More Time

[MAX]

When I walk into the Hollyday bar, it’s like moving back to the 70s when the music was groovier and girls wore halter tops and jumpsuits. Sure, the men here wore more leather jackets and knuckle rings than polyester leisure suits, but it was exactly what made this whole thing so dangerous.

I can’t deny that coming back here without the money I owed these people was never the plan. But then again, I didn’t actually have a plan, or a fucking idea, of what I was getting myself into. I knew these guys were dangerous—the scars on their faces and the look of death in their eyes were pretty good points to take notice of—but three months ago, I was more worried about upholding my reputation among my friends rather than my future.

It's funny how none of those friends came to even see me when I almost died in the hospital. Not even Landon, the one to introduce me to these people. I wonder if he knew what these people ha