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

by eden Hudson

  Camo-Hat laughed and started to sing—

  “You kept me cheap and down,

  Bullshit me all over town,

  Taught me to love pain,

  That I ain’t worth anything.

  But anymore the sex don’t distract

  From the bitch I’m looking at.

  Now I’m pretty sure

  I ain’t the only whore,

  And I’m done crawling back for more.”

  Everyone who knew the song started yelling along with Camo-Hat when he got to the chorus:

  “This town can suck me.

  Protection can fuck me.

  You can keep my soul.

  I already leased out that hole,

  When I lost my halo in your bed.”

  Tough

  When the set was over and we were putting stuff up, I was shaking a little bit. Not enough for someone looking at me to notice, but enough that I felt it in my stomach. Adrenaline, a good set, and a little showing off always did that to me, got me so jacked up I could run all night.

  “Wipe that shit-eating grin off your face or I’ll do it for you.” Owen swung his fiddle case at my nuts as he passed by. “Look like a damn possum.”

  I slapped his case down and threw up my arms like Let’s go!

  Owen got up in my face, all crazy-eyed and grinning.

  “Need your ass kicked, boy?” he asked, banging against my chest, trying to shove me back.

  I nodded and yanked my hat down tight like I was ready to tear into him.

  “You been hanging around them big-city pussies too long if you don’t remember what a Grade-A, certified, country-fried badass who will fuck you up looks like,” Owen hollered.

  Willow rolled her eyes.

  “I want to get to the bonfire sometime before sunrise,” she said. “You guys either settle this at the farm or borrow Rowdy’s tape measure and get it over with.”

  “Oh, hell yes, I got this one,” Owen said, pretending to go for his fly.

  I gave him the Up Yours sign and kicked the lid of my guitar case shut. Desty was still hanging back along the wall. I wished she’d come over.

  Dodge saw where I was looking.

  “Why don’t you bring your girl out to the farm,” he said. “Nothing like a bonfire for a little romance.”

  Owen started humping the air and singing, “Get that truck a-rocking like a Garth Brooks song—”

  But Willow said, “You should totally bring her. I’ll go ask her for you.” She locked up her headphone case and headed for the stairs, passing close enough by me that I could’ve stopped her if I’d wanted to. “Desty!”

  I snapped the latches shut on my case and hopped off the stage beside Willow.

  Desty smiled at me and that shaking feeling in my stomach spread out to my arms and legs. I hadn’t noticed before that I was pretty much soaked in sweat. I took off my hat and wiped the damp hem of my t-shirt across my face.

  “A bunch of us are going to Dodge’s for a Welcome Home bonfire for Tough,” Willow said. “You should come.”

  “Right now?” Desty asked.

  “Got anywhere else to be?” Willow asked.

  Desty shook her head.

  “Then come on,” Willow said. “There’ll be plenty to drink, some music, a crazy-big fire… It’ll be fun.”

  Desty looked at me like she wanted to see if I really wanted her to go. And since it doesn’t get much more invincible than right after a set like that, I gave her the Come on nod.

  “Okay,” Desty said. “Cool.”

  “You’ll have to ride with Tough, though,” Willow said. “Everybody else’s truck is full.”

  Dodge laughed as he carried his case by.

  “Hope you ain’t allergic to rust,” he told Desty.

  I knew what was coming next. It’s weird that you could go more than a month without talking and still keep finding things you wish you could use your voice for.

  “You got to remember, though,” Dodge said, “It is a Ford. Tough’s lucky it still runs.”

  I pulled down on the bill of my hat with both hands and bit my lips together.

  No, Dodge’s lucky I’ve got a Ford so he can go mudding without having to walk home. At least I don’t have to drive an ugly piece of Chevy like Owen. Do you know what happens to a truck like mine when it breaks down? It turns into a—

  “You didn’t tell me you drove a Ford,” Desty said, letting loose a smile that was at least fifty-one percent laughing at instead of with. “What’re we waiting for? Let’s go.”

  I could feel my face mirror hers. If I hadn’t liked her before, I would’ve started to right then.

