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

bewildered stare around the room. “W-who’s Zanda? Who the fuck are all of you?”

Harlowe stepped out of the Mist, chopping her arm down on the human’s. The gun clattered to the ground but didn’t go off. “Demon bitch got away.”

The suffocating pressure in his chest vanished once the gun wasn’t aimed at him. Boone had the one thing he hadn’t had the last time he was in trouble. Backup. Angelic backup.

Tonight was going to turn out differently, he’d make sure of it. He met Sierra’s steady gaze. Her body was fidgeting, like she was struggling against Andy. But it was a show.

Jagger stepped out of the Mist behind her and Andy, his harsh stare directed at Andy. Boone lifted his gaze, intentionally, letting Sierra know she was surrounded by help.

“No other warrior is upstairs?” she rasped.

Boone kept his gaze on Jagger, willing him to understand that Sierra had a plan.

As soon as “No” left Jagger’s lips, she dropped and twisted, freeing herself from Andy’s hold.

Sierra was crouched on the floor, but she had grabbed the gun Andy had dropped. The barrel was trained on the human.

“You can’t. We’re family—” He had the small lever hugged to his chest.

“I have my own family, asshole.” She pulled the trigger. A small hole bloomed in Andy’s forehead and for a moment his stupefied expression stayed on her. He crumpled to the side, but before Jagger could yank the remote trigger out of his hand, Andy’s thumb added enough pressure to depress it.

A boom rocked the building. A light fixture fell loose from the ceiling. Sierra dropped the gun, her wide eyes on him. Smoke filled the room. Alarms blared. The yell of panic from the dance floor shook through the walls and windows.

“We have to get them out.” She could’ve been yelling, but Boone could only read her lips.

His mind latched on to her words. He’d figure the rest out later—his terror at Sierra held hostage and the magnitude of how much she’d come to mean to him.

He would ignore it for now. There were people in danger. There would always be people in danger.

Sirens blared from all directions. The club was encompassed in flames, the thin walls not giving the fire much resistance. The heat wicking over Sierra’s skin made it feel more like summer than winter in Sin City. She hugged Andy’s laptop to her chest. It had to be the key her team needed to defend themselves against what had happened at the club. It had to be. They couldn’t face repercussions for rescuing her.

People spilled over the street and sidewalks. All the bouncers were accounted for. Between the warriors and Boone, they hauled out every unconscious guard and any hosts who’d lost consciousness when demons had fled their body at the first smell of smoke. The only body they couldn’t take the time to retrieve was Andy’s. She hoped there was nothing left of him.

Jameson’s penthouse was destroyed. The top of the building had blown up. The biggest threat to humans had been the mass stampede toward the door when the fire had broken out.

Law enforcement was arriving, along with emergency vehicles. Boone was checking on people, attempting triage. She tugged his arm.

He looked down at her hand, then his stricken gaze captured hers. He wasn’t okay.

“We have to go,” she said. “Everyone’s out of the club.” Her team was nowhere to be seen. Their work here was done and they couldn’t risk being seen or caught on camera.

Understanding registered, but the essence that made Boone spectacularly him was gone, stuffed behind some wall she’d never seen before. He clutched her hand. “Dionna has a van.”

He led, breaking through the people and avoiding EMS rushing to the scene. The rest of the team would deal with any aftermath. Her job was to get the hell out before anyone asked for her ID.

She smelled like a campfire and tiny droplets of Andy’s blood were smeared across her forehead. She wanted to wash the night off. Scrub off the last month of playing nice with him.

Her brother. Never. Fuck no. She had one sibling and she understood if Harlowe never wanted to see or talk to her again.

They didn’t get clear of people until three blocks later. A black van slowed to a roll alongside them. Dionna drove and Bronx was in the passenger seat.

Dionna rolled down the window. “Get in.”

Sierra hadn’t seen the warrior leader since before her fall, and from Dionna’s tight features, seeing Sierra wasn’t a relief. Harlowe must’ve updated them on everything. Jagger had come back long enough to confirm that Gerzon had also gotten away. Her . . . fath—nope. She couldn’t do it. Ransom Cormorant was her father. Gerzon had forced his genes on her mother, who’d been tragically taken from her real daughter.

Sierra’s birth had cost a lot of lives. All her secrets were out. The relief was inexplicable. Vast. Empty, yet full to the brim? She could move on, figure out a way to raise her kid, and do some good in the world that was now hers.

As she piled into the back seat of the van with Boone, he refused to look at her but stared out the passenger window, his pensive features reflected by the tint. His hold on her hand was tight though.

Was it the revelations about who she really was? Was it the way he’d been thrust into a situation like the one he’d gone through as an undercover cop? Was it having a gun pointed at him again?

Whatever it was, they’d survived. He was next to her. But the way he avoided looking at her, she wasn’t sure how long he’d stay.

The safe house was different but eerily similar to the first, down to Alma putting together a puzzle at the kitchen table. Urban was next to her, his shirt ripped and grit smeared over his face.

Her former leader Bryant was there when they arrived. He stood in the living room. His expression darkened as she entered.