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

“You’re not crazy, Colt. I’ve read a lot about the emotional and psychological effects of being a familiar and—”

“I read those AIPM articles, too,” he said. “Fairhaven Syndrome and objectification, right? But there weren’t any articles that mentioned a familiar who had his burning angel forced out and then came back to life.”

“Burning angel?”

A dark blush bled into Colt’s cheeks.

“Fallen angel,” he whispered. “I said ‘fallen angel.’”

“Colt, I’m sorry, I—”

“I think her getting forced out destroyed a lot. If this was all going according to the articles, I should be able to remember everything from before, shouldn’t I?” He scratched the irritated skin of his throat where the collar had been. “And I should be begging like a good dog.”

“Maybe you’re different,” I said, but it seemed like he wasn’t listening.

“If I tried to cope with the objectification by creating Ryder— But I should still be able to remember what my parents looked like, shouldn’t I?”

“Maybe none of this is permanent.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“I sure hope not,” Colt said. “Not that you’re not cute, Grace, but I can’t keep listening to Ryder going on about how Tough wouldn’t know what to do with an ass like yours.”

My face got hot, but I tried to pretend like I didn’t notice. “My name isn’t—”

“Yeah, well, whatever the first one was, it’s obviously too far gone to salvage now,” Colt said. “I wouldn’t have planned for a survival contingency. So fucking come up with something else. Just shut up for a second.” Colt looked at me. “You’re tired.”

It took me a second to realize he’d gone full circle from talking to me, to himself or maybe someone else, and then back around to me.

“It’s getting late,” I said. “Do you want to come inside and get some sleep?”

“That’s all right. I’m going to drill for a while.”

My expression must’ve given me away.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m not going to kill myself tonight. When I’m training… Moving helps me think.”

He hadn’t denied wanting to commit suicide—that’s the first thing I would have done if I wanted someone to leave me alone so I could do it—and it wasn’t as if Colt would be worried that I might be able to stop him or even slow him down if he wanted to kill himself.

I started to go.

“She’s just going inside. Don’t be such a pussy.”

I turned back around.

Colt closed his eyes.

“Shit,” he said. “You heard that.”

“I can stay out here if it would make you feel better,” I said.

He shook his head and swung the broadsword up onto his shoulder.

“I’ll come in later,” he said.

“You’re not alone,” I said. “I’m here and Tough will be back.”

“No, he won’t,” Colt said.

“You don’t know that,” I said.

“No one comes back, Grace.” The way Colt was looking at me—it was like he did know. Like he’d been there a million times.

Before he could say anything else, I turned around and ran up to the cabin.

When I made it inside, the broken countertop and the door’s empty window pane were glaring at me.

God, was I the only one who couldn’t see how delusional I was? I smacked both palms on the lip of the sink as hard as I could. The sting ran down my fingers and up my wrists. Tempie might’ve been on a one-way train to self-destruction, but at least she could accept reality for what it was. No one stayed—not even if they loved you—and no one ever came back. You either kept moving or you got left behind.

Colt

“How about we start with the obvious question,” Ryder said, nodding at the punching bag. “What were you doing stabbing the shit out of that?”

I spun the sword back to attention and stopped moving.

A piece of six-inch PVC pipe was screwed to the side of the punching bag where a holster or sword would hang if it was a person. The cuts in the bag had all been made from below, a straight blade stabbed upward, probably in close quarter combat. And there were lip-prints. My face got hot and I looked to see whether Ryder had noticed them.

Ryder’s always had a high-pitched laugh for a guy like him.

“You get lonely or were you practicing for Mikal?”

For a second I was back there. I felt Mikal’s open mouth on mine, her forked tongue slithering through my lips and up the back of my throat into my nasal cavity. I couldn’t breathe or move my hands. They were cuffed behind me and I was scared as hell because that wasn’t part of the plan. Then Mikal’s burning-tar essence flooded my brain.

The memory disappeared. I was back in the shed.

“Well, you can’t blame a guy for trying,” Ryder said. “Course, you can blame him for being retarded. Did you really think she’d just tell you to kneel down and take it? She ain’t stupid, Sunshine. Even after she had you in the lunatic’s cell for a week, she wouldn’t just assume she had you broke.”

I tried to keep breathing. Focus on the light in the shed, the sword in my hand. But every time I blinked a web of glowing, red lines flickered onto the backs of my eyelids. I could feel the black noise collecting at the base of my skull, ready to drown my brain.

“Get your shit together, Colt.” Ryder’s voice was like a jolt from a Taser. I’d heard him say that before. He had grabbed me by the back of the neck and whispered it so loud and so sharp that it drowned out my screaming.

“I can help you numb the crazy, Sunshine,” Ryder said, pushing away from the wall. “But you got to be working out a plan to put this right