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

I shook my head.

“Sorry, man.” He took off his camo hat and scratched his forehead. “I can’t believe Jason would pull that crap with you. It’s not like he ever wanted to be a country singer. Not when he was in school anyway. Some people, I guess.”

I shrugged.

“So, what’s the deal, you’re back and everything’s cool?” Dodge said. “You’re not…like Colt, are you?”

I did my best sarcastic nod. Yeah, Dodge, I’m a familiar. That’s why I’m here and hung over instead of crawling on my hands and knees in front of Mikal.

Dodge pulled his hat back on.

“I’m not trying to be a dick,” he said. “Sorry about Colt. I know you guys didn’t get along, but still.”

Yeah, still.

Dodge blew out a long breath. “So, what now? You taking over the family business?”

I snorted and he laughed, too.

“Good, because we need you back on guitar.” He must’ve seen some of the pissed-off that shot through me right then, because he smacked his hand on the table. “Aw, come on! You heard Willow, she’s terrible. We got to get her off the guitar and back on the drums. And even if you can’t sing anymore, you always were a hell of a guitar player. Morning Fang ain’t the same without you. Everybody says so.”

Most of me wanted to. Just the part of me that wished it could’ve killed Jason and got my voice back because why the hell did he want to live out my dream—and anyway, it was my fucking band in the first place—didn’t. Right then, though, that part of me had the majority of the vote.

“This shouldn’t be that hard a sell,” Dodge said. “I’ll cut you back in and you can put together the sets. I never could figure out how you did it so good, anyway. You always knew the right song to play next. People really felt what you—”

I waved him off before he started telling me my dick was made out of gold and all the girls for miles around worshipped it.

“You’ll do it?” he asked.

I shrugged, but inside I was happier than I should’ve been. It was like that little rush you get when you decide to buy some meth or a needle of fae glitter for a big night. Maybe I really was addicted to music.

“Hot damn!” Dodge slapped his hands together and stood up. “I’m telling everybody. This place is going to be double capacity. See you later?”

Yep, I’ll be the one wishing I was singing instead of you.

Desty

Bub’s Diner didn’t have wireless, but the air conditioning felt like heaven on my sunburn, and the waiter kept my water full, even during the lunch rush. I sat at a two-top by myself, nibbling at a cheese sandwich and pickles and trying to drown my dehydration in ice water.

Maybe I could head back over to that bar again and ask around some more. This time I’d be ready for Schoolgirl. If she gave me any trouble, I’d tell her I wasn’t interested in Tough anyway, and that she could shove her attitude problem up her butt next to whatever else she had wedged in there.

While I was daydreaming about having enough attitude and guts to defend myself, a group of faeries came in and sat at the big family table in the center of the room. I’d seen faeries in person before, but the shimmering always took me by surprise. They were so sparkly.

One faerie said something that made the rest of her friends laugh. Then she touched the tabletop and a blue rose with glowing orange veins blossomed from the laminate. The spikey-haired faerie sitting across from her scooped the rose up and popped it in his mouth. He burped and a puff of blue smoke drifted out.

I ducked my head and took a drink of water so the faeries wouldn’t see me smiling and realize I had been watching. The last thing I needed was to get trapped in some eternal dance party or made into faerie wine.

Pretty soon the waiter would probably tell me to order some more food or get out and I would go because I didn’t want to spend any more of my blood money and I didn’t have anyone to sit and talk with.

I flicked a sandwich crumb into the green pool of pickle juice on my plate.

Twins weren’t made to be alone. If I’d learned anything from the last eight months, it was that.

Tough

I expected it to hurt worse, but the truth is, I was gone halfway through the first song. Not being able to sing was kind of how I imagine losing your sense of taste would be—it blew like a hundred dollar hooker, but my other senses overcompensated. Sometimes before, my picking would get a little sloppy or I’d drag my fingers, but that first night back at Rowdy’s, I was on, all the way. Figure in the packed house, the energy flying off the crowd, the music hitting that sweet spot between the real world and something higher… It was like being free again. Like I could hit the highway out of Halo and never have to look over my shoulder for the Tracker.

Near the end of the second set, I saw Desty squeeze through the crowd to the bar. I hadn’t been very drunk last night—at least not while I was talking to her—because the way I remembered her was pretty much the way she looked. Short hair, cute nose, big eyes, worn-out boots. Her legs didn’t go on forever, but they went far enough in those shorts.

I kept an eye on her through the last song of the set, “Flirting with Disaster.” She talked to a few different people—a couple tourists and Beth Anne Hicks, the rip who runs the pharmacy. Whatever