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

by eden Hudson

  Beside me, Tempie snorted.

  “Jeez, Desty, this place is dirty. I can’t believe you like it here. I thought you hated rednecks.”

  I glanced at the empty stage where Tough’s electric guitar was on its stand.

  “Some of them aren’t so bad,” I said.

  “This from you.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It’s supposed to mean this dirty bar and that durr-Chevy-kid from the girl who I rigged to win the Cherry-Poppin’ Festival lottery and she traded it away for Zit-Face Lundt.”

  “His name was Farren,” I said. “And God forbid he have acne in tenth grade.”

  “They make stuff for that,” Tempie said.

  The Annual Precautionary Deflowering had been going on at my school ever since the year sirens drained five virgins in two months. Everyone I knew called it the Cherry-Poppin’ Festival. At the beginning of every school year, the administration paired up the boys and girls from the sophomore class, rented out the Travelodge on 61, and provided condoms, lubrication, candles, etc. for their first time. When the number of boys to girls was uneven, they drew a name from the freshmen. The year we were freshmen, Tempie had rigged it so I would be drawn and I would get paired with her boyfriend, Leif Barnhart.

  “Anyway, the point is that I got you the hottest guy in school and you traded for Zit-Face because Leif was too much of a hick for you.”

  The real reason I had traded for Farren was that he was in my critical reading elective and I’d had a massive crush on him. I’d reasoned that the night at the Travelodge would give me the chance to talk to him outside of class, try to gauge whether or not he liked me, too. It hadn’t, mostly because he kept calling me Tempie.

  “Tough isn’t just some ignorant redneck,” I said. “I mean, he kind of acts like it when there’re lots of people around, but—”

  Our whole lives, Tempie and I had been able look at each other and know exactly what the other was thinking. “Twin-brain,” Mom used to call it. The way Tempie was looking at me right then, I knew she was thinking that what I saw as this profound connection with Tough, built on mutual understanding and pain, was actually something stupid and childish. Even worse, she felt sorry for me for being so naïve.

  I sat back in my chair and crossed my arms. “Ugh, I hate you sometimes.”

  “Look, I’ll give you that he’s cute,” Tempie said. “But he’s a loser. And, anyway, everyone knows he’s going to die before the final battle.”

  “What?”

  “Kathan told me. It’s in all the prophecies. The Whitneys are the last of the Chosen Soldiers and all the prophecies say the last battle can’t start until the last of the Chosen Soldiers visits death upon his brother.”

  “Don’t give me some bull you and Kathan made up about—”

  “Kathan doesn’t make crap up,” Tempie said. “And you know I wouldn’t say anything like ‘visit death upon.’”

  “I know.” I leaned my elbows on the table, trying to think of a way to explain. “But—”

  “Ask your friend on the Witches’ Council.” Tempie said “friend” like it was ridiculous that I could make one without her.

  “What the heck is your problem tonight?” I snapped.

  “My problem? I’m your sister and you weren’t even going to talk to me.”

  “What’s there to talk about?” I said. “We both know you ran off and left me to take care of Mom. What, should we be all best friends again?”

  “Why come after me, then, if you hate me so much?” Tempie asked. “Why not just say ‘screw it’ and go off to college or whatever and get on with your life?”

  I bit the inside of my cheek and glared at the tabletop. Tempie didn’t even get why I came after her. How freaking pathetic was it that that made me want to cry?

  Tempie picked up my hand and squeezed when I started to pull it away.

  “Hey, nerd, come on,” she said. “I love you, you know? You know I do, right?”

  I nodded and wiped my eyes with the back of my hand.

  “Just listen to me for a minute, okay?” she said. “That durr-Chevy-kid—he’s going to die. He won’t be around to protect you when the shit hits the fan. Kathan and I will. We want you with us. And it’s not like you’ll have to sleep with Kathan. You’d just be there for the important stuff. The sex and stuff—that’s mine.”

  That’s when it finally hit me. Fallen angels tell you the truth when they want you to believe something untrue. Kathan had told Tempie that Tough was going to die. If that was true, then what was the lie he wanted us to believe? And if the last Chosen Soldier had to visit death upon his brother—

  “Why did Mikal want to talk to Tough?” I asked.

