Apocalypse Rebirth: Under The Mad Dog's Protection
Lucien watched me the entire time, his lips parted in a slight, highly impressed smirk—looking at me like I was some kind of absolute champ.
The scotch was pure liquid fire. It burned my throat and scorched my chest as it hit my stomach, but the heavy, high-proof alcohol immediately began doing wonders to numb the agonizing, raw ache pounding inside my head.
The blinding pressure behind my eyes finally began to recede into a dull, heavy warmth.
"What's your name?" he finally asked.
I slammed the back of my hand over my mouth, the scotch violently burning its way down my insides.
"Amber..." I slurred in a heavy, drunken daze. "Amber Johnson."