  ***

  The radio in my truck worked great. I had a badass set of speakers behind the seat, subs in both doors, and I’d spent the cash to get my antenna NP-protected. It could pick up just about any station in the state. But I hadn’t listened to the radio much in the last month and I didn’t know how I would explain it to Desty if Jason Gudehaus came on singing “Tulsa Time” in what used to be my voice and I did something stupid like put a fist through the dash. I left the radio off while we drove.

  The bank clock said the temperature had dropped down to eighty-five. I shut off the air and rolled my window down so the noise from the locusts would break up some of the quiet. Desty rolled hers down a couple inches, too, and stuck her fingers out.

  “Not too bad a night for as hot as it’s been,” she said.

  I nodded. She wasn’t looking at me, but I could see her face reflected in her window with black holes that the stars blinked through where her eyes should be.

  I turned south on the highway leaving Halo and tried to pay attention to driving. That post-show shakiness hadn’t faded yet, but it had turned into this kind of bubbling feeling that I would do something stupid like miss the turnoff to Dodge’s or hit a deer.

  “That one song you guys played,” Desty said, “I liked it.”

  That made me smile. I’d pegged her right—one of those sweet girls you see rocking out to the rough stuff. I bet she had a bunch of old Streetlight Manifesto and SR-71 on her mp3 player. Maybe even some of Mom’s songs. Probably no country.

  “Did you write it?” she asked.

  I nodded.

  “I thought so,” she said. “It sounded like you.”

  For a while, I tapped my thumb on the steering wheel, wishing Desty would keep talking so I wouldn’t have to think about “My Halo”—that song I’d played her at the bar—and how I used to come down after a really good night. Mitzi loved adrenaline-fueled sex. What the hell was her problem? Did she get tired of me or did I piss her off? We had a deal, dammit. I’d be her twenty-four-seven booty-call so Jason wouldn’t have to think about how his dick shriveled up when the temperature dropped and they would make sure Kathan left me alone. For five years they were fine with it, and suddenly they decided to get figurative with the “screw Tough” part of the agreement?

  “Tree frogs are singing.” Desty sounded kind of nervous. Maybe she’d picked up on my pissed-off mood swing.

  I nodded.

  “Must be going to rain,” she said.

  I looked at her. Were we seriously going to spend this ride talking about the weather?

  “Fine, you got me,” she said. “I’ve never been around somebody who couldn’t talk. I don’t know how to act. Not that I think you’re handicapped or that I wouldn’t want to go on a date with you. It’s just, under the best circumstances I’m awkward enough.”

  I tried to keep a straight face and raised my eyebrow at her.

  “Not that this is a date,” she said. “I know we’re just going to a bonfire, but— Which isn’t to say that a bonfire isn’t good enough or—”

  I snorted.

  “You jerk!” She smacked my arm, but she was trying not to smile. “You were being weird on purpose.”

  In my defense, you’re even cuter when you’re squirming around acting like a dork who just grew boobs and doesn’t realize she’s hot yet. Dammit,
I wished I could talk.

  “Just for that I am counting this as a date,” she said. “Date One: Desty and Tough. Let’s see how it goes, shall we?”

  That knocked my bullshit down a little. I didn’t really want to think about this being a date. Flirting’s easy—even if you can’t talk—and I ought to be good enough at sex by now, but dating was one of those in-between steps I’d never gotten around to.

  Desty quieted down, too.

  “Unless someone would be upset if I called it that,” she said, watching me. “Like jilted-girlfriend-upset.”

  I shook my head, hard, kind of offended she would think I’d take a girl out riding around if I had a girlfriend. Then I remembered the night before when Rowdy told her I’d been banging some other guy’s wife.

  Should just wear a fucking sign around my neck.

  But Desty nodded.

  “I just wanted to make sure. Those blonde girls you were with last night seemed pretty serious about not liking me. But that’s okay—I don’t like them either.”

  Laughing felt good, even without the sound. I picked her hand up off the seat. It felt kind of cold, so I folded her fingers into a ball and put my hand around them.

  Desty turned and looked out her window again, but I could see her smiling in the reflection.

