regent.” He slowly approaches me. I swear he took a bath in the whiskey.

“No, Alpha. I would never dare to lie to you or look at your woman in that way.” “She is no woman of mine,” I said coldly. “She’s too worthless to claim.” Rowan didn’t reply, but when I turned, I saw him shaking his head slightly—as if saying, You can pretend all you want, but I saw how your eyes burned when she was almost hurt. I clenched my jaw. He wasn’t wrong. “Speak, Rowan,” I said, my voice hardening. “Stop wasting my time.” He straightened, then said firmly, “Since you asked for it, the substance found in the drink was Gwaram.”

“By the way, you wouldn't make a very good spy dressed like that.” His smouldered as they drank me in, dancing over every curve on my body. I ignored the compliment and went to stand beside him, only then noticing the small steel mug in his hand. “What is that?” “Whiskey. Want some?” He tipped the edge over to me, probably thinking I'd refuse. “Gladly,” I accepted the canister from him and drank more than I should, coughing slightly when it burned as it went down my throat. “Wow, do you really hate the dinner that much?” Kelvin asked, sounding bemused.

the Scot had said. Rebel gripped the bottle by the neck and drew in a heavy swig. When he was finished, he glanced at the johnson label as if he were bored with their conversation, but he wasn’t fooling her. She knew better than that. “And what exactly am I doing, Princess?” His whiskey-graveled voice shook her.

The contact sent another spark straight to my core. “Thank you,” I murmured, taking a cautious sip. The drink was smooth and slightly smoky — an aged whiskey, I guessed, with a hint of honey and oak that warmed me from the inside out. It was strong but not overwhelming, perfectly balanced, much like the man who had poured it.