Evelyn
I parked my car on the shoulder of the road and turned the key in the ignition.
Grimwood and New Orleans shared the same highway, and a few meters ahead of me was the place I was looking for. When Jennifer gave me the address, I expected to find a house, a long building, or even a haunted mansion worthy of a horror movie.
But not a bar covered in red neon lights with a sign flashy enough to attract those passing by the road in search of danger.
Hell’s Mouth.
Dozens of cars were parked around the bar. Men and women arrived constantly, disappearing through the main entrance, swallowed beneath red velvet curtains. Dark smoke escaped through the open door, kissing the asphalt of the road.
The walls were carved from dark stone like a cave or a medieval castle, and from them hung cr
