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

The woman had accurate insight. He grunted instead of replying.

She traced her finger over his pec. He drained most of his drink and put his glass on the table. When he’d been undercover, he hadn’t cheated on his wife. He and Sierra hadn’t talked about them as a couple, but this woman’s touch was wrong.

She pouted. “Are you leaving?”

“Yeah.”

She pushed her body against his and he tensed, his first instinct to shove her away. “Want me to join you?”

“No, thanks.”

She huffed and threw her hands out. “I watched you sit by yourself for two fucking hours and not talk to anyone. What the hell are you here for anyway?” She slinked closer. “What brought you here?”

He’d come up with a story about guys at work pissing him off and wanting revenge, but the woman’s comments about his feelings hit him. If he hadn’t had a cabin in the middle of nowhere, what would he have done? Would he have sunk into a pool of hate and despair? If he’d had to go to work and watch more good people’s lives being ruined by stupid decisions, he might’ve lost it.

He didn’t have to answer her, but he did. “I lost my wife and son and I’m pissed off at the world right now.”

Sympathy ignited in her eyes. He spun and strode toward the exit, irritated with himself for saying too much and annoyed that the strange woman summed up all the reasons why the warriors’ job was critical.

Andy preyed on people who needed support, not a fucking demon in their body. Boone would help end the man.

Movement above him caught his eye.

A petite figure stood at the window, shadowed, her arms crossed, a hip kicked out. He managed to keep going when all he wanted to do was rush up there and find out if she was okay. The first phase of their plan was confirmed.

She was in.

Chapter 17

Fall From Grace was in an old warehouse. Jameson had renovated the work floor into the bar and dance club. Then he’d had the penthouse redone, but for some reason, he’d stopped before the third floor.

It made sense. All the fallen had needed was a place for his disciples to gather and a bed for fucking. He hadn’t needed to cook and clean when he was drowning in money.

So what was on the third floor?

She’d made mental notes about her observations.

Her heart had soared when she’d seen Boone at the bar. The thick glass and dim lighting couldn’t hide his hard profile. His haircut gave him a harder, sexier look, and his trimmed beard caressed his jaw like she wanted to.

It had been hard not to put her hands on the cool glass of the window and close her eyes. Being with Boone made her feel treasured, special. He wasn’t using her. He wasn’t scratching an itch. He cared for her and it showed in how he touched her.

But this captivity had gone on long enough. She tried not to think about it. Not staring at him had been hard enough.

He’d mostly been ignoring a tall woman that Sierra had seen hitting on him twice now. The sight was hard to look at. She’d never cared about what a sex partner did with others, just like she’d never been insecure about her looks. About herself? Yes. She’d never given a shit about how pretty she was until she’d seen the immaculate makeup and hairstyle of the sexy redhead flirting with Boone. Sierra was plain, and the only thought she gave to her hair was to keep it short. Once it got past a certain length, the ends turned black. No one in Numen had two-tone hair. She’d wanted to shave it once, but Papa had forbidden her from doing that. Ever. It’d reveal two bald patches, one on each side, where she’d been purposely singed by angel fire.

Boone’s decisions were his own. She had no say. She’d have to trust him to figure out how to do this assignment without indiscriminately fucking like most of the patrons. Or she’d have to trust that if he did, he was his own person and it wasn’t like they’d made any promises to each other.

It was her issue that she’d let him get too close. That she’d pretended that they might have a future. That she was having a baby that wasn’t his. That she might outlive him one day. She should encourage him to find someone else—just no one from the club, for obvious reasons.

She had to concentrate on her mission. She couldn’t mess it up for more personal reasons than were already at stake. How could she get communication to Boone if she couldn’t get to the dance floor?

They’d brainstormed ideas, and they’d done so under the assumption she wouldn’t have any freedom to move around. They were limited to the parameters of the building, if she was lucky enough to leave the second floor. Boone couldn’t get up here without notice. He couldn’t infiltrate the bodyguards. It’d take too long and the documents the warriors got for him might not withstand Andy’s thorough background check.

That left the third floor and the dance club.

The third floor would be easier. Even better if she could make it to the roof. The only security camera she’d seen on this level was aimed at the elevators. The door to the stairs was across from the elevators, but was covered in the same view.

She couldn’t use the windows. There weren’t many and the ones in the apartment had been sealed. She hadn’t known looking at the outside of the building that it even had windows. For her purposes, they’d been rendered useless. The stairs were out. She could sneak up them, but Andy would know. She couldn’t risk him thinking she was there for anything other than convalescence before the birth of the baby.

And she was over four months pregnant. Her belly was tightly rounded, but not enough to tell under a baggy New York-New