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Sin, Repent, Repeat: Ironash, #1
Di A. J. Harlem
Azioni libro
Inizia a leggereLunghezza: 176 pagine2 ore
- Editore:
- A. J. Harlem
- Pubblicato:
- Apr 30, 2020
- ISBN:
- 9781393942368
- Formato:
- Libro
Descrizione
Revenge is best served cold.
When Shona Williams returns to her hometown, Ironash, as an experienced DI, she has scores to settle. Justice will be delivered. What they did to her was evil.
Trouble is, she's been thrown into the middle of a serial killer's spree. Barely catching a breath between murders, he's rampant, merciless, twisted, and preys on the weak.
Will her new partner, Earle Montaque, be a hindrance or a help? Will she have time to work on her very personal case? And will the murderer slip up so they can swoop in?
Only God knows.
*Ironash is a thrilling detective series following DI Shona Williams as she fights crime and seeks her own justice - best read in order.
Informazioni sul libro
Sin, Repent, Repeat: Ironash, #1
Di A. J. Harlem
Lunghezza: 176 pagine2 ore
Descrizione
Revenge is best served cold.
When Shona Williams returns to her hometown, Ironash, as an experienced DI, she has scores to settle. Justice will be delivered. What they did to her was evil.
Trouble is, she's been thrown into the middle of a serial killer's spree. Barely catching a breath between murders, he's rampant, merciless, twisted, and preys on the weak.
Will her new partner, Earle Montaque, be a hindrance or a help? Will she have time to work on her very personal case? And will the murderer slip up so they can swoop in?
Only God knows.
*Ironash is a thrilling detective series following DI Shona Williams as she fights crime and seeks her own justice - best read in order.
- Editore:
- A. J. Harlem
- Pubblicato:
- Apr 30, 2020
- ISBN:
- 9781393942368
- Formato:
- Libro
Informazioni sull'autore
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Anteprima del libro
Sin, Repent, Repeat - A. J. Harlem
IRONASH
Book #1
SIN, REPENT, REPEAT
By A. J. Harlem
SIN, REPENT, REPEAT: Text copyright © AJ Harlem 2020
All Rights Reserved
With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from AJ Harlem.
Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the author’s written permission.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
Back Cover Information for SIN, REPENT, REPEAT
Revenge is best served cold.
When Shona Williams returns to her hometown, Ironash, as an experienced DI, she has scores to settle. Justice will be delivered. What they did to her was evil.
Trouble is, she’s been thrown into the middle of a serial killer’s spree. Barely catching a breath between murders, he’s rampant, merciless, twisted, and preys on the weak.
Will her new partner, Earle Montague, be a hindrance or a help? Will she have time to work on her very personal case? And will the murderer slip up so they can swoop in?
Only God knows.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
About Ironash
About the Author
Chapter One
The signal to worship rang over the town of Ironash, calling the local sinners to prayer. It was canonical hour at St Peters. The law of God must be obeyed.
Roy Campbell yanked on the rope attached to the huge brass bell. He put all his strength into it—this was his duty, his mission, his calling. As it swung back and forth, the clapper creating the rhythmic thudding that soothed his soul, he could almost picture the evil demons being driven away from the churchyard. Right now, this very moment, the Devil and his helpers would be rushing in the opposite direction of the congregating worshippers.
Bill Graham, heaving on the rope next to Roy, puffed and panted. His cheeks were red, and a sheen of sweat sat on his brow. He wasn’t as fit as he used to be. His blood pressure tablets clearly weren’t working so well either.
Roy sped up, the vertical force of the rope on the colossal domed bell drawing him almost off his tiptoes.
The deafening noise spurred him on. He pulled low again. The booming tones increased.
Bill wheezed and huffed; his knuckles were white, his lips held a blue tinge.
Celestial excitement flooded Roy. The sinful parishioners were on their way, rushing to the source of the calling bells. As they flocked closer, would they get a churning in their stomach? Would their hearts race? Would they be cultivating their remorse? Preparing to repent and be absolved?
