Honkytonk Hell: A Dark and Twisted Urban Fantasy (The Broken Bard Chronicles Book 1)

by eden Hudson

  Tiffani was standing with her hand on the lock, watching me go.

  “Forget something?” she asked.

  I shook my head.

  She started to close the door.

  “I just wondered, um, if you wanted to buy any blood,” I said.

  Tiffani laughed in a joke’s-on-you kind of way. “Every vamp in Halo has a regular food source, kid. You’ve heard about the NP-human protection rules Kathan set up to keep the tourists safe?”

  I shook my head.

  “All human residents of Halo provide goods or services to their NP protectors,” she said. “With vamps that’s usually blood.”

  “But what if you wanted a snack for some time when your person was sick or something?” I asked. “Or maybe just for a changeup?”

  Tiffani looked at me the way she had when I ordered a plain bread knot and tap water.

  “Do you have a kit?” she asked.

  I shook my head.

  “I do, upstairs,” she said, holding the door open. “Work your hand while I get it. I don’t have the patience right now to go through ten veins before I find one that’ll fill a bag.”

  Tough

  Harper’s voice woke me up.

  “Come on, Jax!” She was downstairs, probably standing between him and the television. It must’ve been getting late if she was trying to talk him into going to the bar. “You never want to go out when Logan lets me have the night off.”

  I sat up and leaned into the fan. It was just blowing hot air around, but it dried up the sweat. Earlier, I’d had a few beers and tried to sleep through the hottest part of the day. Must’ve worked—it was getting dark outside and inside the temp had dropped to around a thousand degrees. I tied up the sheet over my window to let some of the stale air out of my room.

  Jax’s voice blended into the sound of the fan, but I could guess what he was telling Harper.

  “I’ll ask Tough,” she pouted. “He’ll go with me.”

  Jax’s voice got a little louder, saying something about how I probably would go with her and thank God for me. They both knew that even though Morning Fang wasn’t my band anymore, I couldn’t stay away from music. It was like I was addicted or something.

  I ran my hand through my hair and pulled on my jeans. Jax could kind of be a dick when he wanted to finish a game and Harper wouldn’t leave him alone, which usually meant I had about ten seconds before—

  My bedroom door opened and Harper leaned in as I was zipping my fly.

  “Hey, Tough, want to go to the bar?” She had on one of those sparkly black halter tops. The way it gapped away from her stomach showed off her all-over tan and bellybutton ring.

  Even if I hadn’t wanted to go, she probably could’ve talked me into it looking like that.

  ***

  As far back as I could remember, there had never been a slow night at Rowdy’s. Even before we started playing there, it’d always had a band cranking out some real old country and the place was packed. Cover was eight bucks for anybody without a protector, but the bouncer, Cris, let me in free since that rule was mostly for tourists.

  Dodge nodded at me from up on stage, then went back to singing “Six Days on the Road.” Dodge was Addison’s cousin. He couldn’t growl, but he had a decent voice and he was a hell of a bass player. Someone had to step up and take over the band and I was glad it was him. They had Brandt Gilbert filling in on drums and Willow was doing her best to play rhythm on my Gibson. She shrugged when she saw me, like she was apologizing for not being very good. I gave her a smile, but I was wondering why they didn’t just get a new guitar player instead of moving Willow. She was a drummer all the way down to her bones.

  I danced with Harper for a while—the kind of honky-tonk dancing you do with your friend who’s your best friend’s girlfriend—and tried not to think too much about how the band sounded without me. Dodge didn’t play any of my songs, maybe because he thought it’d piss me off. Maybe it would have.

  Music used to be this thing I could do with everything I had—sing, play, dance. I’d get so high on it that nothing else mattered. Ryder could whoop my ass up one side of the yard and down the other while Colt stood by and hollered at me to keep my stance open. Harper could fall in love with Jax and dress up like his favorite video game chicks when they had sex in the room right across from mine. Even knowing I was trapped in Halo for the rest of my life didn’t used to matter because when the music started, I’d get it all out. I’d bang on the strings and wail and pretty soon it’d just be me and the sound.

