Chapter 688: Tyler Wokey

The liquor burned like fire. Castiel Salkield and the others only managed two cups before their faces tightened and their hands slowed, but Salvatore Casson drank as if it were water, two gulps per cup. Half a jar was already gone. Ivanka Yale stuck to a soft drink. She had never liked alcohol. A knock sounded from outside. A server went to open the door, and five men filed in. Four wore black suits, stiff-backed and precise, the kind of trained professionals who moved like they had rehearsed it....