Honkytonk Hell: A Dark and Twisted Urban Fantasy (The Broken Bard Chronicles Book 1) by eden Hudson (ebook reader with highlight function .TXT) 📗

fucking skull open. For once, I was trying to fix something instead of screw it up—save my brother, protect my girlfriend. Noble shit that probably would’ve made Mom proud of me or at least a little less disgusted by who I was now.  If Tiffani was a man, I would’ve smashed her head through her display counter, but she wasn’t and I couldn’t, so I made the cross at her.

Before I could move, Tiffani jumped over the counter, grabbed my ear, and dragged me to the door. She shoved me outside and I tripped onto the sidewalk.

I was so pissed I could barely see. Somehow I got in the truck and fired it up. I smacked the steering wheel with both hands and then they turned into fists and then I was dripping blood on Ryder’s stupid hand-me-down jeans.

I hit the wheel again, harder because I could feel my eyes getting wet. Maybe Colt felt like this when I told him I was done with the Soldier of Heaven bullshit, but he didn’t start bawling like a pussy. He knew he was all alone and he took it like a man. Even being a familiar—as far as he knew, the only way out was dying and he still fought Mikal enough that he could let me know she hadn’t broke him yet.

I wiped my face on my shirt and shut off the truck.

Right after Sissy died, I started wondering if I was the only person who couldn’t figure out what the point of saving this shitty world was. For a while I had tried praying about it, but no divine guidance came down like Colt and Ryder were always claiming came down on Dad. Either God didn’t want to talk to a fuckup like me or He didn’t think there was any point to saving this world, either.

Screw the world. If I could save Desty and Colt, that would be enough.

I blew my nose out the window and checked the side mirror to make sure I didn’t look like I’d been bawling or have any snot on my face. Then I found a pen in the console and the receipt from when I bought my mud tires.

When I came back into the bakery, Addison and the girls from school—plus most of the other customers who’d been in there earlier—tried not to look like they were staring. Tiffani didn’t look my way, either, but her whole body went taut like she might have to kick my ass this time.

My new note was wadded up in my fist. I smoothed it out and waited for her to finish getting a tourist a refill on coffee.

When Tiffani sat the pot down and looked at me, I handed her the new note. She scoped out the blood on my jeans and cuts on my knuckles before she read it.

Please. It’s for Colt and my girlfriend. I can save them.

Desty

 

Three hours later Bailey kicked us out so she could close up shop. Jax and I had to go outside and climb into his oven on wheels and, like a genius, the first thing I did was burn my leg on the seatbelt buckle.

“Ouch,” I yelled. “Dang it!”

“Hey, it’ll be okay,” Jax said, shutting his door.

“You don’t believe that either.” I wanted him to admit that he felt helpless, too, or at least frustrated that we hadn’t learned anything useful, but Jax just shrugged. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the seat. “We wasted all freaking day.”

“Come on,” Jax said, starting the car. “Let’s head back to HQ and regroup. We’ll think this over for a while.”

I wiped my bangs off my forehead and nodded even though there wasn’t anything to think over. We hadn’t found anything—no loopholes in the prophecy, no magical solution, nothing. At least when Tempie ran away, I’d been able to go after her.

In the passenger side mirror, I could see Halo’s town park at the center of the square. Carnies, human and NP, were setting up rides, games, and food stands for the Armistice Celebration. A shirtless lizard unhooked a hose from a corndog stand, sprayed his scaly face and chest, took a drink, then went back to work. A guy whose race literally ate babies and all he had to worry about was dehydration. Sometimes life was so freaking unfair it made me sick. Maybe Kathan should take over the world—the current management sucked.

“Ugh, this heat,” Jax said, backing out of the space in front of the Witches’ Council building. Down the Square the bank clock was flashing ninety-nine degrees.

I didn’t want to stop being mad, so I glared out the window and stewed in all the done-me-wrongs and why-can’t-everything-justs I could think of.

We turned off the square.

“Soon as I get it worked out,” Jax said, “Harper and I are getting the hell out of this town to one of those sexy tropical isles—anyplace where heat is accompanied by colorful alcohols and nude beaches.” From the corner of my eye, I could see him watching me. “I figure I can go to a game design school down in Hawaii or the Caribbean and make at least a couple billion dollars on my awesomeness.”

“I know what you’re trying to do,” I said.

“Obviously not or you would’ve quit scowling by now,” Jax said. He pointed at me. “Don’t make me turn this car around and get us some tiramisu from the bakery, young lady. Because I’ll do it, by God.”

I couldn’t help it. I snorted.

“Fine,” I said, giving him an exaggerated smile. “Happy now?”

“No, now I want tiramisu,” Jax said.

I stuck my arm out the window. The smile didn’t go away.

When we arrived at the Carpenter-Ives-Whitney house, the hot box blues were drifting down from upstairs just like the day before. Unfortunately for me, though, both