  But that was before Jason Gudehaus stole my voice and ran off to win that fucking singing show. A month wasn’t as much time as it seemed like, but everything was different and it kind of made me sick.

  Then I saw Harper look at me like she was about to cry and I realized I was mouthing the words to the song. I shook my head like it wasn’t a big deal.

  She hugged me and whispered, “Tough, I’m so sorry.”

  I had to force a big smile to get her to stop. Thank God Dodge started “Redneck Woman,” Harper’s favorite song. The way she danced to “Redneck Woman” is the way I wished girls would dance to every song—plus, it always made people laugh when a guy sang lead.

  We were still on the floor a little later when Harper saw someone over my shoulder.

  “Scout’s here.” She bounced up on her tiptoes and waved at her sister. “Hey, Scout!”

  I ducked my head and pulled my hat down tight like that would help. Scout had a crush on me. It was funny when she was a kid and we were in high school, but about the time she started wearing way too short skirts and lipstick that always looked wet, it started to feel weird. Like, your-little-sister-is-jailbait weird. If her parents were still alive—if my dad hadn’t gotten everyone’s parents in Halo killed—maybe they could’ve straightened her out.

  I got Harper’s attention and pointed to the bar, but I didn’t make it a step before I ran smack into Scout.

  “Looking for me?” Scout’s voice was deep down in her throat, but she leaned in close so I could hear it over the music.

  I shook my head and tried to go around, but she caught me with one hand in my jeans’ waistband and slid her other hand into my back pocket. It made me want to scratch my skin off when she did stuff like that.

  I nodded at the bar so she’d get the message.

  “I’m thirsty, too,” she said, wrapping her arm around my waist and sticking herself to my side. “I’ll come get a drink with you.”

  I grabbed her shoulders and pushed her toward Harper, giving her my best big brother glare. Because, dammit, I practically was her big brother. I didn’t want her throwing herself at me or any other loser in the bar.

  “Come on, Scout,” Harper said. “We’ll catch up to Tough later.”

  Scout looked just like Harper when she pouted. But I didn’t look back and, thank God, she didn’t follow me.

  Desty

  I raked my bangs out of my eyes and snuck another look at the guy who had walked off the dance floor and taken the barstool next to me.

  Faded jeans, Skoal ring, John Deere ball cap. The kind of durr-Chevy-kid that Tempie and I used to make fun of in school. His skin was red-brown and every time he lifted his shot glass, I expected to see the pale side of his farmer’s tan under his t-shirt sleeve. Nothing. He was dark all the way up.

  Must be the kind of douche who usually wears cut-off sleeves, I thought. Or no shirt at all to show off his abs.

  John Deere killed his third tequila and signaled the bartender with the shot glass.

  “If you’re trying to drown your problems, you’d better tell him to leave the bottle,” I said.

  He looked at me and the little bit of courage I’d sucked out of my beer drained away.

  “Just—I mean, it’d be faster than waiting for—than trying to get his attention every time he, um…” Modesty McCormick, ladies and gentlemen! Able to follow her sister’s trail across the country and into the deepest, darkest NP hotbeds, while still
remaining completely incapable of basic interaction with a good-looking human male.

  I zeroed my focus back in on my beer. Then I realized John Deere was smirking at me and it hit me what he was thinking.

  “I’m not drunk,” I said. Which was exactly what someone who was drunk would say.

  He snorted, but his smile got bigger. It wasn’t the kind of smile you usually saw in NP towns like Halo—the you-could-be-useful-or-maybe-delicious smile. It was like standing in the sunlight with a warm sweater on. And his eyes were this color like celery mixed with baby blue.

  “You have pretty eyes,” I said. People who weren’t drunk said that kind of thing all the time, right?

  He looked down at his shot glass and tugged on the bill of his hat as if it needed to be straightened.

  I slicked some of the condensation off of my beer and touched my fingers against my face to cool it down. The air conditioner in this place wasn’t keeping up with the number of warm bodies dancing and talking. Or the amount of stupid coming out of my mouth.

