Demon Fire (The Angel Fire Book 3) by Marie Johnston (best authors to read .txt) 📗

toward the parking lot. It was large enough that they could branch out in any direction. “We can find a close motel for cheap enough.”

They walked through the RV lot, using the big campers to hide them. Walking along Boulder Highway would be easier, but with the high volume of traffic and the full light of day, it was best to take a longer, more discreet way to another hotel.

They walked two or three miles, taking quieter roads while staying somewhat parallel with the main highway. They spotted a motel and veered for it.

“We should’ve braved the highway and gone to Walmart,” he muttered. They hadn’t grabbed more than a snack and a bottle of water at the gas station. He was tired and dirty and he had to get food and water into Sierra.

He went inside to check out a room. The rate was cheaper than he’d expected, but that didn’t solve their money issues. He had more in his account, but once that ran out, he had no idea what they’d do.

When he had a key card in his possession, he led Sierra to room 103. Mentally crossing his fingers as he opened the door, he blew out his relief. “Looks like a nice room.” Smelled like it too.

“I’ll find a place to order from.” She went to the little binder of information and flipped through the pages. “Hey, Boone?”

He flipped the deadbolt and crossed to the bed. The white bedspread looked like it was safe to sit on. He sank onto a soft mattress. “Yeah?”

“Do you trust me?” The bed dipped as she sat on the edge.

He stretched out and propped his hand on his head. “What do you mean?”

“I have an idea, but you have to trust me.” Her grave expression made him sit up. “It could be a really bad idea, but . . . I think it might work.”

“Sierra—”

“I don’t need an answer now. We can eat first. Get some rest. Then I’ll tell you my plan.”

Chapter 15

The second taxi ride was safer than the first one. Sierra paid the driver with cash and stuffed her hands in her hoodie, staring at the building in front of her.

Nighttime had fallen and the neon glow of the sign managed to look elegant, inviting. In another reality, she’d strut inside wearing a skintight cocktail dress and sky-high heels. Her hair would be slicked back with more than faucet water and she’d have a killer smoky eye.

But this was her reality. Her new leggings were checked, and paired with her maroon hoodie, she looked like a lost college student, like she’d bypassed the campus bar and found herself at a goth rave.

Fall From Grace.

A three-story warehouse building that should be a dump was a popular club far away from the Strip. There was a line outside. Humans. Not many were possessed. Sylphs skittered at their feet, having the time of their long, little demon lives. Many humans had visible rose tattoos. Disciples, Jameson had called them.

This club had been his. His words and his promises had recruited all of these people. She was pregnant with his kid and Andy wanted her.

She could work with that.

The same self-disgust she’d experienced with Jameson reared up inside of her. She tried to shake it off. This was different. She was using her connection to him for a much different reason.

Her argument failed when she recalled how she purposely hadn’t asked for the picture in Boone’s wallet back.

No. She wouldn’t think about that. Boone had said the more truth she could work into her lie, the better. The picture was too sentimental, veered too far from the truth she was prepared to seed into her lies.

As she strode to the front of the line, grumbling built until a couple of girls shouted at her.

“Hey, back of the line.”

“Think they’re gonna let you in?”

Sierra ignored them and didn’t stop until she reached the tall bouncer who was dressed in black from his tie to his shiny toes. She only tilted her head and let him look at her. His perma-sneer died.

Yep. She was the petite blonde with blue eyes he’d probably been told to keep an eye out for.

“I don’t want any trouble,” she said, infusing her voice with all the steel of a warrior. “But if any of your little assholes touch me on my way to talk to him, I will destroy them.”

The sneer was back. “Fallen.” Spittle flew out with the word. Murmurs of what she was traveled down the line of people and the idle chatter fell quiet.

He didn’t see her punch coming. The thing with being short that she’d learned early—junk shots were her friend when she faced a taller male.

With a cry-moan he dropped to his knees. More men and women in suits, all dressed in black with an earbud in one ear, swarmed her. In less than a minute, there were five other bouncers. They must’ve all been stationed by the entrance, or the first floor at least. Noted.

Sierra waited. She could fight them all. They outnumbered her, but they also didn’t have her training or experience. But she shouldn’t engage in that type of combat.

“We can make you pay without killing you, fallen,” one of the women bouncers sneered.

“Tell Andy I’m pregnant and see what he says.” She infused her words with enough attitude to make them think of course Andy would covet the child of two fallen. Crossing her arms like she wasn’t scared that any of them would touch her, she said, “Go ahead. I’ll wait.”

The bouncer’s eyes widened and she paused, her gaze going distant. Was Andy speaking in her ear?

The rest of the bouncers backed off and she took the time to study them. Their suit coats hid whether they carried weapons, but the customers had to go through a metal detector.

Sierra stood stone-still, but the bouncers fidgeted. They wanted a fight. They wanted trouble. They wanted to take on a fallen.

These humans were playing a game they didn’t know the