Hell Bent (Redneck Apocalypse Book 2)

by eden Hudson

  Screaming. I had to stop and check that it wasn’t coming from inside my head. For once, the screaming wasn’t me. And it wasn’t just screaming. It was wailing—keening, wounded-animal howls—and under that, the quieter, choked crying of souls giving up all hope.

  Tiffani was in there somewhere.

  I tried to listen for her voice. The thought of hearing her in pain made me sick, but at the same time I was scared I wouldn’t. I knew what it was like to hit your limit, that you could only take so much before you retreated into your head. How long had I been in Heaven? Was it long enough for her to have given up? If she had already gone quiet, I might never find her.

  I felt the presence beside me before I saw It. Like the one in Heaven, but warped. It burned the wrong color—greenish-black, as if It had been corrupted by Its proximity to the Pit. Its three pairs of wings were stumped and melted, like someone had dipped them in acid. Bone shined through in places, somehow both a bright white and a deep, scummy green at the same time.

  I opened my mouth to tell It that I was there to trade my soul for Tiffani’s, but It already knew. It disappeared, then reappeared in front of me, flanked by another hundred of Its kind.

  “Your soul belongs to Him,” It said. “You do not own it and cannot bargain with it.”

  My mind raced, grasping for a backup plan. Now would’ve been the time for the Sword of Judgment. Fucking Rian.

  “Leave this place,” It said.

  I shook my head. “Not without her.”

  They multiplied again, a thousand of Them now—as many as had come to drag Mikal to Hell—surrounding me, closing in from all sides.

  I held my ground, forced myself not to squirm.

  An approximation of a human smile appeared on the leader’s face.

  “We were not allowed to touch you in the land of the living, Chosen One,” It said. “But here, He gives us reign. If you willingly enter the Pit, you forfeit all protection.”

  I widened my stance, shifted onto the balls of my feet. My heart hammered, fully automatic. Cold washed through my limbs, followed immediately by a flood of heat.

  The black noise rolled up my spine, but this time the insanity was focused. Tiffani. Lunatics threw themselves against cell doors, ripped and dug at padded walls, screamed her name into the unending blackness. Tiffani was here somewhere. She was in pain. She needed me.

  No matter what happened, no matter who or what tried to stop me, I would find Tiffani. That was the plan.

  I flexed my fists, then shook them out. My thumbs started ticking away at my fingers—resist or serve, resist or serve, resist—but instead of the syllables calming me down, fury swirled in my brain, growing and feeding on itself. The lines of power flickered into view, then became cloudy greenish halos surrounding each of Them, pulsing with hunger and decay.

  The leader’s smile grew wider. All around us, Their bent and distorted wings extended to full span. A burning wind kicked up, drowning out the howling of tortured souls.

  Rian had said I was a rabid dog that needed to be put down. Everybody in town thought I was crazy—had thought so for years—but they didn’t even know the half of it. They hadn’t seen crazy yet.

  I launched myself at the smiling one.

  Finishing a good book sucks. It’s over. Now what?

  If you want to be the first to know when I release the next book in the Redneck Apocalypse series, you can sign up for my mailing list here: http://eepurl.com/OHMkf

  For a limited time, if you sign up for the mailing list, you’ll also get the prequel to the Redneck Apocalypse series, Shannon in the Lions’ Den, for free!

  Shannon is the “How I Met Your Mother (and How Your Mother Met Her Vampire Lover)” of the Whitney family. So, if you’ve ever wondered how the preacher fell in love with the rock star, and how Tiffani factors into it all, this is the book for you.

  And if you liked (or hated) this book, you can help keep me in business (or put me out of it) by leaving a review on Amazon or Goodreads. A sentence or two from you can make all the difference in the world!

  Thanks for reading!

  Acknowledgements

  Writing is a lonely process. That is, unless you’re me and you have thousands of characters’ voices in your head, constantly clamoring for your attention. Revising, publishing, and marketing can be some discouraging, confusing, and soul-crushing processes… Also unless you’re me, in which case you are surrounded by amazing people and NPs who make it all a lot less awful and bewildering. Everything bad about this book is my fault, but everything you enjoyed about this book was made possible by a select group of individuals who deserve all the thanks.

  First and foremost, obviously, God, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Spirit. How about them communion crackers, amiright, HS?

  Sweet Espressions, the coffee shop where I wrote 90% of Hell Bent, and consumed about 90,000 gallons of house blend with rose syrup. If you’re ever in Kirksville, you should go by. Tell ‘em eden sent you. Then they’ll ask you who eden is and you’ll say that weirdy who sat upstairs and typed all morning every morning.

  My highly elite team of advanced readers and cheerleaders—Matthew Ramey, Stacie Lee Hansen, Ember Gidson, Sandra Cvetkovich, Silvia d’Elena, Jessica Althoff, Robert B. Clark, Michelle Gilliam, Sara F., Rheagan Whitfield, Jay Michaelson, and Tim McBain.

  The Op boys and girl—Mr. Wm Green, Mr. Rn Khuri, and Mrs. Kns Edison—for everything this past year, including, but far from limited to, the music and the stickers.

  My siblings and siblings-in-law, who serve as the continued inspiration for the Whitney family’s camaraderie, loyalty, sibling rivalry, and inside jokes. Four friends…just laughing… Four spouses…just watching the clock…

  And my Joshua. Heaven would be Hell without you.

  About the Author

  I am invincible. I am a mutant. I have 3 hearts and was born with no eyes. I had eyes implanted later. I didn’t have hands, either, just stumps. When my eyes were implanted they asked if I would like hands as well and I said, “Yes, I’ll take those,” and pointed with my stump. But sometimes I’m a frog. A blue tree frog that sings before it rains and I change colors. I sit on your shoulder and sing in your ear as I turn purple.

  But I’m also a tattoo-addict, coffee-junkie, drummer, and aspiring skateboarder. I love you. Let’s be friends.

  Hang out with me on Goodreads

  Drop me a line: imedenhudson@gmail.com

  Take a look behind the curtain: WhiteTrashCappuccino.blogspot.com