Demon Fire (The Angel Fire Book 3)

by Marie Johnston

  It was a twin of the gun he had. Had Andy gotten a package deal? He ejected the magazine, tossed the gun aside, and shoved the extra ammo in his pocket. By the time he was done, Harlowe had knocked the woman out.

  Two guards down. Sierra had said there were at least seven on every night. He and Harlowe had dealt with the two who’d guarded Andy. That left five for Urban and Bronx.

  Where was Jagger?

  Boone stayed close to the wall as he crept toward an open door. Harlowe had his back. She might heal from a gunshot, but he didn’t like that she’d use her body to block one.

  “Boone,” Harlowe whispered. “There’s something rigged on the third level. The door was welded shut. We had to use angel fire to burn through it and get down here.”

  Rigged? Was that related to the epic death Andy wanted to give an already dead Jameson?

  “The warrior is correct,” a man’s voice called from the conference room. “Do come in.” Boone exchanged a look with Harlowe. “Come now. But please realize Sierra will be the one to pay for your obstinance.”

  That propelled him forward. Andy didn’t want to hurt Sierra. According to the messages, the little man salivated over the idea of the baby. But Boone had heard enough about Andy’s involvement to know that ultimately, Andy’s goal was himself. He’d sacrifice anyone to keep himself safe, including the fallen he’d finally gotten his hands on.

  Boone spun the gun in his hand so it was aimed at the roof and his finger was off the trigger. “I’m coming in.”

  “Do enter. Jack, is it?” As Boone cleared the doorway, a slim man with beady eyes grinned. A laptop was closed on the table in front of him. Another fucking Glock was in his hands and aimed at Sierra. “My guards have been keeping an eye on you.”

  A man with a rounded beer gut who looked like he was dressed for a conference retreat reached for Boone’s weapon. As soon as the man’s hand closed around the weapon, he punched Boone in the stomach.

  Boone doubled over as the breath evacuated his lungs. He hated gut punches. His scars tightened, screaming against the pressure.

  “Fucker,” he wheezed.

  “Most people prefer bitch.”

  A female demon was in the host, then. And now his gun had been turned on him. Terror clawed its way up his throat. Tonight could not end the same way it had before.

  A second man, resembling the first and dressed the same in a polo and khaki pants, sat next to Sierra, balancing a silver, curved knife in his hand. Several yellow- and purple-topped tubes lined the table in front of them. Relief chased away the ache in his gut. The tubes were empty.

  “And you must be Harlowe. I’ve heard about you.” Andy placidly regarded Harlowe, who didn’t bother to put her hands up.

  Sierra sat rigidly, her hands clenched on her lap, her gaze haunted.

  “Warrior,” the man next to Sierra grunted.

  The first host shoved him farther into the conference room. Boone didn’t bother to sit. He needed to be ready to move. The conference room was like any other he’d seen. Wood accents. Minimal décor. Big-ass table lined with chairs. A shelving unit squatted in the far corner with a few bland business manuals.

  “Shall we finish introductions?” Andy’s speech was unhurried. Did he realize there were other warriors in the building? “I have a feeling that may defuse the situation slightly.” He glanced at Harlowe. “You and your team may decide to abort your rescue mission.”

  That answered one question.

  “I’m Andrew Petrovksy, and this is my father, Gerzon.”

  “Impossible,” Harlowe spat out. But the Gerzon-possessed host only nodded.

  “Gerzon had quite an active decade attempting to procreate outside of his realm. I was a win.”

  “Explain,” Harlowe demanded.

  “Gerzon was in possession of my father during my conception. He watched me and reconnected later—and hooked my mother up with Jameson.” Andy spread his hands but kept the gun loosely trained on Sierra. “Thus my takeover of Fall From Grace.”

  Gerzon grunted a laugh. “The arrogant bastard thought he was duping me. He was my puppet for years.”

  Andy nodded toward the man holding Boone’s Glock on him and Harlowe. His gut throbbed with the memory of the last time he’d been in this position. The weapon hadn’t been his sidearm this time, but he’d still lost control of it. This situation was going to turn out better. It had to, or Boone would die trying.

  “Zanda is Gerzon’s right-hand female. And, well . . .” Andy’s slick smile sent tight prickles all over Boone’s skin. “You all know my sister.”

  Silence fell in the room. What did Andy mean?

  Harlowe was the first to speak. “What are you talking about? Sierra’s an angel, not from some human knocked up by a possessed soul.”

  Andy’s grin widened. “Is Sierra an angel though?”

  Sierra flinched and refused to meet his gaze or Harlowe’s.

  “In fact,” Andy continued, obvious glee filling his voice, “the angel Gerzon managed to capture and keep in the Gloom until she escaped right before birth was—”

  “Andy, stop,” Sierra said, her blue eyes tormented.

  Boone braced for what was coming next, even as his mind tried to comprehend the secret Sierra had nearly killed to keep.

  “Now, Sierra, Harlowe should know her mother’s treasured place with Gerzon.”

  “She was a feisty wench,” the demon growled and the female one chuckled.

  “You’re a fucking liar. There’s no way an angel can be half demon,” Harlowe scoffed. “No way.” She pinned Sierra with an earnest stare. “Right? Sierra?”

  Sierra’s face had drained of all color and she swallowed. “It’s true,” she said in a ragged whisper.

  So that was the big secret. Boone understood enough of the world now to know why it was a doozy. He also understood enough of Sierra to know why she’d continued to keep it to herself. Her truth hurt others, and she’d gladly absorb the pain to save them.

  Andy’s laugh rang through the room. “Did none of you know? Truly? Not one of you even suspected that she was different than you?”

