As though expecting my response, he lifts a bottle of Maker’s Mark, swishing the liquid in my face. My temperature escalates, burning my fucking brain. I reach out to steal the alcohol from him, all I see is the worst thing in my brother’s hand. Something that could kill him. He hoists it behind his head, out of my reach, and I wobble on my cane. How…? “How’d you fucking get that?” I growl. The house is empty of alcohol. None of us drink here. With daggered amber eyes, he tells me, “I walked into a liquor store and grabbed one of my favorite whiskeys. I paid for it, brought it home, and here
...more
This highlight has been truncated due to consecutive passage length restrictions.
