Angel Betrayed (The Fallen #2)(55)

“He said you fell because you killed—you killed and you wouldn’t stop.”

“I told you the truth already. You believe whoever the f*ck you want.”

The truck’s engine idled. Their voices had been too low for the driver to hear. The driver’s side door squeaked as the man rolled down his window. “No quiero apuro, hombre.”

Sam nodded. The guy was saying he didn’t want any trouble. Too bad he’d found some.

The fellow wasn’t a demon, and he didn’t have the look of a shifter. He just seemed . . . human.

Sam eyed the truck. “I’ll give you five hundred American dollars for the truck,” he said in Spanish.

“You got the cash on you?” the guy fired right back, in English.

Yes, luckily, he did. One thing he’d learned, money talked in the human world, so Sam always made sure he was well stocked. He pulled out his wallet. The leather stuck a bit, courtesy of the fire. He waved the bills in the air. “Right here. ”

The guy smiled, then he lifted his right hand—the hand that was holding a weapon. “Then put it down, cabron, and walk away with the puta, or I’ll put more holes in you.”

“Are you kidding me?” Seline snapped.

The gun barrel slid to the side and pointed at her.

The man’s already small eyes slit even more. “Or maybe I put holes in you . . .”

Sam closed the distance between him and the bastard in less than a second. “Or maybe you don’t.”

Sam slammed his fist into the man’s jaw. Then he grabbed the gun and pointed it right at the old *’s forehead in a lightning-fast move. “Maybe I keep my money,” Sam growled. “Maybe I take your truck, and maybe I leave you with a few holes to remember me by.” The dumbass had picked the wrong Fallen to f*ck with.

But the idiot just laughed, then he said, “No bullets. Just messin’ with you—”

Screw this. Sam head-butted the guy. The * fell back onto the vehicle’s seat.

“Is he dead?” Seline asked as she crept closer.

Sam climbed in the truck and tossed the gun out behind him. Bullets wouldn’t do him any good against Rogziel and his hound. “Despite what Az told you, I don’t kill every person I meet.” Just most of them. “You’re still breathing, aren’t you?” He grabbed the guy’s body and tossed him into the road. He’d wake up soon. The blow hadn’t been that hard.

She opened the passenger door and slid onto the cracked seat. “You’re saying that he was wrong?”

Sam gunned the engine. The truck just screeched. As getaway vehicles went, this one sucked. But beggars couldn’t be f*cking choosy. “No.” Because he couldn’t lie to her. “I’m saying, sweetheart, that Az isn’t lily white when it comes to sin. His hands are dirty.”

“Dirtier than yours?”

He didn’t answer. She just had to keep pushing. If she wasn’t careful, he’d push back soon. Yes, he got it—she was furious that he’d used her as bait, but he hadn’t been given a lot of options.

The truck lurched forward. Dust spun in the air. Sam glanced in the rearview mirror. The old guy was already standing up, shaking his fists in the air, and screaming.

“I don’t think Az set those fires,” she told him, and it was the same verse she’d been singing—one that was royally pissing him off. Why did the woman keep defending his brother? “I think Rogziel did it,” she continued in a determined I-Know-The-Truth voice.

Ah, yes, let’s not forget the other fun player in their little game. Now just how had Rogziel been able to— The bed of the truck suddenly sank to the ground, as if something very big had jumped onto the back. The vehicle swerved as Sam fought to control it. Cursing, he risked a glance over his shoulder, but he saw nothing.

But he could swear that, through the broken back window, he felt the hot stench of hell’s breath.

“Sam! Sam, what’s happening?”

Metal grated. The few bits of glass still on that back windshield broke away. “You tell me,” he shouted, but he knew what was happening.

He’d fallen for lying eyes. Innocence that he should have known was a trick for a demon. He lunged forward as far as he could and drove the gas pedal down to the ground as he deliberately jerked the steering wheel from the left to the right in an attempt to dislodge their new passenger.

Sam knew a hellhound had hitched a ride with them.

Sonofabitch. A succubus shouldn’t be able to summon a hellhound.

Invisible claws ripped into his shoulder, and deep rivulets of blood sprayed into the air.

“Sam! What’s happening?” Terror and fear seemed to cloak Seline’s lying words.

He grabbed her hand and held tight even as he fought to steer with his left hand. “Call it off,” he demanded. Because he understood—finally—just what was going on. No wonder the hound hadn’t so much as scratched Seline’s skin . . . the beast couldn’t.

A hellhound could never hurt its master.

He risked a fast glance at her—even as claws raked him again—but he didn’t free her hand. “Call it the f*ck off.”

“Call what off?” She didn’t try to tug free. Her eyes were wide and scared—and black as night. “There’s nothing back there!”