The Night Deposit Whiskey Library Novels & Stories

Liam’s POV The whiskey glass clinked against the counter loudly as I slammed it down. That was my 6th shot for the night. The bartender gave me a look — that kind of look that says you’re not my first sob story tonight, pal. “Another?” he asked, already reaching for the bottle. “Yeah,” I muttered, pushing the empty glass forward. “Make it a double this time.” He poured and I stared at the amber liquid like it had answers hidden in it. How had my whole life gone to shit in such a short timeframe?

She pulled a large, expensive looking bottle of whiskey from her large purse. Salome stared, then laughed in spite of herself. “You look too innocent to be carrying that around.” She took the bottle. “But thank you. You are welcome, I guess.” “Come in,” I said, recovering. Willow stepped inside, with her energy filling the space. “So, how was everyone’s day?” We moved back to the sitting area. Lydia took the whiskey to the kitchen. “It was fine,” I said. “Long. How was your Buisness?”

Throwing the expensive piece of fabric on the washroom floor. I needed a drink. A strong one. The apartment was quiet because everyone was given instruction that both Dominic and I will be out and will return late. I was thankful for that. I trudged to the kitchen, my mood numb and heart heavy. I opened the refrigerator where usually the liquor is stored. I had made a note of when I had stepped into the kitchen for the first time maybe. I opened the fridge and rummaged through the variety of alcohol stored inside. Everything looked expensive before my gaze landed on a bottle of Bourbon. I grabbed it and after opening the bottle and taking a tumbler, I trudged back to my room, ready to drown

ALEX'S POV A large glass of whiskey was the first thing I ordered right when I slumped onto the high bar stool after another brutal week at the publishing house where rejections piled up high on my desk and the deadlines just threatened to crush me to smithereens. I drank the whiskey, then ordered another one which I downed quickly while the bright upscale bar hummed with soft music and laughter. My head was kept down as the warm buzz hit me harder than usual with each glass of whiskey I consumed.

I needed some kind of release and a couple of drinks to clear my head. I turned on my car, which I had been sitting in for over ten minutes. I drove down to one of my regular bars called Lake Night Bar. I arrived a few minutes later and sat at the bar counter to order a glass of whiskey. An hour later I had already taken about seven glasses of whiskey. Now I was tipsy but not drunk. Suddenly I felt a hand touch my thigh. Looking up, I saw one of my recent flings. I couldn't remember her name and to be honest I didn't care to.

Then, without a word, I rushed to my bathroom and had a quick bath. I stepped back out and changed into black jeans, combat boots, and a fitted black hoodie. I didn't waste much time before hurrying out of my room and out of the penthouse. I took a cab and found my way to the club. Ten minutes later, I was outside Wet Nights. The front was crowded and tense, filled with heavy-looking men in dark suits-Marcos's people. I didn't go through the front. I slipped through the back alley, used the golden card on the side entrance keypad, and entered without a sound.

Leather couches took up most of the room, along with floor-to-ceiling book shelves packed with various books. Nox headed over to a bar built into the wall and inclined his head our way. “You guys want anything?” Knight sauntered over to one of the sofas and plopped down. He folded his arms behind his head, the picture of relaxation. “I’ll take the Woodford Reserve. Does that come with silver shavings or just old-fashioned arsenic?” he quipped with a grin.

I walk into the dorm and go upstairs to rest and prepare myself for the crazy night ahead of me. Many hours later when night has fallen, I find myself in the library archives. I arrived about an hour ago to watch the night shift librarian close up for the evening. I’ve always been a night owl with a considerable rebellious streak, so I’ve already spent a few nights staking out the library’s security measures to find the best way to sneak in after hours. The librarian didn’t suspect a thing. It’s eerie down here alone in the archives. It’s a large, dimly lit room with walls, cabinets, and displays of old records. Dusty old books line the walls. A brassy light fixture hangs in the middle of th

“Every last one.” “I know.” He checked the clock on the wall. It read ten. “Come on. We’ve earned a drink.” He walked over to the low cabinet against the far wall and pulled out the bottle of whiskey he kept for clients who needed softening before a big sale. Two heavy glasses followed. The sound of liquid hitting crystal was loud in the quiet studio. He poured without asking how I took it, just filled both and carried them to the old leather couch in the corner, the one that had seen more late nights and private negotiations than most of the furniture in the city.

Instead of turning toward the staircase, I crept further down the hallway, keeping my back pressed against the shadows. I knew this house like the back of my palm. Adjacent to the formal study was a small, dusty library, separated only by a set of recessed pocket doors that rarely closed completely. I slipped into the dark library, the scent of old books swallowing me. The room was pitch-black, with only a narrow beam of yellow light cutting through the gap between the pocket doors. I crept toward it, barely daring to breathe, and pressed my eye to the glass. The view gave me a perfect angle of Frank's profile. He was back behind his desk, pouring a fresh glass of whiskey for Enzo Valenti.