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

to say it. For almost three months after Ryder died, I’d begged God to get Tough killed in Nashville. Someone there would’ve stabbed him for his guitar or shot him for being a smartass—whatever they do in big cities. It would’ve been fast and anonymous, easier on him and easier on me. “But Tough didn’t just come back alive, he came back with a pair of protectors Kathan could keep on a leash.”

Glass crunched. Grace was stepping in what was left of the big pane in the door.

“Wait, don’t cut yourself, Grace. Let me get the broom.”

“My name’s—”

Whatever she was saying faded out when I saw the broom and the dustpan, just leaning against the fridge, right where I left them.

This wasn’t real. Standing around with my brother’s girlfriend, sweeping up broken glass? Normal people swept floors. Sane people. Brain-damaged nutcases didn’t. They sat in the dark, fighting their straightjackets and giggling, waiting for the next round of electroshock to burn the crazy out.

There wasn’t any way I was here. Not really. This was all in my head.

“Colt?” Grace’s voice sounded far away. “Are you okay?”

I had to swallow so I could talk.

“Yeah, I—” I got a death grip on the broom. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Convincing,” Ryder said.

“Fuck you,” I said.

He snorted and spit into his bottle. “You know the thing I always liked best about you, Sunshine? When you know you’re wrong, you just tell everybody to fuck off. That’s a winner’s attitude right there.”

I ignored him and started sweeping.

“Would you like some help?” Grace asked.

“That’s all right.”

Grace took a step toward me.

“I could hold the dustpan for—”

“No, don’t move,” I said. “I mean, I’ve got it.”

It’s strange to realize you’re doing something obsessive and not be able to stop yourself. Watching Grace watch me freak out and sweep the whole kitchen, then sweep it again made me feel as if I’d gone back in time to the time to living with Ryder and Tough.

When I made it all the way around the floor the second time, I got out the trashcan and dumped the dustpan into it.

There was something too rotted to recognize in the bottom of the bag, but I knew it was a hamburger. I had made it out on the grill, tried to eat, couldn’t even get half of it down. I’d been preoccupied with something. Mikal…the Dark Mansion…a Tac-Ops Tango-51?

I tried to think who I’d be picking off with an old model sniper rifle at the Dark Mansion—and without a suppressor. Might as well’ve strapped a bomb to my chest and rang the doorbell. Maybe that was why I’d been too anxious to eat.

Then I saw Grace looking out the door’s broken window.

“She’s going to cry,” Ryder said, scraping his boot on the floor. “Son of a bitch. Way to be a man, Baby Boy.”

I leaned the broom and dustpan back against the fridge, and tried to think of a way to comfort Grace. Crying girls paralyze me. I know they don’t always cry because they’re hurt physically, but that was what it felt like—like I messed up and let them get hurt.

I touched Grace’s arm. “Are you all right?”

She smiled and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

“Yeah, just being stupid.” She brushed the bangs out of her face. They were too short to tuck behind her ear, but she tried anyway. “I’m pretty tired. Is there a place I can lay down?”

“In here.”

I went into the bedroom and turned on the light. Just being in there at night made me feel a little uneasy, but Grace didn’t act like it bothered her. The bed was made. A three-quarters-full bottle of SoCo on the dresser. Top drawer would be socks and underwear. Middle drawer two shirts, an HK .45, and a full magazine. Bottom drawer empty.

That wasn’t right. I’d put something in the bottom drawer. Top—socks and underwear. Middle—shirts, .45, full magazine. Bottom—what?

I jerked open the bottom drawer. There was a black and red box inside with BawdyHeat—Heat Up the Night printed in spiky letters across the front and sides.

Grace was standing beside me. I handed her the box.

“Tell me I’m not seeing things again,” I said. “What are those?”

“Aw, for fuck’s sake,” Ryder said, rolling his head back on his shoulders.

“Shut up,” I told him. “I didn’t ask you. I asked Grace.”

“Desty,” she said.

“Right. Short for Modesty,” I remembered. “Tell me what those are.”

“Condoms,” Desty said. “For vampires.”

“That’s what I thought.” I took the box back and turned it over. It hadn’t been opened. “You and Tough haven’t been out here, have you?”

Desty shook her head.

“I— We can’t use those,” she said.

“Why do I have vamp condoms?”

Ryder spit into his bottle and shrugged. “Somebody making an educated guess might say ‘boning a vamp.’”

I remembered Beth Ann at the drug store giving me that satisfied smirk people get when they find out a preacher’s wife has been cheating on him. That must’ve been when I bought them. I remembered smelling cinnamon, too. Or thinking about cinnamon. Smells are supposed to be able to trigger memory, but this one didn’t. Brain damage.

“I’ve only ever had sex with Mikal,” I said. I wouldn’t have forgotten, not even with the brain damage. Sex is a physical expression of love. That’s part of why I was so upset when I found out Tough was going to sleep with that pedophile bitch, Mitzi, so she and Jason would be his protectors. He was just a kid. He didn’t love Mitzi, but if you have sex with someone it’s hard not to feel like you love them, like you’re giving them your heart. And once they have it, they can crush it, the way Mitzi crushed Tough.

Ryder snorted.

“Yeah, Tough’s the