  Then red and blue flashers lit up my rearview, letting me know that Halo’s version of a dickhead cop was after us. I let go of Desty’s hand and got a strangle-hold on the wheel.

  For a second I considered gassing it and making Rian earn his paycheck, but if I got caught, I probably wouldn’t be lucky enough to get the face-meets-asphalt, ass-whooping treatment. Rian would haul me in. I didn’t want to take the chance that Desty might be considered an accessory, so I pulled over.

  “What’s going on?” she looked over her shoulder at the lights. “We weren’t speeding.”

  We were speeding a little bit, but that wasn’t why he pulled us over.

  Rian, fallen angel foot soldier and state trooper wannabe, sauntered up to my window and tipped his hat back so he could see into the cab.

  “Step out of the truck, Tough,” he said. “You know the drill.”

  The drill is a superiority complex. Fallen angels don’t like having to look up at anybody—especially a punk with an eight-inch lift on his truck. That was part of why I got the kit.

  I shoved open my door. Rian had to jump out of the way or get knocked over, which made me feel a little better about going peacefully.

  “You realize you’re over five miles from Halo city limits?” Rian asked as he spun me around and put my hands on the truck bed. He ran his hands down my sides. “If you’ve got any weapons on you or anything in the truck to indicate that you’re leaving town again—”

  “We’re just going to a bonfire,” Desty said, sliding over to the driver’s seat. I wished she would’ve stayed put. Whether we were calling it a date or not, her watching me get a pat-down hadn’t been in my plans. “At Dodge’s farm. The whole band is going. It’s a Welcome Home bonfire for Tough.”

  Rian laughed. He got the Welcome Home joke, even though Desty didn’t. His hands slid down my left leg, then zipped back up my right a little too close to home for comfort. He stepped back.

  “All right, little miss—”

  But Rian never finished whatever retarded insult he was going for.

  I looked over my shoulder at him. He was leaning forward, trying to get a better look at Desty. I’d disconnected my truck’s dome light a long time back, so he had to pull out his flashlight. It was weird to see that huge I’m-compensating-for-something Maglite without expecting to get it upside the head.

  “Are you Modesty?” Rian asked.

  When I was little, I remember watching a show about tigers. I hadn’t thought about it since Mom died and I’ll probably never think about it again, but the way Desty’s face lit up the second Rian said her name reminded me of a shot on that show of a tiger jumping out of the bushes at its prey.

  “Are you—” Her voice was shaking. “Was Tempie with you? Is she with you? Or with someone you know? Another foot soldier?”

  She wanted him to say yes, any idiot could see that. I don’t know why I thought it would help, but I put my hand on her knee.

  Faster than I could flinch, Rian stabbed me in the ribs with his Maglite. Something crunched and bumped against what I would guess was one of my internal organs.

  I went down, but I came back up and slammed my shoulder into Rian’s stomach. He bounced off the truck door, threw me down, and put his boot on the broken rib. My whole body tried to twist out from under his foot as the pain caught up with me.

  “Keep your hands off her, dipshit.” Rian leaned on me a little harder and I forgot I couldn’t yell. “Modesty, Mayor Dark gave us specific instructions to bring Temperance’s twin to the mansion as soon as we locate her.”

  Then Rian’s boot slipped off of my side and Desty was kneeling in the dirt by me.

  “Are you all right, Tough?” she asked.

  I nodded. As long as I didn’t breathe, I was fine. You don’t realize how much of your body is connected in the middle until you break a rib and someone stands on it. I had to let Desty help me get to my knees.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I have to go. I knew Tempie was here. I’ve been trying to catch up to her for so long. I need to see if— I need to know she’s not a familiar.”

  The memory of Colt in that fucking collar licking Mikal’s hand jammed its way into my brain. I felt like taking another shot at Rian, but Desty picked that second to touch the back of my neck. Her fingers were freezing. Goose bumps prickled all down my back and chest.

  “If she’s not enthralled yet, I can save her,” Desty said. “I have to go. You understand, don’t you?”

