Mi Hermana Borracha Mga Nobela at Kwento

"He could still catch it if he takes off work. She's still only in stage one, there's time." I sat down next to Mihr, rummaging through his milk crate for any liquor. Ah, brilliant! Half a pint of Hennessy! I tipped the bottle towards his wheels and Mihr waved his go-ahead, refusing the libation. The burn of alcohol wasn't a good substitute for the endless supply of Grace that used to flow through me, but it helped to make me remember what it was like to be made of Light inside and out.

Rouma glanced at me briefly, but her attention quickly returned to the cooking fire. "Idrish! I heard how good you were at Senta," Borracho greeted me, taking a swig from his alcohol container. He had just woken up, yet he was already tipsy. "Not really. The first tower was completely destroyed. There wasn't much I could do," I responded with a smile that I forced, but inside, there was a flutter of something in my chest upon hearing Borracho's words. It seemed Kenru had praised me earlier, and it made me feel oddly validated.

“Another shot,” I barked at the bartender. “Sarah,” Mia warned, eyeing me from across the small, round table. “That’s your fourth.” “And I hope the fifth kills the part of my brain that still remembers this godforsaken day,” I muttered, grabbing the lime wedge and tossing back the tequila like it was water. My throat burned, my eyes watered, and I slapped the counter. “God, that’s disgusting. Give me another.” Mia sighed, sliding into the booth beside me. “You’re going to be hugging a toilet by midnight.”

That version of me was worse than anything that had ever happened in this world. I met mafia Lauren for the first time when I was fifteen. The first time I drank that amber-colored water was with my then-boyfriend, who, by the way, was a veteran in this field. The first sip was the most terrible, but after three more sips, I knocked back. Alcohol got into my head so badly that when I woke up the next morning, I couldn’t remember what happened the previous night.

The chandelier lights were switched on, making the revolving dark Navy blue, and pink lights to make the crowd go naughty. It looked like everyone present were having a good time. Mia stood and watched as few people played beer pong. She then reminisced when she and her cousins used to play the game. She smiled then felt a sudden twirl in her heart. Because she missed home. A red cup containing whatever liquid inside, was shoved into her hand. And she threw it into the trash bin. She knew too well not to accept drinks from strangers. She knew that those drinks were spiked. It was better to be safe, than sorry.

“We will get a chauffeur. That’s so little. Get something for my friend here to drink too!” “I will pass,” she shook her head vigorously. Just the smell of the alcohol was still making her feel sick. “Don’t be boring, sister-in-law. Drink!” She collected the drink the man had mixed and then handed it over to her. Leilani collected it, sipped a little, and then gagged instantly. “This is so hot, fuck!” Mia laughed and shook her head, “Don’t be weak.” “Weak? How do you even drink this?”

I muttered and he gave me that guilty expression again. “But I have a little experience, I was working as a bartender while in school.” I said, again I didn't look at him. I kept myself busy with my food, if Adriano was looking at me, I wouldn't know because I have completely cut myself off from glancing towards that side of the table. I don't want to be a hot mess again in the presence of my brother. “If she had bartending experience, she can work at The Soul Lounge.” A deep voice cut in and when I looked up, Adriano was looking at my brother and not me. Kelvin shoved at his already rolled up sleeves and shook his head.

For a second Anya had forgotten she had her sister on the line. Anya scoffed. “You wouldn’t believe the shit I’ve witnessed happen here. Crazy tourists fall for Damon’s fire drink every damn time.” Shot glasses rimmed with Habanera pepper juice and filled with a home-brewed shine so damn pure it put her situation hooch to shame. The man responsible for the cold ‘experience of a lifetime,’ as he called it tossed a knowing wink her way.

Those burning red eyes won’t leave my mind, neither will the feel of those hands on my neck, that pelvis pressing up against my backside… or the salacious, daring words rolling off of that tongue… “Double bourbon. Now,” I snap at the bar tender, and he leaves his other customer in an instant, cracking open the top shelf stuff smuggled in straight from Kentucky and pouring me two fingers. “That’s the idea, kid! Get some fire in that belly. I’m guessing it weren’t a great walk?” Mikey calls out laughingly, as he and the guys finally spot me, hanging over the bar like a wet towel freshly wrung out by some damn, strong hands. Those hands… Those eyes…