Demon Fire (The Angel Fire Book 3) by Marie Johnston (top 10 novels of all time TXT) 📕

Sunglasses and snacks were purchased without incident. They only passed a couple of pedestrians tucked into their hoodies on the way to the thrift store. It was sweater weather, but Sierra didn’t complain. She walked like a boss, her hand in his. Their silent alarm if she spotted a demon was a firm two squeezes on his hand. She hadn’t used it yet.

At the thrift store, they picked out new pants and a hoodie for each of them. She found a beanie that smelled like it’d just been laundered and he discovered a black hat with the tags still on.

The cashier was a lady in her sixties with salt-and-pepper hair and sleeve tattoos down to her hands.

“My phone got busted,” Boone told her. “Is there a place that’ll let me call for a ride?”

The cashier inspected him, chewing her wad of gum with her front teeth. “I can call a taxi. I don’t do that Uber shit.”

Relief filled his smile. “I’d really appreciate it.”

“Mmhmm.” She grabbed a landline phone and hit speed dial. Sierra pretended to study a tray of random kitchen utensils on the end of the counter, but she was secretly watching the five other shoppers in the store. “Yeah, got a couple that needs a ride.” She put the phone under her chin. “Where ya goin’?”

“Sam’s Town.” They’d change the location once they got in the cab.

The cashier hung up, bagged their items, and handed the bag over. “Can’t wait in here.”

“Appreciate it.” He’d rather wait inside, but the goal was to be discreet.

Taking Sierra’s hand, they walked to the corner of the parking lot, nonchalant as could be.

Sierra dropped to a squat and dug out her maroon hoodie and beanie. She handed him the hat and his gray hoodie. Warmer and more incognito than before, they waited.

Ten minutes later a taxi pulled up. Sierra stood and watched the car pull into a spot right in front of the thrift store. She slipped her hand into his and squeezed twice. Then she put her mirrored sunglasses on like she had an eternity.

Fuck. The driver? If they sent him away, it’d raise an alarm. Same if they changed their drop-off. He scratched his beard. He should’ve gotten a razor from that gas station and shaved as soon as he got into a bathroom.

The driver’s gaze jerked from window to window. Boone opened the back door and let Sierra in.

“Sam’s Town?” the driver said as he put the car in reverse and stomped on the gas before Boone was fully inside and closed the door.

Boone tipped over but managed to curl his legs in and shut the door before it swiped the car next to it. “Yes, Sam’s Town.”

Sierra clung to the passenger door. The doors locked automatically after a certain speed, which the driver obtained before they left the lot.

The identification on the back of the headrest looked like a less maniacal version of the driver. He was calm, smiling. The name was Hanson.

Boone gripped the handle attached to the back of the front seat. He exchanged a look with Sierra, but she only lifted a shoulder, afraid to let go of the door’s armrest. Hanson remained paranoid, but he ignored them as he squealed around corners and floored it on long stretches. They passed a sign that read forty-five. The speedometer read seventy.

Times like this, Boone reconsidered his lack of weapons. He and Sierra were in the middle of a large city with only some cash and a phone. He might have nightmares if he strapped a sidearm on again, but at least he’d have one if he needed something more than the sharp edge of a knife—which he didn’t have either.

At a four-way stop, they jerked against their seat belts. The ride was almost as bad as the chase through Henderson. Boone didn’t know his way around Vegas either, so the driver could be taking them straight to the demon’s den, or he could actually be going to the hotel and casino Boone had picked from a brochure he’d seen in the motel lobby.

Tension ratcheted up in the cab as they nearly sideswiped a couple of parked vehicles. During one turn, the wheels of the cab bumped over the curb and the back end bottomed out when the wheels dropped back down. The only thing pleasant about the ride was the artificial vanilla smell permeating the cushions.

When a sprawling building with a huge glittering sign that read Sam’s Town came into view, Boone took his first full breath of the ride.

The driver slammed into another curb following the path to the giant overhang. He slammed to a stop at a set of double doors. The meter totaled at thirty dollars and seventy-five cents, but the driver clutched the steering wheel and eyed all the people going in and out of the casino.

“Sixty bucks,” Hanson said.

“Uh . . .” Boone peeled three twenties off. Would it draw more attention not to fight it? They needed the money. But Sierra’s safety was paramount and he couldn’t do that if he pissed the driver off and the man crashed them into a building. He handed the money over. “Sure, man.”

Boone lifted his chin toward Sierra’s door. He wanted her out first just in case the driver gunned it again. Boone’s ass could be the one to get dragged out of the parking lot.

Sierra scrambled out. His foot had just hit the pavement when the click of the gearshift sounded. Shit.

Sierra yanked on his arm and he flew out the door as the car roared away. The driver swerved enough to get the door to latch. It wasn’t closed tightly, but it shouldn’t take out another vehicle.

They stood in the middle of the loading zone, staring at the car.

Sierra adjusted her beanie. “That was close. I don’t think the symaster cared about anything other than hanging on to his host.”

He hoped the driver won the fight. “We can’t stay here.”

Sierra pulled him