Novelas y relatos de Whiskey Words And A Shovel Series

Dante's POV This whiskey wasn't working like it used to. I twirled the golden liquid in my glass watching it slosh about barely touching the tips of my fingers in it's bubbly hurry. “What did you find?” I spoke, keeping my eyes on the glass. “Well for starters, the bastards somehow made it past the men and got a ride—” “Wrong answer.” “The guy got out through the cleaning staff and hitched a ride—” “Wrong answer.” I said again in a low sing-song voice.

Now I know better, she was nothing different than the other gold diggers at the club, yes the one I meet almost every other night. As I shoved myself into my car, I grabbed the short bottle of whiskey on the seat just next to me. I uncapped and gulped a good quantity into my mouth. The liquor sent a burning sensation down my lips and my throat. With one hand I turned the ignition on and began to drive out while on hand clutching my whiskey bottle like a pretty damsel. My whiskey never betray, my whiskey never leaves me except it's finished and just as I like my women a new one comes in no time.

Grandpa barked, his tone biting. The bartender nodded, moving to the shelves stacked with questionable bottles. He poured the drink without a word, setting it in front of Grandpa like a tribute. Then he looked at Zia, waiting. "Just water," Zia muttered, her voice low, almost ashamed under Grandpa’s heavy gaze. Grandpa smirked. “Figures.” He grabbed the glass of whiskey and motioned for the bartender to give her the water. It came in a chipped glass, looking as untrustworthy as the rest of the joint.

DERRICK I leaned back against the couch, the leather cool against my skin, the weight of the day finally settling in. The glass of whiskey in my hand felt like a trophy, the amber liquid catching the dim light of the room. I swirled it slowly, observing the way it clung to the sides of the glass before sliding back down. The taste was sharp, sooty, and perfect. Just like tonight. Just like everything I’d been working toward. Everything was working perfectly as planned and that gave me a sense of joy.

I asked. “Honey, look around, you don’t have much of a choice, who is going to stop us from making you do what we want, magic girl?” Skinner asked and they both chuckled darkly. “I think you are both forgetting something,” I said as I braced myself. “What is it?” Skinner asked. “I am holding a glass of whiskey,” I said and before they could reply, I aimed the cold alcohol directly into the eyes of Skinner. He jerked his head back as the whiskey burned his eyes. With the cup still in my hand I pivoted to the left and smashed it into the face of Wrench. He yelped in pain as the glass punctured his face and nose.

"One drink won't cut it," Jeffrey said, sliding a freshly opened bottle of whiskey across the table to Willow. "We might as well get this over with since it's getting late." "Ms. Jett." Annie's voice quivered in concern. How could Willow possibly take on a whole bottle of whiskey? Nevertheless, Willow kept her composure. "Mr. Hudson, if I finish this bottle, does that seal the deal?" "That's right." Without hesitation, Willow poured the whiskey into shot glasses, one after another. She tossed them back, each shot searing her throat and hitting her gut like a sledgehammer. The crowd erupted in cheers.

“See now was that so bad? Come big boy let me get you a drink.” “You’re gonna buy me a drink? I thought you didn't want to drink.” “I didn't because I was still working… I needed you to be of clear innocent mind while we signed over but now that we’re done and I'm off the clock… let’s knock some back.” “Well in that case let’s, but don't worry about paying I got it… what do you want to drink?” “Clean shot of green apple bourbon whiskey… If you have it.” “Do you like Jim Beam?”

I smirk, thinking to myself. I walk behind the bar and pull out a chilled glass from the fridge. The condensation tickles the tips of my fingers as it gradually trickles down the side of my hand. I reach for the bottle of whiskey and pour myself a generous dose over ice cubes as they sit in the bottom of the glass. I bring my drink up to my nose, sniffing the harsh aroma it offers as I swirl it around, creating a baby whirlpool. I take a large sip of the lavish liquor, closing my eyes savouring every moment as it deliberately slides down the back of my throat, swallowing it like a champ.

Porcius then handed it to Quintus. “What is it?” “Something close to whiskey. It’s powerful, but wet, so watch it.” Cautiously, Quintus looked into the brew. “What if it’s poison?” Porcius held up a different jar, one already open, and took a long draw on it, showing it was partially empty. “I ain’t dead yet.” Quintus tasted it, made a face, but took another sip. “Strong, indeed.” Porcius nodded with vigor. “These people invented whiskey, these Celtic bastards . . . Water of life they call it. How ironic is that, huh? I bet my ass to odd high that if ya drank enough it’d kill yer ass dead in an hour.”

Claire, Kathryn, Violet, Gold, and Crystal first appeared spaced out before their enemies, then an army of tormented and haunted whispers appeared behind them, and Rose materialized before her party. The Baron, a slim man with deadly yellow eyes, saw her, and shivered. He tried to vanish, but the air rejected his request, for Violet held him still. The sea raged against his party and began to pick them off, and fire fell amongst their midst, burning the men to cinders, but leaving the whispers to bask in the warmth of the flame. A blizzard came from Claire, and the ground shook. Whispers rushed past Rose, running to the army of the Baron, and engaging them in a productive battle that saw to