Whiskey Words And A Shovel Series Novels & Stories

Shane said. Serena led him to the couch and walked over to the dry sink where Shane kept his whiskey decanter. She then took out the small ziplock bag that she had tucked inside her breast and quickly poured the entire content into the decanter. She gave it a small swirl before heading to the couch. She poured some whiskey in two glasses and handed one to him. "To starting over," she held up the glass. Shane crinkled his eyebrows and nodded. "To starting over," he repeated. He looked at her before taking a sip. "You go first," he said.

I would be lying if I said this didn't made me feel all jolly , feels good to have a comrade in arms when you are fighting your inner demons , at least I wasn't alone in this . I snatched the whiskey from Seth and drowned it in one go and as usual Shutton being his dickhead self , wriggled his eye brows as if he knew something that I didn't . It annoyed the shit out of me . " So , looks like you are losing your touch Knight "

I stepped away from the mess of blood on the floor and towards the far corner of the basement, towards the small underground cellar. A curse worked its way out of me as I took a bottle of aged whiskey and propped it open “Honesty Harlan, it's complicated” I admitted and took a swig of the burning liquor

His words landed like slaps, casual but cutting. I rolled my eyes back, mumbling under my breath about arrogant bastards. I grabbed the hot whiskey from the table, taking a big swig. It burned going down, warm and sharp, spreading heat through my chest. Nikolai watched me, his eyes half-lidded from the painkillers. “Can you handle that?” he asked, voice soft. I sighed, the alcohol already loosening the knots in my stomach. “At this point, I can literally work in hell.” The words came out slurred a bit, but I meant them. After bombs and gunfights and auctions, whiskey was nothing.

Alex’s POV (Alex's apartment) I slammed the door to my apartment behind me, the sound echoing through the empty space like a gunshot. My hands were still shaking as I headed straight for the kitchen, grabbing the bottle of whiskey from the top cabinet. I didn’t bother with a glass. I twisted the cap off and took a long, burning swig straight from the bottle, the liquid fire sliding down my throat and settling heavy in my stomach. “Fuck this,” I muttered, leaning against the counter. “Fuck Elly. Fuck this whole twisted game.”

And I had to find it in four months. While living under the same roof as the man I needed to escape. While pretending to help him. While pouring whiskey for the man I was trying to save. The decanter was in my hand. I did not remember picking it up. My body had continued its work while my mind ran ahead into consequences. Now whiskey was pouring into Cain’s glass. And over the rim. Over the edge of the table. Amber liquid streamed down onto the floor. The sound it made was small. But the room was filled with wolves.

she said as the line went dead. The line went dead, leaving me alone as i poured myself another glass of whiskey and raised the glass in a mock toast to the empty room. "To the future of the Eastern Howl Pack."

Whiskey. The village itself was dark and quiet. With the dawn not far away, everyone was still fast asleep. That makes it easier to pick them off, though far less fun. I prefer them to run, I enjoy the chase, the hunt. Thankfully, I don’t feel the need to hide and be sneaky anymore. I want them to know I'm coming for them. I want her to know I'm coming for her. She’ll know that I will be the one to end her. Standing outside the shed, out in the open, in clear view of anyone who thought to look my way, I lifted my head and took a deep breath. I let the air fill my lungs, I let it seep into my bloodstream. I could feel the energy it gave me, the extra power boost shot through my body. Air is m

The words hung unspoken between them, a silent acknow- ledgment of their shared history, a secret language understood only by them. She reached for the bottle, her hand surprisingly steady despite the turmoil within, the ritual so familiar it was etched into her very bones. The simple act of pouring the whiskey almost calmed the storm raging within her. She measured out two !ngers into a heavy rocks glass, the amber liquid swirl- ing, catching the dim light of the bar in its depths. With a practiced move, she slid the glass across the polished wood toward him. Their !ngers brushed as he took it

The landscape was alien and foreboding, a surreal amalgamation of shifting shadows and fragmented structures that seemed perpetually on the verge of collapse. The air was thick with an unsettling stillness, broken only by the occasional whisper of forgotten memories. Each whisper was like a ghostly touch against her skin, a fleeting sensation that left her shivering. The whispers were disjointed, fragments of conversations, cries, and laughter that seemed to echo from the very walls of Nyxterra. They whispered her name in haunting, fragmented tones, urging her deeper into the darkness.