  Tempie looked at the wall of alcohol behind the bar as if she hadn’t heard me.

  “I want a drink,” she said. “Something good.”

  Dodge, Willow, and even Owen were up on stage, talking to each other and looking around the bar. Tough’s guitar was still on its stand like a neon sign screaming, You’re an Idiot, Desty. My stomach tried to claw its way up my throat.

  I grabbed Tempie’s arm. “Where are they?”

  “Ouch. Stop it.” She tried to knock my hand off, but I dug my fingernails in.

  “What were you, like, supposed to keep me busy or something?”

  “I figured a nerd like you would know that it’s called ‘running interference,’” Tempie said. “And obviously it worked.”

  Tough

  It was so hot out my beer started sweating as soon as I stepped into the alley. The fire door clicked shut, closing me off from the noise and the last breath of air conditioning.

  Mikal was leaning against the brick of the old police department with Colt’s suit jacket folded over her arm. Beside her, Colt was rolling his shirtsleeves back just like Dad used to when it got too hot in the church.

  “That was a rousing fight song,” Mikal said, playing with her end of the leash. “Were you hoping to start a musical revolution?”

  I took a drink of my beer, shrugged, and checked the other end of the alley. Kathan was at the entrance, talking to Rowdy’s bouncer, Cris.

  The metal snap of the leash sounded like somebody chambering a round.

  “Colt,” Mikal said. “Kill.”

  My back exploded.

  I’d been shot before. I’d been stabbed. Mitzi had bitten me God knows how many times. Colt trying to put his boot through my kidney was a whole other kind of bad. It felt like I was going to piss blood. My arms folded when I tried to catch myself and my head bounced off the gravel.

  Owen and I must’ve been hitting the ‘shine a little harder than I’d thought because it took until I saw the boot in front of my face for a jolt of panic to catch up with me.

  “—ever fucking listen the first time? Fuck, Baby Boy, you think I’m yelling ‘cause I like to so much? When I start talking, you put that fucking guitar down and—”

  I jammed my fists into my armpits to protect my fingers and tried to curl up and get small. The boot caught me right under the ear. My brain whited out.

  Then Colt was pulling me up by my hair.

  “So, Tough, do you have a protector yet?” Mikal asked. She didn’t give me a chance to answer, which was just as well, because the only thing I could think was the end of that joke—All in all, I prefer scotch. “I didn’t think so.”

  Colt shoved me back against the wall and hit me in the stomach with a clip full of machine gun punches. The last one hit the rib Rian broke. I pitched forward and threw up beer foam.

  Colt picked me up again, this time Ryder-style with his arm around my throat. I couldn’t breathe. I clawed and dug at his arm, trying to break his grip. He turned me to face Mikal.

  “You’re my favorite kind of rebel, Tough,” she said. “You were too young during the war to remember why everyone was fighting. You know you should be fighting, but you don’t know what, so you fight everything and everyone around you.”

  The pressur
e building behind my eyes was going to make them explode. My arms weighed about eight million tons. Red started closing in from the sides. He was going to choke me out.

  I had just enough left in me to make a fist. I jacked my elbow backward into Colt’s solar plexus—another Ryder favorite.

  Either I didn’t hit him as hard as I meant to or Colt wasn’t feeling any pain. He spun me around and kneed me in the stomach. I hacked some, but nothing came up that time. He went for my throat, but I bulldozed his bad knee with my shoulder.

  We hit the ground. He rolled head over heels, then up to his hands and feet.

  Shit, I forgot how fast you were. I grabbed the longneck I’d dropped earlier and pushed up.

  Colt put his weight behind a punch that would’ve knocked my teeth out, but I turned with it. His fist popped my jaw. The momentum made it easy to throw him onto his back. I rolled with him. Got on his chest and pinned his arms to his sides with my knees. I cocked the beer bottle back like a night stick. I could’ve smashed his head in. I should’ve smashed his head in.

