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

Actually, it would’ve been kind of nice if Ryder did suddenly materialize. Then I’d have something to focus on instead of the way Desty kept sniffing like she was trying not to cry.

I’d got her backpack out of the truck and brought it up here for her. Wasn’t that enough of an apology? It wasn’t like I could tell her I got made so I could make her and keep her safe from Kathan, but that blew up when I realized what it really meant to be cut off from God and barred from Heaven. Even if she begged me, I could never make her now that I knew.

In my head, I tried to make the argument about me not being able to talk and Desty being unfair. Make it seem like we barely knew each other and that I shouldn’t have to answer to her about anything, but it was all bullshit. I knew if I held Desty’s hand or kissed her, she would understand. Desty always seemed to know what I was saying when I touched her.

Then the vamp-serial-killer-rapist chimed in with all the shit he wanted to do to make her understand and pissed me off all over again.

“I can’t,” Colt said. “There’s a reason. It has to do with no alcohol. Yeah, but—” He had to put his shoulder against the cabin door to shove it open. It always stuck in the heat. “—last time I thought the wrong thing, the black noise came up and I started— Oh, boo-fucking-hoo.”

That stopped me cold. I let the “Gold fucking star” slide before because I thought maybe Colt was joking, but this was too damn far. I followed Colt and Desty into the kitchen.

Did you just say “boo-fucking-hoo?” I asked Colt.

No answer. He flipped on the light and looked around.

“Looks like I left yesterday,” he said.

Colt, I know you can hear me. Tell me what you just said.

He looked at me. “About what?”

Why’re you talking like Ryder?

“I’m not.”

I heard you. Desty heard you.

“Who’s Dusty?”

“Desty,” she said. “It’s short for Modesty.”

“Sorry.” Colt shook his head. “I knew who you were, just not—” He looked at me. “Wait a damn minute. I’m not talking like Ryder.”

You said “boo-fucking-hoo” and “gold fucking star.”

“Ryder said that,” Colt said. “I didn’t.”

What was I supposed to say to that? Ryder was dead. He’d been dead for five years. Mikal chopped him up into a million pieces—and she didn’t use her fiery sword to do it, either, because that would’ve just sent Ryder on to Heaven or Hell the second it cut into him. She had hacked him up with a big-ass hunting knife and she made sure he stayed alive as long as possible. But Colt was supposed to know that already. He was the one who’d had to pick up the pieces.

Colt took a step back from me and bumped into the kitchen table.

“I know Ryder’s dead,” he said. “But he keeps bothering me, so he must not be dead enough.” Colt looked at the sink. “Could you shut up for five seconds?” Then back at me. “You heard him. I know you heard him.”

The hell I did.

“You laughed in the truck when he called you a commie fag.”

You said that!

“No, I didn’t! I’m not crazy!”

But Colt looked scared. That pissed me off worse than anything else. Colt wasn’t supposed to be scared of anything.

“Guys,” Desty said, stepping between us. “Whatever you’re arguing about doesn’t matter. No one thinks you’re crazy, Colt.”

I do. I think you’re batshit crazy, I told him. I can deal with the old OCD crap or you freaking out and talking to yourself, but Ryder is not here. Him, Sissy, Dad, and Mom? They’re all dead. That bitch who had you chained up like her fucking dog killed them.

Colt put his head in his hands and started whispering something under his breath. I should’ve been able to hear it, but everything except “Mikal” was too run-together to make out.

Desty glared at me like she knew what I’d said to him.

“It. Doesn’t. Matter,” she said. “You’re making it worse by arguing. Stop.” She took a step toward Colt. “Colt, do you remember who I am?”

After a second, he looked up at her.

“Grace,” he said.

She smiled at him. My fists started shaking and metal music screamed in my head.

“Desty,” she said. “Short for Modesty.”

“Right,” he said. “I knew it was one of the virtues.”

Desty laughed that little breath-laugh she always did when we were making out or having sex. Something exploded inside my chest. I spun around and put my fist through the counter. The particle board vaporized. Pieces of the laminate stuck in my arm.

“Tough?” I felt Desty touch my shoulder, but I shook her off hard enough that she stumbled backward. “Fine. Be mad at me if you have to, but don’t be mad at Colt.”

That helped a whole lot. She should’ve just told me to get lost so she could screw my brother.

I jerked my arm out of the counter and headed for the door.

“Tough, wait,” Desty said.

The door slammed so hard that the glass broke. The vamp speed kicked in and I was halfway to the creek before the last piece hit the floor in the cabin. I got in the truck and started it up. Tore back through the pasture to the gravel road. I hoped Rian was still patrolling this side of town. You might not be able to kill a fallen angel, but I bet you could sure beat the hell out of one.

Colt

“Dammit. I wasn’t mad at him. I was just so pissed that—” I couldn’t think of a way