“Name your poison, sir.” He pointed at several boxes on the floor along the far wall in the office. Ken, needing a stretch, joined Hamish and Jake to have a look.
Inside the boxes were dozens of bottles holding a variety of alcohol. Even Ken knew some of them were top-shelf and probably rare.
“We emptied the stores and moved them here,” the man explained. “Trevor said as long as we don’t get impaired, we’re free to imbibe as a ‘fuck you’ to Faegan.” He looked at Hamish. “Since this all belongs to you now, sir, I suppose you are entitled to anything you wish.”
Hamish snorted and liberated a bottle that hadn’t been opened yet. “Would you all like to join me in a ‘go fuck yourself’ toast to my older brother?”
The man laughed. “I’ll fetch glasses, sir.”
“Summon everyone to the office,” Hamish said. “I don’t want to leave anyone out.” The man departed while Hamish carried the bottle to the desk.
Jake picked up the bottle, letting out a long, low whistle as he studied the label. “Dude, this is an unopened bottle of Glen Garioch from 1951. You sure you want to drink it?”
“Why?” Ken asked.
Both men stared at him. “This is a $3k bottle of booze,” Jake said.
Hamish grimly smiled. “Probably closer to $5k now. Or more.” He took it back and broke the seal. “And like I said, this is a ‘fuck-you’ toast to my brother. He likely bought it as an investment, or a status symbol, or someone gave it to him as a bribe or to placate him, or he demanded it as tribute. Meaning he would never have opened it, and he damned sure would not have enjoyed or appreciated it even if he had.” He removed the stopper and inhaled. “And I plan to savor every drop.”
Once everyone joined them and had at least a splash in their glass, although Jake and Hamish took much larger pours, Hamish held up his glass and pondered for a moment. “Fuck that cunt of a brother of mine,” he solemnly said. “I hope whoever finds him tortures him and makes him beg for his life, and then flays the skin from his body while he’s still alive. Lechyd da!”
They all echoed it. Ken accepted barely a sip of the liquor because he wasn’t sure he would like it, much less appreciate it, and he didn’t want to waste it—or end up wasted.
Hamish replaced the stopper. “We’ll we save some for Trevor and Peyton. Take the rest home, make sure Duncan and Badger get a sip, too.”
“That is some damned good whisky,” Jake said, nodding.
The older shifter sadly smiled. “Well, considering all you’ve endured, you certainly deserve it. Least I can do to welcome you back to civilization.” He drained his glass and stretched. “Ken, do you feel like taking a walk with me?”
There was something in the older man’s tone, a hint of emotions beyond melancholy.
“Sure. Where are we going?”
“I’d like to see what’s left of my old cottage. Frankly, I’d rather not go alone.”
“We can go with you, sir,” one of Trevor’s men said.
“I don’t fear for our safety, although yes, you’re welcome to tag along if you feel it’s warranted.”
“You don’t want to face the memories alone,” Ken said.
Hamish sighed. “Not particularly.” He looked at Jake. “You feel like coming?”
Jake looked around the office and nodded. “Yeah. Time to stretch my legs, too. Besides, I’m not even sure what I’m looking for anyway, and I’ll be less than useless if you guys aren’t here.”
They headed out the back door. Ken looked around as they walked. “I feel like I’m missing a whole universe about my past,” he said. “Like I’m adrift. And I’m… I’m angry,” he added. “If Mom knew she was a shifter, maybe she’d still be alive.”
“She might not have been able to shift,” Hamish gently reminded him.
“Yeah, but when Dad died, maybe we could have found a pack instead of her grabbing on to that fucker who killed her because she felt she had to for my sake. Or maybe I would’ve grown up in a pack, and when Dad died, she would have had people to help her and we wouldn’t have been alone.”
“I wish I’d known about her,” Hamish said. “I would have gladly taken her in.” He sniffled. “And you, obviously. I still can’t believe Bryn and Callum would have willingly abandoned her. Not if they were alive. I barely knew Callum, but my sister was every bit as fierce as Dewi. I wish they’d sought me out, although considering I stayed even after she left, she had no reason to trust me, I suppose.”
“You faked your death,” Ken reminded him. “Even if she had wanted to look for you, she might have thought you were, you know, dead.”
“There is that.”
“Do you think they’re dead?” Ken asked. “Callum and Bryn? I mean, we thought Peyton…” He didn’t know where to go with that, so he regrouped. “Look at Jake here. If Callum was a really strong Prime, unless it was a car accident or a sniper ambush or something, I don’t understand how someone could get the better of him.”
