35
Brandt
I was going to do something stupid.
Drinking myself blind sounded like the plan of the century. And wasn’t it a lucky coincidence I worked in a bar?
As soon as they announced last call, kicked out the lingering few stragglers, and locked the front doors of Forbidden, I dug up an old bottle of the cheapest bourbon I could find in the back of the stash—something Pick wouldn’t notice missing—and cracked it open before pouring myself a liberal amount into a tumbler.
Shooting the whole thing straight, I hissed through the tongues of fire that lapped up the insides of my throat and ground my teeth as my eyes watered. God, that was some rough s**t.
I poured myself another glass. Swallowing that one down, I vaguely realized I should probably care that I wasn’t helping the others wi
