Demon Fire (The Angel Fire Book 3) Marie Johnston (icecream ebook reader .TXT) 📖

a fender bender, which wasn’t nearly as bad as what had happened to the red car.

Sierra stopped at the driver’s side of the van. “She’ll . . .” She rubbed her head. “She’ll heal.”

“We have to check on the driver of the other car.” And get Sierra to the doctor, but she wasn’t going to go willingly while others were in danger.

“Right. The human.” She chewed on her lip as they both sprinted to the car. He was desperate to ask her how she was feeling, to beg her to stop so he could look her over, but she wasn’t going to slow down, and they had to get out of here after checking the human.

The driver of the car couldn’t have been more than nineteen. He hadn’t been wearing his seat belt. The airbag of the car had slammed him into the seat and he’d probably hit his head on the door’s window. Blood dripped from his nose and he was moaning. At least he was breathing.

“Is he—” Boone couldn’t bring himself to say just human. They’d been in an accident in the middle of the day. Anyone who was home would be coming out to check on them, call 911, or film it. None of those scenarios was good.

“No,” she answered knowing what he meant. “It’s gone.”

“We have to go.” He didn’t know if his pickup would run. The back end was dented, but the front bumper was on the ground. The best vehicle out of the three was the delivery van with its wonky but still-attached front bumper.

Sierra came to the same conclusion and they ran for it. “We have to ditch this as soon as possible.”

She dove through the open driver’s door and scrambled into the passenger seat. He jumped into the driver’s seat. The keys were in the ignition. Shutting the door, he fired up the engine.

“I don’t know where the fuck to go,” he admitted as he backed onto the street and whipped around so he could go back the way they’d come. He’d circle around the block, hope to miss any police on their way, and head . . . somewhere.

“It’s Vegas,” she replied. “It’s easy to lose yourself here.”

The small motel was the kind where Sierra didn’t want to question the stain in the carpet. The older woman who’d checked them in had sworn they’d been free of bedbugs for three years and counting.

She sat cross-legged at the edge of the bed. Boone had stripped the comforter from the top. The sheets weren’t exactly pristine, but they were an even shade of not-quite-white and relatively stain-free with only one cigarette burn in the corner.

It was the best they could afford on the cash they’d been given. Boone had parked the delivery van at the farthest edge of a grocery store after he’d dropped her off a block away. She’d had to convince him to do it. He’d hated being even ten feet from her side, but the distance might keep her face off of security cameras. Evading the human police would be easier than evading the underworld.

She’d stood just outside an accountant’s office and checked the phone. Harlowe hadn’t tried to contact her. After he met back up with her, Boone had used his debit card to withdraw his max cash limit. Andy had likely learned who he was by now and was probably using his connections to find out everything about him. He could even be tracking Boone’s finances. But they’d needed money.

Boone had prepaid for one night. They’d find another place tomorrow night after figuring a way to get across town. Both of them hated stopping in one place for so long, but their resources were limited.

The owner had ordered them a pizza. Boone had paid her extra to do it, saying they were stranded in town and his phone had quit holding a charge. Sierra had done her best to look road-weary and haggard. It was coming naturally by now. Since the phone in the room cost money to use, the owner had gladly tacked on a five-dollar charge.

There was a knock on the door. Sierra pressed herself against the headboard and considered rolling off to crouch behind the bed, but Boone put his back to the wall and used a finger to pull the curtain back an inch. He scanned the rest of the parking lot before opening the door. He blocked the crack in the door to keep the pizza delivery person from seeing her.

When the delivery guy was gone, she dug into the pizza, using the box top as her plate along with Boone as they sat on the hard chairs of the side table that was so small the pizza box hung off the side. He’d purchased a few bottles of water and a Sprite. She had a feeling she could’ve asked for a filet mignon and hand-squeezed orange juice and he would’ve gotten it for her. The way he hovered and looked her over from head to toe every few minutes, the accident had left him shaken and not from the injuries.

She’d reassured him that she was okay. The airbag hadn’t hit her gut but had kept her from slamming hard against the seat belt. Even so, the peanut was so small, it had to be well protected. She repeated all that to Boone every twenty minutes. Other than a couple of shallow burns on her arms, she was fine.

She was on slice three before she noticed him nursing his second slice. Was he saving it for her? “I’m not going to eat the whole thing.”

“I’m glad you have an appetite,” he said.

All she wanted was a comfy bed and a shower, but that wasn’t going to happen. She’d take avoiding the cops and being free another day. And maybe a call from Harlowe.

She munched on another bite. There hadn’t been any other strange vehicles on the same street as the safe house, had there? There hadn’t been another possessed human around ready to behead a dazed Harlowe,