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Damn. I would give anything to be his Levi jeans right now.
“Any good?” King asked, opening the lid. I peered into the box and spotted four little vials of dark amber liquid.
The moneymaker of the club, Hell’s Breath, was a top-shelf whiskey that was in high demand. Since its inception, King and the club marketed Hell’s Breath as the best whiskey around. They were right. Soon clubs up and down the east coast started requesting the unique blend.
Now known as an elite whiskey, King wanted something better.
A special blend that he could introduce and sell around the world.
While I wasn’t a whiskey drinker, even I had to admit, Hell’s Breath had a kick that would knock the socks off anyone who drank it.
Frank shrugged. “Just need you to okay it.”
King reached into the box and passed a vial to Priest, who held it up to the light looking at the color, while King removed the cork, smelling the liquid. “Damn, Frank. That’s potent.”
“You said you wanted something stronger. That is stronger.”
“Let me try one, King,” Gunner asked, reaching for a vial, only to have King slap his hand away.
“You are not a taste tester, lightweight,” he said, downing the dark amber liquid only to take a deep breath and then blew it out slowly. “Damn, that’s smooth.”
“Got my vote,” Priest confirmed, licking his lips while he put his empty vial back in the box. “Nice aftertaste too.”
Watching both men, I asked, “What’s the alcohol count?”
“95% alcohol. 191 proof,” Frank replied.
Rounding on the man, I gasped. “Jesus, Frank, that’s stronger than Everclear!”
“But not as strong as Spirytus Stawski. That’s 192 proof and 96% alcohol.”
Turning back to King, I said, “King, you’re going to need a warning label for that. People are going to be drinking that shit thinking they are ingesting jet fuel.”
“Lidi’s got a point,” Priest added, holding his stomach. “My chest is on fire right now and it’s hard to breathe.”
“Enigma, give Priest a glass of water,” I ordered, getting to my feet, walking around everyone to where the man was sitting. Taking his wrist, I checked his pulse, while turning his head with my hand to look into his eyes. “Feeling anything else? Dizziness? Numbness?”
“Not yet,” Priest grinned slyly, shaking his head.
“His heart rate is elevated,” I stated, turning to look at King, who sat holding his empty tube in his hands, staring at it like it was the answer to life’s questions. “King, you okay?”
“I think so,” the man muttered, still not moving.
Rolling my eyes, I checked his pulse as well.
Seeing that both men were fine, I headed back over to my seat.
“I’m calling this bad boy Hell’s Inferno,” King grinned as he closed the wooden box on the other two vials. “As soon as Scribe signs off on it, I’ll start the marketing campaign. This brew is going to make the club bank. Good job, Frank.”
“Warning label, King,” I reiterated firmly. “With the alcohol content being that high, you don’t want to be blindsided by lawsuits. Anyone with a heart condition drinks that and you could be in trouble without a warning label.”
“Lidi’s right, King,” Priest said, backing me up. “I’m in perfect health and my heart rate shot up immediately. Hell, man, that shit has a kick to it.”
Handing the wooden box to my brother, King ordered, “Put this behind the bar, Enigma. When you see Scribe, give him a vial. We can discuss it in church later.”
Chapter Five
Frank
