Honkytonk Hell: A Dark and Twisted Urban Fantasy (The Broken Bard Chronicles Book 1) by eden Hudson (best book series to read TXT) 📕

got some hangovers in high school—I know they suck,” Harper said. She shoved my shoulder with the toe of her flip-flop and I tried not to barf. “That’s no reason to make the sign at me like I’m some kind of Godforsaken freaking vampire. Me and Jesus are best friends, preacher boy, so don’t you even—”

I reached my hand out to her before she got really wound up.

“Fine,” she said, squeezing my fingers. “But don’t do it again. It’s offensive.” She leaned down and kissed Jax. Her bellybutton ring dangled straight down and it looked like her breasts were going to drip out of her bikini top. She stood back up. “I’m gone, guys.”

“Later,” Jax said.

I waved.

The door shut behind her. Jax went back to his game. I got up to take a leak, puke, and shower. Somehow, I made it to the stairs.

“Hey, Tough,” Jax said.

I stopped.

He didn’t look away from his game.

“Keep your eyes to yourself, all right?”

Desty

 

Blood. Rivers of blood and I was drowning in it. I tried to force my eyelids open, but they were glued closed by the thick wetness. My lungs bucked and screamed.  I thrashed and scratched and clawed until—

I opened my eyes. The rivers of blood were just the sun shining through the backs of my eyelids and the drowning just another dream-panic-attack in a long line. I stayed still, flat on my back looking up at the blue of a cloudless sky, waiting to breathe again. Heat shimmers and soybeans drifted along the edges of my sight, hairy pods of Midwestern gold drying in the summer sun. That lying vampire jerk had dumped me in a field.

Turning onto my hands and knees took more effort than it should have, given that I remembered being bitten before eleven p.m. and it was obviously late morning now. Bite-sedative. I must’ve fought him when I realized he was just stringing me along about knowing where Tempie was staying.

I pushed up to standing, swayed, and dropped back down to one knee. My skin felt hot and like it was stretched too tight over my face, arms, and legs. Sunburn, blood-loss, and dehydration—the trifecta.

My second attempt at standing was slower, but ultimately successful. I was about twenty feet from the two-lane blacktop that ran through Halo. Down the road, through the heat waves, I could see the little green population sign, the much larger Halo Chamber of Commerce sign, and the trailer park at the edge of town.

Maybe the fallen angels had sent that vamp, Finn, because they knew I’d come for Tempie.

My head spun itself into a fuzzy mess again and I had to lean over for a second with my hands on my knees.

Hopeful, optimistic crap. The fallen angels wouldn’t have sent anyone to get rid of me. I posed zero threat to them. Even if that enforcer, Mikal, really had looked into my mind yesterday, the only thing she would’ve seen was an overwhelmed nineteen-year-old grasping at straws. And if I couldn’t convince my own mother not to kill herself, what in the world made me think I could talk my sister out of becoming a familiar, steal her away from a legion of fallen angels, and drag her back home? Nope, that jerk Finn had lied to me about knowing where to find Tempie because he was hungry and he could tell I was desperate.

A shooting pain in my left boob cut my pity party short.

I pulled the neck of my shirt away from my chest so I could look inside. Two fang marks had crystalized just above my nipple and a splash of blood stained the bra cup.

“That dickbag.”

I checked the road for cars, then unbuttoned my shorts to make sure Finn hadn’t done anything else while I was out.

Nothing. I hadn’t entrusted my life to a rapist, at least. And there was my backpack by the highway. Not a rapist and not a thief. Stellar.

Bending over to grab my backpack almost made me pass out.

When the dizzy spell ended, I started for town. Crying and whining about being an idiot with horrible judgment wasn’t going to bring Tempie home.

Tough

 

There was only one place where I knew music would be going on at noon on a Sunday, so when I got out of the shower, I took a handful of ibuprofen and headed down to Rowdy’s.

Dodge was about halfway through the service when I got there. I sat in one of the back booths and watched the serious Jesus freaks sing and dance along. There wasn’t any preaching—as far as I know, there hadn’t been any in Halo since Dad went all Soldier of Heaven—but the music was enough to get the message across. It even kind of made me feel better. Not the part about how we’d sing glory hallelujah, because obviously I wouldn’t. But with the drums driving and the way the guitar lifts you up…and anyway, that kind of music’s written to make your heart fly.

The hangover still had a pretty solid hold on my stomach, but if I didn’t move my head too fast it didn’t hurt, so I closed my eyes and leaned back in my booth, listening.

I don’t remember the first song I learned how to play, but the first one I remember playing said something about laying death in its grave. It was Sissy’s favorite, even after Mom and Dad were dead and she was trying to take care of us and stop Kathan. I wish I could remember more of that song. Once I asked Rowdy whether he knew a gospel song with “death in its grave,” and he said I was supposed to be the preacher’s kid.

When the service was over, Dodge came back and slid into the booth across from me.

“What’s up, Tough? Still no—?”