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw John Deere wave his shot glass at the bartender, but when the bartender got there, John Deere gestured at me and put up two fingers.

  The bartender laughed.

  “That’s the spirit, kid,” he said. He dropped a shot glass in front of me and filled John Deere’s and mine. “You guys can drink this one to Jason balling his own wife for a change. May he lose his dick to frostbite.”

  John Deere toasted with his shot, then knocked it back. This time, when the bottle started to leave with the bartender, John Deere grabbed it. He used the bottle to point at the shot in front of me.

  “I don’t know if I should be drinking to something like that,” I said. “I don’t know this Jason and if he turns out to be some nice guy you’ve been cuckolding…”

  John Deere snorted, then shook his head and closed my fingers around the shot. The dim overhead lighting caught just right on a hundred or so tiny pink scars scattered across his knuckles.

  “Okay,” I said. “But only if you promise Jason’s not a nice guy.”

  He patted his heart.

  I stared down the shot for a second, then lifted it to my lips.

  “Mmph!” I clenched my teeth and tried to force the tequila down. A shiver shook me all over when it hit my stomach. “That’s awful,” I winced. “Really, the way I get, I probably shouldn’t be drinking at all.”

  John Deere raised his eyebrow and I realized what I’d said.

  “Not like belligerent or super-slutty or anything.” I pushed my bangs back again. “Just, I don’t hold my liquor well. Then when I wake up and freak out because I don’t know where I am—” Bad to worse. “Wait. Let’s start over.” I stuck out my hand. “I’m Modesty. Desty. Everyone calls me Desty.”

  He gave me a fake-suspicious look and took my shot glass away like I’d had too much.

  I laughed, then immediately felt guilty. I was supposed to be looking for anyone who might have seen Tempie, not flirting with some cute redneck.

  It was probably the amount of alcohol I’d consumed so far in comparison to the amount of food I’d eaten today—a shot and a beer to one bread knot—but it seemed like John Deere understood my sudden change of mood. He poured us both another shot. I gagged mine down and scanned the crowd.

  “So, how about your name?” I asked. Then I realized that made it sound like I was trying to pick him up. “That wasn’t a line or anything, I just—”

  He smiled and held up one hand like I should stop.

  Which I definitely should. Drinking, talking, everything.

  He grabbed the edge of the bar and levered himself up so that he was leaning over it with his butt in the air. And talk about a nice butt. Too bad the Skoal ring on his back pocket reminded me how much I was supposed to hate durr-Chevy-kids. Why did they all think they needed to chew? He pulled a coaster and a pen out from under the other side of the bar and pushed himself back down to his feet.

  For a minute, he concentrated on writing, then he pushed the coaster at me. It was full.

  Hi Destie, my name is Tough. Can I buy you a shot? Come here often? Do you have a ride home because you won’t get a DUI on a country boy. I promise Jason is an asshole. Let’s drink to his junk falling off again.

  I put my hand over my shot glass.

  “I think I’ve had enough,” I said. I was as great at drinking as I was at talking to hot guys and I didn’t have Tempie to make sure I got home safe. Nowhere to go home to, either. “Besides, I’m actually looking for someone.” I pulled the picture out of my pocket again and handed it to him. “Have you seen this girl around?”

  He looked at the picture, then squinted at me like I might be a crazy person.

  “No, we’re twins,” I said, taking the picture back. “Her name’s Tempie—Temperance. I guess I didn’t think about us being identical. I mean, I think we’re different, but…I don’t know. Bringing a picture seemed like the thing to do at the time.” I sighed. “So, does that mean you haven’t seen her?”

  John Deere—Tough—shook his head.

  “Tough,” I said. “Weird name.”

  He cocked his eyebrow at me. Because Modesty and Temperance were such normal names for twins to have.

  “I just mean, Tough’s one of those names like Gorgeous is for girls. One you can never live up to.”

  He laughed, kind of. No sound came out.

  “You can’t talk.” That just sort of popped out, so I tried to explain. “I mean, I guess I didn’t realize it before. I thought you were playing hard to get or…something.” Shut up, self, you’re drunk.

