"Ugh! Now that is what tequila should taste like!"
Jack exclaimed cheerfully after taking a shot of the golden liquid.
"It's definitely different from those mass-produced wines," Morkel commented, examining the tequila in his glass. Just one sip was enough for him to recognize that it had been brewed with care.
Unlike artificial wines that factories churn out using shortcuts, this tequila carried a rich, herbal spice that gave an immediate burn but settled into a cool bitterness. Aged just right, it had a smooth, full-bodied flavor with subtle caramel notes.
"Don't you dare compare this masterpiece to the garbage those companies make!" Jack scowled at Morkel's comparison. "If this weren't your first time here, I wouldn't even have taken it out for you."
As Jack huffed, a warm voice chimed in from behind the counter.
"What are you two talking about? I made twelve tacos."
Mrs. Wells, Jack's mother, approached with a plate stacked with freshly made burritos, her smile filled with pride.
"Morkel, try these. My mom's burritos are the real deal—way better than anything you'll find out there."
Jack eagerly grabbed one, biting into it with the enthusiasm of a man who had just discovered fire. Morkel followed suit, and the taste did not disappoint.
"Jack, isn't that tequila your treasure? Why'd you bring it out?"
Mrs. Wells set a glass on the counter, expertly adding ice cubes before pouring herself a generous portion.
"Hey! Mom! Pour less, will you?!" Jack protested as he watched half the glass fill up.
Mrs. Wells gave him a sharp look. "Boy, after all the drinks you've had in my bar over the years, you think I'd hesitate to take a little of your tequila?"
She took a slow sip, savoring the taste with her eyes closed.
"Hmm~ Now that's the kind of tequila I haven't had in years," she sighed, a nostalgic smile crossing her lips.
Jack clutched the bottle protectively. "Mom, I swear—after this, I'm sealing it up. Otherwise, you'll be sneaking sips from my stash every day."
Mrs. Wells rolled her eyes and waved him off before heading to serve other customers. Once she was gone, Jack finally relaxed and set the bottle down on the bar.
"Morkel, you were drinking it all wrong earlier. Let me show you the proper way to enjoy tequila."
He signaled to the bartender, Pepi. "Pass me some salt and a few lemon slices, will you?"
Pepi obliged, placing the items in front of him.
Jack grabbed a lemon slice, rubbed it against the webbing between his thumb and index finger, then sprinkled a pinch of salt over it. He licked the salt, downed the tequila in one go, and then sucked on the lemon.
Morkel followed his lead. The moment the drink hit his throat, a fiery sensation burned through him, intensified by the mix of salty and sour notes. It was an entirely new experience, and he had to admit—it tasted even better this way.
"Jack, I need to talk to you about something. Let's find somewhere quiet," Morkel said after setting his glass down.
Jack nodded. "No problem, let's head to my car—"
"Hey! What kind of hellfire drink is this?! It burns!"
A loud, distressed voice interrupted them. Jack's body stiffened as he turned around, only to see Rebecca holding his tequila bottle—now half empty.
"Oh, hell no! My tequila!" Jack's agonized scream echoed through the bar.
On the way back to his garage, Jack wore a look of utter despair, like a man who had just lost his life savings in a single dice roll. That bottle had been meant for a special occasion—his and Misty's wedding, no less. And now, thanks to Rebecca's reckless drinking, most of it was gone.
"Okay, okay, don't take it too hard," Morkel tried to console him. "Rebecca didn't do it on purpose. I'll see if I can get a new batch brewed for you."
Jack sighed, rubbing his face in frustration. "Man, what the hell is an Adekado anyway? You've been talking like some kind of big boss lately. You're the captain of our team, not some lone wolf running around playing Morgan's Black Hand."
Morkel smirked but didn't respond right away. He had learned something important from Herman's memories—something that had changed his perspective entirely.
"I won't be able to explain everything right now," he admitted. "But trust me, you're gonna be busy soon."
Jack gave him a wary look but eventually shrugged. "Alright, man, whatever you say. Anyway, come check out my garage."
He pulled open the shutter door, revealing a small but well-kept space.
Inside, his prized ARCH motorcycle took center stage, gleaming under the dim lights. A set of workout equipment sat in the corner, and posters of scantily clad women decorated the walls.
The back room was even more spartan—just a worn-out sofa in place of a bed.
"Why do you have six bottles of beer in here?" Morkel asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Strategic reserve," Jack answered immediately.
"Why can't you touch it?"
"Because it's a strategic reserve, dumbass," Jack said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
Morkel chuckled. "Got it, got it. But why are you sleeping here? Why not just stay at home?"
Jack hesitated for a moment before sighing. "Morkel, I've been living here since I joined the Valentino gang when I was fourteen. My mom would've freaked out if she found out back then, so I stayed away."
"And she did find out eventually, huh?"
Jack scratched his head. "Yeah… I thought I could hide it, but you know how moms are. She always knew, even before I told her."
Morkel leaned back against the garage wall, nodding thoughtfully.
Jack had always been the kind of guy who sought out excitement—the kind of guy who wanted to live a legendary life. Money wasn't the goal for him; it was the thrill, the adventure, the reputation.
And somehow, despite their different outlooks, he and Morkel had ended up on the same path.
For better or worse.
Jack reached into his stash and pulled out another beer. "You wanna drink, or what?"
Morkel smirked. "Sure. But I'm not touching your strategic reserves."
Jack laughed. "Damn right you're not."
They cracked open the beers, and for a while, they just sat there—two brothers in arms, caught in the chaos of their own making, but still holding onto whatever little moments of peace they could find.
Because in their world, peace never lasted long.
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