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Back Angel Save as PDF
Chapters (88)
  1. Welcome
  2. Dedication
  3. To the reader
  4. BOOK ONE
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. BOOK TWO
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. 38
  44. 39
  45. 40
  46. 41
  47. 42
  48. 43
  49. 44
  50. 45
  51. 46
  52. 47
  53. 48
  54. 49
  55. 50
  56. BOOK THREE
  57. 51
  58. 52
  59. 53
  60. 54
  61. 55
  62. 56
  63. 57
  64. 58
  65. 59
  66. 60
  67. 61
  68. 62
  69. 63
  70. 64
  71. 65
  72. 66
  73. 67
  74. 68
  75. 69
  76. 70
  77. 71
  78. 72
  79. 73
  80. 74
  81. 75
  82. 76
  83. 77
  84. 78
  85. 79
  86. EPILOGUE
  87. Books by James Patterson
  88. Cover Page

Holden looked like Swiss cheese for a second as Mark used up the last of his ammo, but the holes on the kid’s arms closed up in seconds flat. This little daredevil had some serious chops, and by now most of the flock and the gang were closing in. The gunman, looking more than a little freaked out, ran offstage like a five-year-old girl.

I was still leaning over Dylan—the bullet hole was already healing, and he had some color back in his face—when someone cut in.

“Need a hand?” Fang asked. Dylan looked at the hand wearily, but took it, pulling himself up.

I raised an eyebrow at Fang.

He shrugged. “What? I’m trying to learn to be a team player.” Dylan actually smiled and, get this, fist-bumped my ex.

I nodded, a little dazed, and moved to the other side of the stage to herd out more of the confused former One Lighters.

It was actually kind of amazing to see two of the guys I cared most about in the world, different in so many ways, fighting together side by side. Fang covered Dylan’s weak side, and together they were doing some serious damage. We’ve come a long way, baby, I was musing, when suddenly a heavy weight hit me in the back.

Then two viselike hands clamped around my neck.

76

“YOU COULD HAVE ruled your own country!” Mark, the cowardly shooter, yelled into my ear. Lesson number one: megalomaniacs never give up when they should.

I tried to rise up on my hands and knees, but the guy was on my back and weighed a ton.

“Whoa!” I coughed, struggling to breathe. “What’d you get enhanced with—ham?”

“You could have been a princess in the New World! But now you’re going to die like a lowly, ordinary human.” He practically spat the last word, though he appeared to be human himself—a heavily Botoxed, steroid cocktail of a human, but a human nonetheless. This guy needed an intense course on overcoming self-hatred, stat.

“The thing about being a princess,” I managed to say, still struggling to get out from underneath him, “is that… you have to… kiss… a lot of… frogs!”

He was strong, and I clawed at his fingers with shockingly little effect. He clamped down harder on my windpipe, and I started to get really worried. I heard blood rushing in my ears, heard my heartbeat slowing. Not good.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to end.

“You are a black cloud over the One Light,” I heard the man say, as if from a distance. “You won’t destroy everything I’ve worked for and planned for all these years!”