  I nodded and waved her off. Not everyone’s enough of a screwed-up asshole to just leave their brother—or sister—rotting in Hell.

  Desty stayed crouched by me for another few seconds, but when she started to ask if I needed any help standing up, I shook my head. My John Deere hat was on the ground by the tire. I slapped it against my leg to clear the dust off and pulled it back on.

  “Miss McCormick, if you’ll come with me?” Rian sounded like he was trying to impress somebody with his courtesy, respect, and professionalism.

  “Yeah, okay.” Desty stood up and followed Rian to his modified crotch rocket. She looked back and I pushed myself up with only about thirty seconds of pain so intense that I wished I would black out.

  Rian pointed the butt-end of his Maglite at me. “Soon as I get back to the mansion, I’m reporting you to the Tracker. Go anywhere tonight but the Kelley farm or back to town and you’re fucked.”

  I watched them drive away before I tried getting back in the truck. I had to keep one arm tight around my side and pull myself up into the cab with the other. Back when I bought the truck off of Jax’s cousin, I’d had enough money left over to get chrome straight pipes or a lift kit, but Owen told me pipes would mess with the engine power. Dragging myself up onto the seat with a broken rib sure made the straight pipes look worth the power tradeoff. Hindsight and all that crap.

  I took off my hat, wiped the sweat off my face with my shirt, and let my head drop back against the headrest.

  Desty thought she could save her sister, but only if Tempie wasn’t already a familiar. I moved my upper body just enough to set off the rib and blow away every image the word familiar brought to mind. And since foot soldiers couldn’t make—couldn’t enthrall—anyone, Desty’s sister would be with Kathan.

  My high beams reached far enough down the road to light up the turnoff to Dodge’s farm. There would be a couple coolers full of beer. Owen would’ve talked Rowdy out of a jar of his home cooked ‘shine. I could be passed out in the back of the truck in a few hours, get woke up around noon by Dodge’s coon dog, Clutch, and head home to sleep it off.

  Or I could take the road opposite the turnoff to Dodge’s, head east a mile on gravel, then north on Old
63. That would dump me out at the Dark Mansion in about ten minutes.

  The Kelley farm, back to town, or fucked.

  I put the truck in gear. You’d think Rian would’ve been smarter than to give me a choice.

  Desty

  The midnight approach to the Dark Mansion combined the creepy suspense of a movie about kids stepping out of cornfields holding bloody cane knives with the supernatural paranoia of the Inquisition. But that’s what you get when you drop a demonic cathedral into the middle of rural Missouri. I tightened my grip on Moto-Cop’s uniform and focused on the way the wind pushed at the tar-stained feathers of his wings instead of ruffling them.

  He stopped in front of the entrance and held the bike upright while I climbed off the back. Up close, with the quarter moon behind it and the light from inside trying to illuminate the front Hell Window—which I guess would technically be considered a Hell Oculus—the place made me want to turn and run screaming back to town. I slid my hands into the back pockets of my shorts and watched Moto-Cop put down the kickstand.

  “So—” I tried to clear the shakiness from my throat. Tempie was in there. She was inside the Dark Mansion, and I had to go in there because this was the closest I’d been to her in months. “So, who is Tempie with? She’s with another foot soldier, right? We’re going in so you can report to Mayor Dark and then we’ll go to the barracks to see her?”

  It helps sometimes to lie to yourself out loud.

  “Right this way,” Moto-Cop deflected as he led the way up the steps.

  Inside, I kept my eyes down and ignored the urge to look at the Hell Windows. I had all the skin-crawling I could stand without their help, thank you very much.

  Another foot soldier in fatigue pants and an army-green wife beater came down the hall from what the tour guide had called the Permanent Residence wing.

  “You found Temperance’s sister?” Fatigues asked.

  Moto-Cop nodded, smiling the way gossips do when they have something juicy to blab. “Get this—with Tough Whitney.”

  Fatigues smirked at me. I wished fallen angels wouldn’t look so freaking sexy while they talked about me like I wasn’t in the room. At least I wasn’t panting or saying things uncontrollably this time. Maybe I was building up an immunity to them.