Kingsman Agent Whiskey Novels & Stories

I asked if the panic in me started to rise. She shook her head, “It’s the king’s call, nothing you have to be worried about. I have to go now.” She wrenched her wrist free. “All workers have to report immediately.” She took to her heels again and I just watched her fade away until she was only a dot in the distance. What a strange pack, I thought as I turned to walk into the house. My eyes caught something from a distance, it was a man, approaching me with a bottle of…what was that? I wondered. When he got closer, I recognized him with wide, confused eyes. It was King Ethan and in his right hand was a bottle of Whisky.

and with those word he sat down next to me like I thought he would from the beginning. “Why would you say something like that? I just thought you might have other plans for tonight since you just left without any explanation.” He smirked my way and took a sip of his drink which I presumed was whiskey as always and as I looked at my glass, I realized he brought my favorite, Agwa sprite. There were not many people paying attention to what I was drinking and even less people knew this drink even existed in restaurant and bars. This man was definitely more than the eye sees. There were so many sides to him.

"There's no part of me that hasn't been changed. This was inevitable." "You forget who you are talking to. I know you don't respect me but respect my position." King's tail was pouring another glass of water as he carefully moved, trying not to exude any menace, to gather up Agent's weakening body. "You are moments from facing the Gate. There is an insidious anti-auric poison flowing through your body. I need you to drink this water and tell me what it could be. We might have time to alter its course." Agent took a sip of water, but he shook his head in response to King's question. "I can't use magic, so anti-auric poison would have to be ingested. I am very careful about my food. Tasters, w

She leads us up to our spacious cabin, which has tall windows and two leather seats facing each other, a polished table between them. We take our seats, and she brings us tea. I thank her. Knox frowns. " I want a whiskey," he says. Her smile slowly dies down, but she gets it again. " I may have to see an ID, sir." He takes out his wallet to get an ID, but several fake IDs fall out, and the attendant chuckles, “ No whiskey for you, sir,” " A spicy lemon ginger, two ways, please," Knox says, sounding defeated.

“Last chance Killian, tell us who was helping you escape and you can go free. I’ll chuck you outside the gates for your family to see you before you die.” Our eyes were locked together as I held my breath. Breathing heavily he somehow managed to shake his head despite his neck missing most of its skin. One nod at me and he would have maybe had the chance to see his mate one last time. “As you wish,” Kingsley muttered before tipping a bottle of amber liquid over him. Whiskey, the alcohol on his raw wounds caused him to go into spasms of pain, screeching wildly as though he was on fire.

I kill and they clean. Knowing they would be here in a matter of minutes, I poured myself 2 fingers of the 55-year-old Yamazaki that the ‘Casanova’ had in a crystal decanter on his desk. For all his perverted desires, he had a good and expensive taste for whiskey. I could appreciate that in a man. He might choke to death if he saw me sipping his treasured drink, but seeing as he was lying on the floor, eyes wide open in shock, that would not be a problem.

I did though. "We've got business in Finland Ev," I replied. He looked away as I proceeded to gulp down a great portion of my drink. Johnny Walker black labeled scotch whisky. The best in all of New York, only the best would be suitable for me and scotch being my favorite, I wanted nothing short of the best. Everything about the Montgomery and Finn corps screamed rich and classy anyway. And I was happy to have made that happen. To have been a part of something that mattered greatly. "I don't know why you have to do this man." Was he really serious?

“Tullamore Dew is a top-shelf Irish whiskey. First introduced in eighteen twenty-nine. Forty percent alcohol.” Kian intercepts the bottle before it reaches Frost, then throws back a shot. “Thank you, Rainman,” Malix says, swiping the bottle back from Kian. He hands it off to the original intended recipient as he adds, “A hundred fifty a pop for this guy.” “I doubt the little asshole paid for that,” Kian says. He’s brooding. More so than usual. Frost toasts him with the bottle. “Maybe instead, he received the bottle as payment.”

Martin choked the moment he swallowed the drink, his eyes popping blood-red, gasping for breath as he clawed at the table, knocking over the whiskey bottle as he crumpled to his knees. I rose slowly, savoring the sight of him writhing on the floor, his eyes begging for help. I leaned down close enough to feel the last of his breath on my cheek and whispered, “See you in hell.” I blinked, and the vision shattered. “This,” he said with a satisfied sigh, “is the best whiskey I have ever tasted.” Idiot. I cleared my throat, forcing my temper back into check. “I was disappointed in your performance the last time we met,” I said smoothly, “But my wife suggested I give you another chance.”

That slow, knowing smirk said he’d already decided I was interesting. I smiled back, swirling the ice in my glass. “Maybe. Or maybe I like to keep things interesting.” His lips curled higher. “Good answer.” He nodded at my drink. “Though I have to say, I expected something a little stronger.” I raised an eyebrow. “And what exactly do I look like I should be drinking?” He studied me then—slow, deliberate, fingers tapping the side of his own glass. His gaze dragged down my throat, over the swell of my chest, back up to my eyes. “Straight whiskey. Maybe a double. You’ve got that look.”