  “Where are the fangs?” Harlowe challenged. “The horns? Leathery wings?”

  Sad confirmation wrote itself through Sierra’s expression. “My wings passed for normal. The tips of my canines were filed off and my horns were dissolved with angel fire.”

  Her sorrow tore through his heart. Did no one else comprehend what she’d gone through to protect herself and those she loved?

  Gerzon bared dull human teeth. “Who dared tamper with the natural fighting tools of my daughter—”

  “I’m not your daughter.” Sierra shoved the empty tubes away from her. They rolled in multiple directions across the tabletop. “I’m not a demon. You’re not getting my fucking blood and you’re not getting my baby.”

  “You have less say than your mother, female.” Gerzon rose to tower over Sierra.

  And his fallen angel was ready. She used Andy’s distraction to swat the gun out of Andy’s grip. It clattered against the wall. Gerzon lunged for her, but Boone dove across the table, sliding until he tackled the host around the belly.

  A grunt behind him was Harlowe taking on Zanda. A squeak of hinges didn’t give him pause. Boone didn’t have time to figure out the hows. He was tangled in overturned conference chairs, wrestling an enraged demon. Teeth snapped against his cheek. He leaned as far away as he could, his hands wrapped around the man’s neck.

  The host under him lashed out with the dagger, but he wasn’t aiming for Boone. The tip grazed Sierra’s calf.

  She hissed.

  The demon solidified under him. Boone’s hands were wrapped around a fleshy neck, but the skin texture changed under his fingers. A putrid stench assaulted his nose.

  A shadow loomed over them.

  This is it. I’m going to die by my own gun and Sierra will be killed. I’ve failed.

  But it was Jagger who leaned down, his lips moving. Boone heard no
thing. Rage filled Gerzon’s eyes and he redoubled his efforts to get free of Boone. Then Jagger was gone and there was no sign of the demon. The host gasped. Boone let go of his throat. The man’s mouth gaped before he passed out.

  Boone rolled off the host and jumped to his feet. An inhuman scream rang out.

  “Don’t move.” The other host. The gun that’d been taken away was trained on him. Harlowe was gone. Boone couldn’t tell if Zanda was in charge of the host or not.

  He put his hands up, a sense of déjà vu trickling down his spine.

  Andy had a black object in one hand, his arm around Sierra’s neck. Her belly stuck out as she wriggled in his grasp, not making it easy to hold her. “I’ll light the place up. I swear I will.”

  Everyone stilled.

  “What are you planning, Andy?” Sierra’s voice was shaky.

  “He’s going to blow the place,” Boone answered for him.

  Andy’s panicked expression managed to look smug. “What’s upstairs will destroy the stash of weapons Jameson managed to get his hands on and burn the place down. All we need is your blood to rule the demon world.”

  “Why ruin the weapons?” Sierra asked, her voice calmer than she looked.

  “So demons can’t use them to roam free.” Andy’s lips thinned. “You have so much to catch up on. This Mist doesn’t want fallen blood in it. If a demon has the metal, with your blood coating it, the Mist will expel it. I assume the Gloom will do the same.”

  Boone shook his head, a detail not making sense. “You knew that and didn’t tell Gerzon?”

  Andy’s frantic gaze swept the room. “Where is—where is he?” His arm tightened around Sierra’s neck and she made a strangled sound, her nails digging into the sleeve of his pinstripe suit jacket. “If my father dies, you lose someone too. Zanda.”

  Boone’s body tensed, his old scars throbbing. He’d feel the impact first, then blinding pain.

  But the shot didn’t happen.

  “Zanda?”

  The man who was Zanda’s host jerked his 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. Dionna piled in behind her with Bronx.

  When the front door was shut and locked, Sierra handed the laptop to Dionna. “Find someone who can get into that.” It couldn’t be her. They wouldn’t trust t
he information that was found if she was the one who uncovered it. “I’m willing to bet that Andy stored a lot on it—plans, outlines, copies of articles, whatever would stroke his ego. It should be enough to clear you all of what happened at the club. You saved people because you were there.”

  Dionna stared at the computer like it was going to bite her. The awkwardness from the others stifled the air in the room.

  Sierra sank onto the sofa. “So. You all know.”

  “That’s what Stede had on you?” Bryant asked, his normally rough voice even harsher.

  “Yes.”

  “Is there anything else?”

  “No. What will happen to my father?” She ignored the burn of Urban’s stare at her back. The way Bronx propped himself in the corner, his dark eyes hiding what he was thinking. How Dionna watched her with more curiosity than disgust. Sierra was a spectacle. Something to be studied.

  “Bloody hell, Sierra.” Bryant made a disgusted noise and ran a hand over his bare scalp. “I don’t know. Obviously this hasn’t happened before.”

  “He did what he thought was right.” She had no other way to defend him, but they had to understand. Papa couldn’t suffer more than he had because of her.

  “By hiding a half demon in a realm of angels?” Bryant asked.

  “Is it worse than hiding a half angel in Daemon?” The scrutiny on her increased. She wished she was next to Boone, soaking up his quiet strength. But he sat on the stairs, where he could be apart from the conversation but hear everything. “Sandeen. Right?”

  Bryant’s eyes flared. “The demon that was in Alma?”

  Sierra nodded. “He’s clearly not a full demon.” She’d thought it was obvious, but then the possibility wasn’t new to her. The silence in the room was enough of an answer.

  “Then why did he need your blood?”

  “I dunno.” Numen angels needed approval to roam this plane. Sandeen didn’t have it; he had been raised a demon. And he wasn’t her problem. “What about Papa?”

  Bryant shook his head, his hands on his hips as he paced in front of her. “We’ll worry about another half-breed when we figure out what to do with our own.”