Knox:
The Snake Pit smelled like spilled drinks, cheap perfume, and bad decisions.
My boots hit the sticky floor like they belonged there — probably because they did. I hadn’t been out of lockup for more than a day, and already I was back in familiar shadows, surrounded by familiar demons. Riot had dragged me out, said I needed to celebrate. I didn’t argue.
Celebrating meant cold beer and warm bodies, and right now, I’d take anything that made me feel like I was alive again.
We claimed a table near the back, but close enough to the stage that I could feel the bass vibrating through my ribs. Riot dropped down next to me, Thrasher and Bones flanking us with their drinks. Laughter, shouts, the crackle of neon signs — it was all a blur of noise and chaos that somehow felt like home.
I was