Roy was fascinated with the sinners’ emotions. He wasn’t a sinner. In twenty-nine years, he’d never had need to beg the Lord for forgiveness. His parents—may they rest in peace—and Grandmother, had raised him to be a good boy, to serve his community and God.
Can...we...slow...down...?
Bill gasped, his barrel chest expanding against his blue checked shirt.
Roy ignored him. He was in full flow. The bells were being heard not only over Ironash but right up to Heaven. He was sure of it. Angels would be dancing, harps accompanying the clattering tune. The saints would be smiling down on him, clapping, encouraging him on.
Oh...good Lord...
Bill released his rope. It flew into the air, zigzagging, coiling in on itself.
The rhythm of the bell call was lost instantly.
Bill staggered backwards, clutching his chest, his eyes so wide the whites were visible.
Roy frowned at him and continued to ring his bell. With his free hand he swiped high, reaching for the tip of Bill’s rope, trying to grab it so he could continue the summon to worship.
Roy,
Bill gasped. Get a...
What?
Roy said, frowning. Why have you stopped?
My...heart...I...think...
He fell back onto the turret wall, his shoulders banging into the ancient stonework.
Your heart? What’s the matter with it?
Roy swiped again for the flying, writhing rope.
Ambulance,
Bill wheezed, sliding down the wall, his legs poking out straight in front of him and his feet falling outwards. Call a...
Roy ignored him. Bill had never been a great bell-ringing partner. Always out of puff, always a bit slow to get the necessary speed up at the beginning. He told stupid jokes, too, afterwards, while they waited to walk down the aisle with the candles for the altar.
If I can just...
Roy stretched and jumped. Yes.
Finally, he’d managed to get the dangling rope. Got it.
For a moment he panicked. The yank of the bell as it took its upwards turn was powerful. He’d only ever rung both bells a couple of times. Not only did it take skill, which luckily he had, it was exhausting.
Concentrate,
he muttered to himself and stared into the shadows. The bells, towering above his head, glinted, the Sunday evening sunshine peeking through the cross-shaped openings in the stone turret.
And then he set to his task. It wasn’t an ideal way to summon the flock, but it would have to do. He heaved and pulled, stretched and squatted. The noise filled his ears, his mind, and his heart. He thought he might burst with evangelical love. His heart swelled with pride; he’d been chosen to ring these bells and spread the word of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. For all those who strayed from the commandments must atone, must seek forgiveness.
Roy...
Yes. I’m doing it...
Roy stared up at the clappers whooshing this way and that. Don’t worry, Bill.
The drum of their beats vibrated through his body. On and on he went, and in his mind he saw the church path filling with people. Bottoms landing on pews—the old widow, Dee Hughes, had a particularly large one. Reverend Sanders greeting the faithful residents of Ironash with kind smiles and warm handshakes.
And if the bells weren’t rung, Bill...
Roy managed. No one would be arriving. No one would be able to repent their sins, and then where would we be, eh?
He was breathing hard. His shoulders ached, his thighs burned with the effort.
And then, after a few more minutes, he glanced at the small clock perched on a wooden straight-backed chair. It was time. He’d done his duty.
With a flourish, he released both ropes and watched them spring high like captive animals rushing to escape.
The bells slowed, then stopped. The silence was almost more deafening than the noise.
I’m not sure you should come next Sunday, Bill.
Roy slammed his hands on his hips and turned to his bell-ringing partner. You’re clearly not fit enough for this anymore.
Bill didn’t answer. His head had lolled to the right. His arms hung at his sides, hands on the floor, fingers curled towards his palms.
Bill.
Roy stepped closer.
Damn the man. If Roy were honest, Bill really was a useless bell ringer and churchwarden. Maybe this would teach him. Perhaps now he’d see that he should take some time off from his duties at St Peters and let others who were more capable carry out God’s work.
Roy squatted and frowned. Bill, we need to light the candles. Get up, will you.
No answer.
