A throbbing sensation pounded at the nape of my neck listening to Nyle droll on and on with his assault of questions. Scenting the charred wood and vanilla notes in my glass of Woodford Reserve typically helped to drown him out. But no, not on this night, when the war raging inside of me could not be quelled. I swiveled my glass once more, allowing the simple cycle of the sweet alcohol to settle my nerves before placing my lips around the rim of the glass.

“Did you hear me, Liam? How long has it been since you actually left this world?” Nyle questioned me. I’d heard him perfectly fine, but I’d answered the last twenty of his questions. We must have been playing twenty-one questions and this was the last of it.

“Another drink for another answer?” I offered, tipping the glass toward Nyle, a smirk lifting the corner of the right side of my mouth that tasted of several glasses of whiskey. I’d have to have at least a dozen more to begin to feel what humans feel after one drink.

Reaching across the bar, he removed my glass from my hand and gave me a simple pour. When I was satisfied with the amount of the contents in my glass, I nodded my head, he placed the glass in between my fingers, and my eyes met his with impatience. Persistent, that one. With another deep swallow, I proceeded to answer what I hoped would be his final question of the evening.

“It’s been quite a while, I’d say. Hell can take care of itself, Club Lexico, however, cannot.” Raising my head from my glass, I slightly turned to look over my shoulder to see the many patrons who frequented Club Lexico. It had become a major staple of Los Angeles’ community, and that could not have been done if I went galivanting to Hell every time I was called for.