  But like a pussy, I hesitated. It didn’t matter that I was right where someone should be who could save their brother from Hell—just kill him. Bring down the bottle and smash his brains out, use the broken glass to cut his throat, just get him away from being a familiar and having Mikal control him and torment him. But inside the whole time, I’d been screaming for Colt to be Colt, so when I looked into his eyes and imagined I saw him for a second, I hesitated. That was all it took.

  His legs wrapped around my chest before I even felt him start to move. My head bounced off the gravel again. Red and blue police flashers lit up my brain. Then Colt was on my stomach, putting any beating Ryder ever gave me to shame.

  “You think you’re a real badass, don’t you?” Colt said. “You can take a couple punches, so you must be.” He grabbed my shirt and pulled me up so he could knock me back down. “You wouldn’t know real fighting. This—” He socked me so hard that everything I could see faded out, then came back. “—ain’t it. I am the only son of Daniel Whitney still fighting.”

  Colt let me drop and stood up. He wasn’t even breathing hard.

  I tried to go after him, but I couldn’t get my arms or legs to work.

  “Know when you’re beat, Baby Boy,” he said.

  You tattoo-wearing bitch dressed up like some slick city fucker—act like you’re such hot shit when you’re off your leash—I’ll stomp your ass. But nothing on me would move, not even a little. The pissed-off leaked out of me like blood.

  I closed my eyes and let my head rest on the gravel. Maybe I blacked out for a couple seconds. When I could hear again, it was Mikal talking.

  “See you tomorrow night, Tough,” she said.

  Two sets of footsteps crunched down the alley away from me. I thought I was alone until I heard wings rustle.

  “Fair warning, Tough—” Kathan.

  Dammit, why can’t I just pass out?

  “—Modesty’s mine. She and Temperance belonged to me before they were born. They’ve always been mine.” He slapped my cheek and sparks popped behind my eyes. “Keep that in mind the next time you’re nailing her—she’s just making her way back to me.”

  Then his footsteps crunched away, too.

  I breathed. In. Out. That’s all I could do at first, and not even very well. Ryder always used to say he wasn’t scared of getting beat to death, he was scared of getting beat halfway there. Smart.

  The fire door slammed open and someone ran into the alley. I know I flinched, but right then I was too far gone to care about being chicken shit.

  “Tough?” Desty touched my neck really lightly. Goose bumps went running down my back and chest. “Are you all right?”

  By some miracle I rolled up onto my side, then got my knees under me. Remembered to open my eyes, even though just the right one opened all the way.

  Everywhere but the sunburn on her nose and cheeks, Desty’s face was white and scared. I tried a smile. I couldn’t get all the way up yet, so I leaned back against the wall and breathed in the trash smell from Rowdy’s dumpster.

  “I’ll go get someone,” Desty said. “Jax. I’ll go get Jax.” She started to get up, but I shook my head and patted the gravel beside me. “Are you sure?”

  I nodded. Then I had to close my eyes to make everything hold still. I heard Desty slide down the wall next to me. The adrenaline was gone, but my heart was still pumping pretty hard, kind of stuttering in my chest, and pain was soaking into every part of me. There’s nothing worse than post-ass-whooping pain because it comes with all the bells and whistles of not even being good enough to defend yourself right.

  Desty picked up my fist. She pried my fingers open and laced hers through them.

  “I’m so sorry, Tough. Tempie was distracting me. I thought—” She took a shaky breath. “I thought Mikal was going to make Colt kill you. You know it wasn’t him, right? It wasn’t really Colt.”

  “Know when you’re beat, Baby Boy.”

  Then I got the joke. I started laughing.

  “Tough?” Desty was on her knees in front of me. She looked worried.

  Ryder and his fucking nicknames. Sissy was Boss, Colt was Sunshine, and I was Baby Boy. As in, “Stand up like you got a pair, Baby Boy.” Or, “Quit that bawling, Baby Boy.” And my personal favorite, “Know when you’re beat, Baby Boy. Stay the fuck down, shut the fuck up, and be glad I didn’t kill your sorry ass.”