  Tough lifted his hat enough to scratch his hairline, then tugged it back on. Then he grabbed my coaster and wrote something on the other side.

  I’m not hard to get. Ask anybody here.

  I put my hand in front of my mouth. “You’re not deaf and reading my lips are you?”

  Tough laughed again and shook his head. He had “sexy comeback” written all over his face. If we’d had another minute to ourselves, I probably would’ve gotten to read it off the coaster.

  “Tough!” A tanned blonde in a black halter-top and a slightly shorter, tanned blonde in a Catholic schoolgirl outfit pushed between us. “Who’s your friend?”

  Schoolgirl was glaring at me with icepick gray eyes, but Halter-Top was the one really studying me. Like maybe she wanted to ask me what my intentions were with Tough. I could’ve told her throwing up my two shots and one beer would probably be the extent of my night, but Schoolgirl saved me the trouble.

  “Tough doesn’t screw out-of-towners,” she said.

  Until I opened my mouth, I didn’t realize I was drunk enough to think I could come up with something scathing and snappy on the spot. They were all staring at me. Even Tough. His eyes were so pretty with those long eyelashes. And his nose was just slightly crooked, like it had been broken before.

  Probably a bar fight. Durr-Chevy-kid for you.

  Crap, they were waiting for me to say something. Ample time for a comeback. Or anything. I could’ve said anything at all and looked less stupid. But it felt like I had something lodged in my throat.

  “You can go now,” Schoolgirl said.

  All I could do was stumble off my barstool and leave.

  Tough

  I tried to grab Desty’s arm as she went by, but I didn’t move fast enough and I guess she didn’t see me. She was halfway across the room before I could get off my barstool.

  I threw my hands up at Scout. What the hell?

  “You’re mad because I saved you from having to talk to some skanky tourist?” Scout snapped. “You don’t have to listen to them just because you can’t talk anymore, you know.”

  “Shut up, Scout,” Harper said.

  “What? She is skanky. Look, she’s throwing herself at Finn now.”

  I followed Scout’s gesture across the floor. Desty wasn’t throwing herself at Finn. They were just talking. Not that you’d know that by looking at Finn. He w
as giving her his I’m-such-a-tortured-vamp-but-the-right-girl-could-save-me routine. I hoped Desty would set him back on his skinny-jeans-wearing ass for trying to sell her that tired bullshit.

  But Finn nodded and Desty grinned like he was the answer to her prayers. They left together.

  Son of a bitch.

  “—way you busted out right under Warden Kathan’s nose,” Scout was saying.

  “Seriously, Scout,” Harper said. “One night without your ‘Halo: Maximum Security’ bull and we will never ask you for anything ever again.”

  “It’s not bull,” Scout said. “If you have to escape, it’s a prison, isn’t it, Tough?” She nodded like I had agreed with her. “If the only rights you’ve got are the ones they give you and your only options are to be somebody’s bitch or fight back like Co—”

  Harper grabbed Scout by the back of the neck and jerked her close, but I could still hear Harper whisper, “I swear to God, I will bitch-slap you if you say his name.”

  Scout shoved Harper off and leaned against the bar, glaring around the room like the whole world was stupid and unfair. I used to take that same attitude with Ryder. Maybe I had deserved some of those ass kickings.

  Harper hopped onto Desty’s barstool and pointed at the tequila. “Set me up, Tough.”

  I slid her the bottle.

  “Yeah, drink up and bend over just like everybody else in this hell-hole,” Scout said. “Sell your soul for protection.”

  Harper rolled her eyes. “Whatever, Scout.”

  The tequila hit me pretty hard right then, so I sat down while Scout rattled on about life in prison and how much easier it was to be someone’s bitch than to fight the power or whatever. She sounded like Colt.

  “Hey, Tough.” Harper touched my elbow next to the chain burns. “You okay?”

  I’m pretty sure I nodded. I couldn’t believe Desty had left with that prissy dickwad. Why the hell were girls into guys like that? Finn even plucked his eyebrows—I’d seen him do it once after P.E., back when he was still human.