Damn, Blake could sure drink with some skill. There is no way I would be able to hold a straight face tossing back such a significant amount of peated whiskey like that. Actually, I have no idea how much he has had to drink by this point in the morning. He seems sober enough, but if he had several beers before the two that I saw him drink, then he should not have been driving that bike.
And just as the whiskey was downed, he smacked the glass down like he had been back in the bar and opened the double doors to the study. Yep, skilled drinking indeed. An unhealthy lifetime of it, just like my father, or any biker, I presume.
He led the way from the study to a long hallway with the massive spiral staircase Dallas had jumped up with considerable speed only moments before. There were severa