  “Tough?” Desty sounded like she was crying. She didn’t get why it was funny.

  I laughed until my eyes were watering and every part of my body that hurt wanted to kill me just to shut me up, but I couldn’t stop.

  Colt

  Pain. Muscle-tearing, teeth-cracking pain.

  Bad dog.

  God. Death. Please.

  The torture stopped. The nothingness was heaven, so beautiful that I started to cry. Or realized I was crying. I don’t know. It just felt so good.

  Do you see how much I love you, Colter? Mikal asked. You disobey a direct order, and instead of destroying you the way you deserve, I take away the pain.

  Aftershocks made my muscles twitch. I tasted blood and metal, smelled ozone and burning meat. There was a piece of my cheek between my back teeth, bitten off when they clamped down.

  In my peripheral, I could see Mikal’s old-fashioned electroshock therapy machine wired to a truck battery. I didn’t remember how we had gotten there, but we were in the basement. I was strapped down to the table—chest, wrists, hips, ankles.

  I told myself not to move, not to think about the straps. If I thought about them, I would panic. I couldn’t panic. If I panicked—

  But I couldn’t fucking breathe.

  Right before the claustrophobia sent me off the deep end, a leftover spark of electricity triggered the memory—orange-zest frosting on a cinnamon roll made with real vanilla. A cup of coffee. Cigarettes. My stomach growled like hunger was the only thing it had to worry about.

  Then I was standing in the cemetery with my shirt in my hand, trying to act like I wasn’t dying to know what she thought while she traced my new chest piece. I’d just come from the tattoo parlor. The skin was red and hot and her fingertips burned like dry ice.

  “I’m not that into tattoos,” she lied. “Sort of old-fashioned that way.”

  Mikal’s laughter dragged me back into the basement.

  My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my temples. Mikal was going to take it away. That memory was the one bright spot in a lifetime of fighting and death and failure and she was going to take it away.

  This is why I love you, Colter, Mikal said, Even when you disobey me. The way you lock things into their own little boxes. You had me convinced it was survival instinct—hide the black noise away and maybe no one will find out—but you did it on purpose with her memory. You were hiding her from me.

  I shut my eyes tight, but I heard the drawer open. Without looking, I knew what Mikal had gotten out of it.

 
; Open your eyes, Colter, she said.

  Mikal held the syringe up to the light and flicked the barrel to get the bubbles out.

  I lost it, fought the restraints. She didn’t stop me. It was part of the punishment—no protection from reality.

  Please, God, don’t let this happen, I prayed. Let my heart explode, let me suffocate, give me an aneurism, let her turn the machine up too high and electrocute me—anything—just please don’t let her take this.

  The needle slid into my throat. White-hot nitro shot up my neck and down my shoulder. Everything burned, too clear, too intense. Just the air on my skin was driving me half-crazy. Every heartbeat detonated inside my chest and shattered my skull. Breathing sounded like screaming. My bones shook—they wouldn’t hold still.

  Mikal licked the needle and smiled down at me.

  We can fix this together, Colt. You think you love that vampire, that you love Tough—that you can protect them—but you’re too young to understand what real love is. I know everything about you—every awful, locked-away secret you tried to hide—and I still love you. If they knew you half as well as I do, they wouldn’t be able to look at you again without being sick.

  Conviction flooded the broken places inside of me, the way it used to when one of Dad’s sermons laid me open down to my soul.

  I know you want to be good, Colt. Mikal stroked the sweat-soaked hair off my forehead. I can help you. Let me help you be good.

  The buzz and tick of the electroshock machine, my choked crying, the wet whisper of her tar-stained feathers. I felt so close to understanding something, but I couldn’t keep ahold of the thought. The tears were coming harder because of the exhaustion and the drugs and the certainty that Mikal was right.

  It sounded like a spine snapping when I swallowed.

  Fuck you, bitch.

  Pain. Mind-obliterating, soul-breaking pain.

  Tough

  I woke up in my bed back at the house. The fan was blowing the hot air around. Out the window the moon was shining. Somewhere, a coyote howled. A three-shot burst from an AR-15 hollered back.