The Night Deposit Whiskey Library Novels & Stories

Nina's POV “Another one, please.” The bartender refilled my glass with whiskey, and I swallowed it in one gulp. I winced as the alcohol burned down my throat and settled heavily in my stomach. I slammed the empty glass onto the counter. “One more!” The bar was loud, filled with neon lights, heavy bass, and people pretending they weren’t exhausted with life. I sat on a high stool with my third… or maybe fourth glass of whiskey in front of me. The ice had melted to nothing. My phone was face down on the counter.

------ LITRE Bar, Downtown, 9:15 pm Under an exotic cocktail of warm and cold lightnings and alongside the alcohol enough to fill a pond, the bar premises had the presence of Collin at one of the bar stools at the counter. After a fascinating play of pouring alcohol by the hands of the bar tender, Collin received a glass with whiskey flowing like molten gold inside. He emptied the glass in one big gulp and placed the glass down towards the other end of the counter as a request to refill it. "You have not completely recovered yet," came the voice of Ursula, approaching from behind. "Get that glass refilled for me though."

This feelings thingy is so much complicated and as still trying to find my way through it, Savannah is making it hard for me. Going over to the refrigerator, I brought out a bottle of whiskey from it before grabbing a glass cup. Uncapping the whiskey, I brought it closer to my chest and smiled. This should make my night and after driving it to my heart's content, I can just sleep on the kitchen's floor without any worry in the world. Moreover, the floor is sparkling floor and since no one is coming inside till it's morning, I can get up soon enough and go over to the living room. Who knows, I can even opt for the living room.

The smell of the bar reeked of booze, cigarettes, and desperation. Dimmed lights danced against the dark wood, casting long shadows as Sophia sat at the far end with a half-empty whiskey in front of her. The amber liquid swirled absently in her glass before she took another sip; the burning did little to soothe the storm inside.

B hoped she’d just seduce him and let him keep his lips attached to his face. Spears of light from the headlamp jumped from corner to corner of the living room, then from cabinet to cabinet in the kitchen. B kept his whiskey right next to the fridge or by the couch. Easy access for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Where did men of estates, not houses, keep their whiskey? “Of course,” B muttered. “The study. With ivory letter openers and globes and shit.”

Perfect. Sliding onto a stool, I signaled the bartender. “Whiskey.” He barely glanced at me before pouring a glass and sliding it across the counter. I wrapped my fingers around it, letting the cool condensation seep into my skin. I shouldn’t be here. But for just a moment, I was allowing myself to pretend I belonged. I took a sip, letting the burn settle in my chest. Just one drink. Then I’d leave. Maybe. — The whiskey burned its way down my throat, spreading warmth through my chest. I let out a slow breath, tapping my fingers against the glass as I listened to the noise around me. Laughter, loud voices, the clinking of drinks—just another night for Dylan’s clan.

“How many have I had?” Serenity counted the empty glasses. “Jas, I think I can have a few more. Strange. I would usually sleep like a log after two bottles of beer, but I don’t feel anything after taking a few glasses now. I want to get wasted. At least I’ll get to sleep until morning light. “Jas, did you order me fake alcohol?” Jasmine replied, “Neon Nights is the biggest and most luxurious bar in Wiltspoon. The customers here are of certain social standing. Not everybody can afford this place.

I quickly gulped the rest of the whiskey dropping the glass with a loud thud, I was already feeling lightheaded, I picked up my Jacket and walked out of my office. The Midnight Club wasn’t a place you stumbled into; you had to know it was there. It was so exclusive to elites that it had no sign, just a black door between two boarded-up storefronts. Inside, the air was thick with perfume, sweat, and the bass that thumped through the floor. Velvet shadows swallowed the corners. A large crystal chandelier hung so low it cast silvery reflection on the back of the strippers as they danced.

His shoes gleam under the dim light, like they’ve never touched a speck of dust in their life. I look at him and raise an eyebrow. “Gala night?” “Business meeting.” He throws himself onto the leather couch, looking completely out of place in the casual decor of my apartment. “You should try it, Ghost. Maybe a tie would help you look a little less... desperate.” “No thanks. And I don’t look desperate.” He raises an eyebrow. I scoff. “If you say so.” I ignore the jab and head to the cabinet, grabbing two glasses and the bottle of whiskey I stole from my father’s office. It’s expensive—and strong.

The blood moon always does something volatile to a wolf's blood, and the lounge simmered with an aggressive aura of flushed faces and snapping tempers. Just past midnight, Reya intercepted me at the service bar. She placed an amber bottle onto my tray as if it were unexploded ordnance. It was a rare vintage whiskey, housed in a velvet-lined box. "Delivery," Reya commanded, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "Third floor. The room at the very end of the hall. Knock twice, set it inside the threshold, and leave. You see nothing." My stomach dropped into a fathomless pit. "I thought the third floor didn't exist."