Honkytonk Hell: A Dark and Twisted Urban Fantasy (The Broken Bard Chronicles Book 1) eden Hudson (best book club books txt) 📖

wrapped around my chest before I even felt him start to move. My head bounced off the gravel again. Red and blue police flashers lit up my brain. Then Colt was on my stomach, putting any beating Ryder ever gave me to shame.

“You think you’re a real badass, don’t you?” Colt said. “You can take a couple punches, so you must be.” He grabbed my shirt and pulled me up so he could knock me back down. “You wouldn’t know real fighting. This—” He socked me so hard that everything I could see faded out, then came back. “—ain’t it. I am the only son of Daniel Whitney still fighting.”

Colt let me drop and stood up. He wasn’t even breathing hard.

I tried to go after him, but I couldn’t get my arms or legs to work.

“Know when you’re beat, Baby Boy,” he said.

You tattoo-wearing bitch dressed up like some slick city fucker—act like you’re such hot shit when you’re off your leash—I’ll stomp your ass. But nothing on me would move, not even a little. The pissed-off leaked out of me like blood.

I closed my eyes and let my head rest on the gravel. Maybe I blacked out for a couple seconds. When I could hear again, it was Mikal talking.

“See you tomorrow night, Tough,” she said.

Two sets of footsteps crunched down the alley away from me. I thought I was alone until I heard wings rustle.

“Fair warning, Tough—” Kathan.

Dammit, why can’t I just pass out?

“—Modesty’s mine. She and Temperance belonged to me before they were born. They’ve always been mine.” He slapped my cheek and sparks popped behind my eyes. “Keep that in mind the next time you’re nailing her—she’s just making her way back to me.”

Then his footsteps crunched away, too.

I breathed. In. Out. That’s all I could do at first, and not even very well. Ryder always used to say he wasn’t scared of getting beat to death, he was scared of getting beat halfway there. Smart.

The fire door slammed open and someone ran into the alley. I know I flinched, but right then I was too far gone to care about being chicken shit.

“Tough?” Desty touched my neck really lightly. Goose bumps went running down my back and chest. “Are you all right?”

By some miracle I rolled up onto my side, then got my knees under me. Remembered to open my eyes, even though just the right one opened all the way.

Everywhere but the sunburn on her nose and cheeks, Desty’s face was white and scared. I tried a smile. I couldn’t get all the way up yet, so I leaned back against the wall and breathed in the trash smell from Rowdy’s dumpster.

“I’ll go get someone,” Desty said. “Jax. I’ll go get Jax.” She started to get up, but I shook my head and patted the gravel beside me. “Are you sure?”

I nodded. Then I had to close my eyes to make everything hold still. I heard Desty slide down the wall next to me. The adrenaline was gone, but my heart was still pumping pretty hard, kind of stuttering in my chest, and pain was soaking into every part of me. There’s nothing worse than post-ass-whooping pain because it comes with all the bells and whistles of not even being good enough to defend yourself right.

Desty picked up my fist. She pried my fingers open and laced hers through them.

“I’m so sorry, Tough. Tempie was distracting me. I thought—” She took a shaky breath. “I thought Mikal was going to make Colt kill you. You know it wasn’t him, right? It wasn’t really Colt.”

“Know when you’re beat, Baby Boy.”

Then I got the joke. I started laughing.

“Tough?” Desty was on her knees in front of me. She looked worried.

Ryder and his fucking nicknames. Sissy was Boss, Colt was Sunshine, and I was Baby Boy. As in, “Stand up like you got a pair, Baby Boy.” Or, “Quit that bawling, Baby Boy.” And my personal favorite, “Know when you’re beat, Baby Boy. Stay the fuck down, shut the fuck up, and be glad I didn’t kill your sorry ass.”

“Tough?” Desty sounded like she was crying. She didn’t get why it was funny.

I laughed until my eyes were watering and every part of my body that hurt wanted to kill me just to shut me up, but I couldn’t stop.

Colt

 

Pain. Muscle-tearing, teeth-cracking pain.

Bad dog.

God. Death. Please.

The torture stopped. The nothingness was heaven, so beautiful that I started to cry. Or realized I was crying. I don’t know. It just felt so good.

Do you see how much I love you, Colter? Mikal asked. You disobey a direct order, and instead of destroying you the way you deserve, I take away the pain.

Aftershocks made my muscles twitch. I tasted blood and metal, smelled ozone and burning meat. There was a piece of my cheek between my back teeth, bitten off when they clamped down.

In my peripheral, I could see Mikal’s old-fashioned electroshock therapy machine wired to a truck battery. I didn’t remember how we had gotten there, but we were in the basement. I was strapped down to the table—chest, wrists, hips, ankles.

I told myself not to move, not to think about the straps. If I thought about them, I would panic. I couldn’t panic. If I panicked—

But I couldn’t fucking breathe.

Right before the claustrophobia sent me off the deep end, a leftover spark of electricity triggered the memory—orange-zest frosting on a cinnamon roll made with real vanilla. A cup of coffee. Cigarettes. My stomach growled like hunger was the only thing it had to worry about.

Then I was standing in the cemetery with my shirt in my hand, trying to act like I wasn’t dying to know what she thought while she traced my new chest piece.