The Second Death Read Online Free

motion.
    Engel stepped backward into the yard, an accommodating smile on his mouth. Jaso moved in tandem with the German angel. That left the pockmarked Moreno and the giant Acosta flanking the front door.
    Diago would have to squeeze between them in order to get outside. He walked toward them and hoped one of them would drop his guard. Just a moment. A split second of inattention. That’s all I need.
    They remained infuriatingly alert. The Nefilim might be nervous, but they were professionals.
    Diago held Rafael with both arms and stepped between them.
    Moreno grabbed Rafael. At the same time, Acosta’s arm went around Diago’s throat, choking off his wind.
    Rafael shouted. “Let go!” He grabbed handfuls of Diago’s sweater.
    Diago tightened his grip around his son’s waist. He felt Rafael’s heart pound against his, once, twice . . .
    Miquel and Garcia argued with short clipped sentences, each barking orders at the other. Their furious words were lost in the darkness that fringed Diago’s vision.
    Their quarrel receded until Diago heard nothing but his pulse pounding in his ears. He had to shake Acosta. He twisted and elbowed Acosta’s ribs. Acosta grunted but maintained his hold.
    Moreno wrenched Rafael from Diago’s grasp. Stumbling outside, Moreno barely kept his hold on the writhing child. “I got him!”
    Rafael’s scream went like a nail through Diago’s head.
    Without the boy in his arms, he was free to deal with Acosta. He gave a reverse head-­butt. The back of his head struck Acosta’s mouth. Diago barely felt the pain. The other Nefil loosened his grip on Diago’s throat for just a second. It was all he needed. He snaked free and kicked Acosta’s kneecap. The bigger Nefil went down with a howl.
    Back inside the house, Diago became dimly aware of Miquel moving. A scuffle broke out. One of the guns fired. The shot came from Fierro’s direction, and the bullet lodged itself in the doorframe.
    Terrified he would find Miquel dead, Diago whirled. Miquel was on his knees, holding the back of his head. Garcia had obviously pistol-­whipped him. But he was alive.
    Garcia brought down the butt of his gun on the back of Miquel’s head a second time.
    Knowing there was nothing he could do for his partner at the moment, Diago turned back toward the yard. He had to find Rafael.
    The angel’s fist caught the side of his face. Diago had moved right into the blow. He went down and tried to see through the haze of blurred vision. His son was still screaming.
    Where are you?
    His fingers sought a weapon. Two broken bricks near the foundation wavered, and then solidified into one. Diago grabbed the brick just as the toe of Engel’s boot caught him in the stomach. The kick lifted him off the ground and drove the wind from his lungs.
    Someone jerked him to his knees and pulled his arms behind his back. Cuffs snapped around his wrists. Engel grabbed a handful of Diago’s hair, forcing him to look toward the two cars.
    Moreno stood before the vehicle on the left. Rafael was in front of him, gripping the strap of his satchel and staring at Diago with glazed eyes. A bright red handprint covered his cheek. The barrel of Moreno’s pistol was against the child’s temple.
    Moreno’s pockmarked face turned splotchy and red. He looked away from the murder in Diago’s glare.
    Look at me, you fucker, look at me and see your death. He mouthed the words but couldn’t gulp enough air into his lungs to say them. Spittle covered his chin, or maybe it was blood. He tasted blood.
    Before he could speak, Engel jerked him to his feet. He purred in Diago’s ear, speaking in broken Catalan. “No more fighting. Get in the car quiet. Or boom.” He mimed shooting Rafael with his own pistol. “Understand?”
    Diago gave a tight nod. I understand we’re enemies—­oaths be damned .
    Engel aimed him toward the