Bill.
Roy shoved at his shoulder.
What the heck is he playing at?
They had important things to do. Reverend Sanders relied on them on a Sunday to be on the ball, to ensure the services went without a hitch.
Wake up.
Roy gripped Bill’s dark curly hair and tugged his head so he could see his face properly.
His eyes were half open, unblinking, and his mouth drooped, his lips no longer blue but showing off a purple coating, a globule of foamy spit perched on the lower one. And his skin, it reminded Roy of chalk, damp chalk.
Is he...dead?
The creaky wooden door to the nave pushed wide.
Reverend Sanders appeared, his wide shoulders filling the narrow frame and his black cassock skimming the dusty floor.
What in God’s name is going on?
Reverend Sanders held out his palms, fingers spread.
It’s Bill, he’s—
Roy frowned.
Lord help us, he needs an ambulance.
The reverend looked over his shoulder. Someone call nine-nine-nine. Bill’s collapsed.
Collapsed,
Roy repeated. He let go of Bill’s hair, and his fat head rolled forward until his chin sat against his chest.
We need to start CPR.
Reverend Sanders dropped to his knees. Help me.
Roy assisted the vicar in dragging Bill so he was lying flat. His limbs were heavy, dead weights, and his glazed eyes stared up at the bells.
Dee rushed in but didn’t come through the narrow door—likely she wouldn’t have got her behind through it. It’s on its way...the ambulance...oh, give me strength, he’s...
Have faith,
the reverend said, starting up a rapid pushing motion on Bill’s chest.
Roy ran his hand through his hair. That always made the ginger tufts stand upright, so he tried not to do it, but right now he was...excited, anxious, fascinated.
He’d never seen a dead body before. Caskets were always closed when they arrived for burial. And now here was Bill, big, unfit Bill, completely and utterly dead. It was all very well Reverend Sanders saying have faith, but Roy had seen Casualty enough times to know this guy was a goner. There’d be no miracles happening on this one.
After a few minutes, two ambulance men rushed in with a stretcher and a bag of equipment. We’ll take it from here,
one said.
Reverend Sanders stood and wiped his forearm over his perspiring brow. He was breathing hard. Yes, okay, thank you.
He turned to Roy. Come on, let’s give them space to work.
Roy spotted a look pass between the paramedics, then one shook his head, just a little, and the other downturned his mouth.
They knew they were too late.
Bill was dead as a doornail. Toast. He’d kicked the bucket. All he’d be doing now was pushing up daisies.
Roy followed the reverend into the church. A hum of chatter spread around the pews. Mouths gaped, and eyes scanned for a glimpse of Bill’s body.
What happened before I arrived?
Reverend Sanders asked as he placed his hand on Roy’s forearm.
He just...he was ringing the bells with me, then he stopped,
Roy said and shook his head. So I...
He paused and held in his next words. Perhaps he should have stopped ringing earlier and helped Bill. Or maybe called someone in to see if he was okay. Roy swallowed, his throat suddenly tight.
It’s okay, you did nothing wrong,
the reverend said in his kindest, softest voice. Please don’t think you did, Roy. These things happen.
Roy stared at the now closed door to the bell tower. Why were they intent on hiding what was going on in there?
Oh dear, poor Bill. Lord have mercy on his soul and let him be healed.
Dee clamped her hands beneath her chin and sent her eyes heavenwards. Only yesterday we played bridge together.
A full body tremble attacked her. Her huge breasts juddered beneath her flowery blouse. I couldn’t bear it if something happened to him. He’s my friend. And poor Judith...
Reverend Sanders moved his touch from Roy to Dee. He settled his palm over her clasped hands. Dee, my dear, you must try and keep calm, for the sake of your own health.
Roy frowned. He’d been enjoying having the reverend’s attention.
I know, Reverend, my blood sugar is sky high, but it’s just so upsetting.
It is.
The reverend paused.
Hai raggiunto la fine di questa anteprima. Registrati per continuare a leggere!
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