In Your Corner Read Online Free PDF Page B

boy’s name is Theodore, but we always called him Tag. His ring name is Fuzzy.”
    “Don’t know any Fuzzys. He must have joined after I…stopped going. They’re good guys, though. Like a family.”
    The cab driver pulls the cab over to the curb and turns around. “Why don’t I drop you at Redemption? You can hang with your friends and I can introduce you to my boy. Not that I’m trying to set you up or anything, but…you know…it would be safer than Hellhole.”
    “If I wanted that kind of safety, I would have stayed at home.”
    His look of consternation makes my stomach clench, and for a brief second I’m afraid he won’t take me to the club. But after a few moments, he sucks in his lips, pulls away from the curb, and we leave Redemption behind.
    “Something happen to you?” He throws the question out almost casually, but I can hear his concern in the tightening of his voice. And since I’m slightly inebriated and don’t give a damn who knows how badly I fucked up my life, I give him the same story I gave Drake, leaving out the bit about the blue file.
    He commiserates with me until we reach Hellhole, and then he turns around, worry lines creasing his forehead. “How about I wait outside? I’m almost done with my shift and I’ll be here in case you change your mind. It’s not easy to get a cab out here at this time of night…”
    My heart squeezes in my chest. I’m a stranger and he’s more worried about my safety than my parents ever were. “It’s okay. Really. I know the staff. They’ll help me out.”
    After the warm glow of the cab’s taillights fade into the distance, I knock on the familiar metal door inset in the crumbling brick wall of the building at the corner. Two of the streetlights are burnt out, and with no other businesses visible in the area, the street is dark and deathly still.
    I wait and wait. A cool breeze rustles my coat, sending a chill down my spine and bringing with it a faint whiff of piss and stale beer. Just as I’m second-guessing my decision to come to Hellhole, a viewing slot slides open.
    “You got a membership card?” The rough, leering voice makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end but not enough to scare me away, despite the fact that I have left my membership card at home.
    “Look at me.” I wave my hand over my white sheath dress—chosen simply because it makes me stand out—the lamb offering herself up for slaughter. “Do I really need a membership?”
    The door creaks open and a bald, burly bouncer steps to the side to let me pass. His face is pierced everywhere a face can be pierced and then in places I wouldn’t have considered piercing.
    “Cover is forty bucks.” He holds out a hand. Also pierced. I slap a few bills in his palm and he points me down a long, dark, narrow flight of stairs.
    “Welcome to Hell.”

Chapter 3
    THE DEVIL’S NAME IS BOB
    Hell doesn’t disappoint.
    Decorated in peeling shades of black and red, the dank underground club boasts a cluster of scratched wooden tables, a tiny dance floor, and the delightful aroma of pot, sweat, and stale beer. Keeping my gaze firmly fixed on the bar, I weave my way through the assorted punkers, bikers, and Goths, slapping away the occasional stray hand and ignoring the lascivious winks.
    The violent ear-smashing riffs of the thrash metal band Evile scream through the cheap speakers, and the tables vibrate against the black painted concrete floor as I cross the empty dance floor. A few greasy metalheads pound their fists in time to the beat. Even rougher than I remember. The cab driver was right. The place has gone downhill.
    “We don’t do girly drinks,” the bartender snarls before I even open my mouth. Big, burly, and bald, he looks like the bouncer’s twin brother but with an overabundance of facial hair and an extra few rolls around the gut.
    “Good thing I don’t drink girly drinks.” I place my white beaded clutch on the bar. “Vodka straight up.”
    He pours. I