by Ronnie Allen
Lying. Deception. Cover-ups. Anger. Revenge. Death. That’s what happens when an Aries-obsessed killer combines black magick rituals, knives...and murder.
Samantha Wright, a rookie NYPD detective, gets her first case, a big one, by stumbling over the body while jogging in the park. Sam has a lot to prove, both to herself and to her new precinct, on this serial murder case involving fashion icons in New York City. Together with a rough around the edges BJJ fighter, forensic psychiatrist, Frank Khaos, Sam chases down leads through the five boroughs of NYC. As the bodies pile up, sparks fly and Sam and Frank, polar opposites, go from their dislike of each other to setting the sheets on fire. But their main suspect is hooked up to an IV in a hospital bed, so how has she pulled off five murders in seven days? And can Sam and Frank stop her before more innocent lives are lost?
KUDOS FOR ARIES
In Aries by Ronnie Allen, Samantha Wright is a brand new detective, out to prove herself on a high-profile murder case. Her precinct calls in Dr. Frank Khaos, forensic psychiatrist, to profile the killer of a high-fashion designer. When a second designer turns up dead, Frank and Sam are confused because their main suspect is in the hospital and was there under guard when the second murder took place. Still, Sam is convinced the woman is guilty. Now all she has to do is prove it. Like the first book in the series, Gemini, Aries is a solid psychological thriller, but this time with a twist in the form of a BDSM romance between the two main characters. Makes it all that much more appealing. ~ Taylor Jones, Reviewer
Aries, The Sign Behind the Crime ~ Book 2 by Ronnie Allen is another first class thriller by an obviously talented author. Our heroine Sam Wright is a newly promoted detective, starting at a new precinct in New York City. Her first day on the job, she is running in the park before going into work and stumbles over a body. The case turns out to be big, really big, and Sam has her hands full, not only with solving the case, which turns out to be a serial killer, but also with the handsome, rough-around-the-edges shrink the precinct calls in to help her find the killer. Allen has crafted another page turner, this time adding a hot and heavy romance with some bondage and domination elements that give the story a unique twist. If you like romance, along with edge-of-your-seat tension, you’ll love Aries. ~ Regan Murphy, Reviewer
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I love writing the acknowledgements for my novels. It gives me the chance to thank people who helped me along my journey to publication. For Aries: The Sign Behind The Crime, Book 2, there were many.
I'd like to thank my critique partners, Mikki Cober and Judith Kammeraad, and my beta readers, Darlene Cochran and Sherry Wilson. Without these gals, I couldn't be confident that Aries was ready for submission.
An important aspect for crime-based thrillers is to have accuracy in police procedure. So, when you know how it really works, you can then stretch protocols for the sake of fiction, which I did. Any misinterpretation of the facts is on me. Thank you, Ralph Bud Brumley, FBI retired; John Ciuffo, NYPD retired; and Butchy Lyon, Rikers retired. These men told me how cops roll, about intra department cooperation, ranks, what it's like on the inside, gang relationships, weaponry, forensics, and a lot more. Also, Fiona Quinn, the creative force behind ThrillWriting--the blog that helped me with all things crime and forensic.
A fun part of writing Aries was delving into a field I do not know anything about from my own experience. That was BJJ, Brazilian Jiu Jitsu, the ground-fighting component of Mixed Martial Arts, and Muay Thai, stand up, kicking and punching, fighting. Even though mixed martial arts, MMA, matches are not allowed in New York State, training gyms are. There are many gyms in the Tri-State area. Thank you to Brian American, BJJ Black Belt from Team Link Mixed Martial Arts in Connecticut, who let me use his gym rules. And thank you to Christopher Lyon, BJJ fighter, who told me about gym set up and what a gym looks like, weight classes, workouts, how to use the heavy bag, attitude in the gym, and much more.
I'd also like to thank my editors at Black Opal Books, Lauri and Faith, for bringing Aries to fruition, and Jack in the art department for my awesome cover.
And of course my husband of forty-two years, Bob, who continues to allow me to spend more time in my characters’ heads than with him.
I hope you enjoy this romantic thriller and the wild ride it’ll take you on through the five boroughs of NYC.
ARIES
The Sign Behind the Crime ~ Book 2
Ronnie Allen
A Black Opal Books Publication
Copyright © 2016 by Ronnie Allen
Cover Design by Jackson Cover Designs
All cover art copyright © 2016
All Rights Reserved
EBOOK ISBN: 978-1-626943-06-0
EXCERPT
The lead detective said the case was cold, no new leads, but she didn’t buy it. This was one case she was determined to solve...
Sam scanned the office. Nothing great. A bland doctor’s office in a hospital. Sterile. White walls. His diplomas hung on a wall opposite his colonial, dark wood desk. No pictures on the wall. Either he wasn’t a showy kind of guy, or he didn’t feel that this place was his milieu.
She deduced that it was both. If she was going to help him find his wife’s killers, she’d have to know him and, so far, this hunk hadn’t let out a clue to his emotionality. Everything she needed to know about him was hidden behind his even temper and soothing, deep voice. She had to make a connection with him, even on a primal level.
“Is this your private office?”
“Yeah. I insisted they get me something where I could write out my reports in private. Hate doing them at the nurse’s station. Way too busy for me.”
She removed a huge file from her bag and put it on his desk, looking for the slightest reaction. Nothing.
Frank didn’t pay attention at first. He didn’t seem to be in a hurry. She couldn’t believe that it didn’t affect him anymore. That surprised her and worried her at the same time. He had probably been through Jen’s folders more than a million times and didn’t expect anything different from these new ones. Discouraged and pained would describe how he probably felt. It had been over two years. It was considered a cold case now. She agreed with the lieutenant on reopening it. Never give up on a colleague’s case, no matter how long. There’s no statute of limitations on a murder case, so she’d do what she had to, even wake up the dead.
DEDICATION
To survivors of life’s greatest challenges, who picked themselves up and flourished.
CHAPTER 1
Eyes cemented shut in deep concentration, palms placed upon her midriff, she felt the power she craved being directed straight into her core by Tuesday’s new moon, as if a cord attached the moon to her solar plexus. She interpreted the moon’s personal signal as something she’d better heed. The charts she referred to told her tonight marked the night--perfect for an Aries to invoke her deepest desires. Nothing else mattered now.
Opening her eyes, she checked the light-resistant blinds on the window facing Garfield Place, leveling the way they fell on the sill. She pulled them tightly to make sure they shut out any reflections from the streetlights. The last thing she wanted was someone taking a glance in her direction, intruding on her peace.
She needed to remain low profile now. Everyone had told her that she’d been and would be “low profile” her entire life. She hadn’t realize how important those two words would become. Low profile--low, unsuccessful, pitiful, minuscule, never good enough. From the time she entered school, those words had drilled apart her soul.
Even at night, this upper crust Park Slope neighborhood didn’t sleep. Her tree-lined street was residential, but an avenue away the new age shops, restaurants, cafes, baker
ies, and fresh-food markets all hopped until midnight. The aromas of fresh baked bread and European cuisine found their way into her windows, especially now, in late fall when Brooklyn had cooled from the hot summer.
The residents, though, minded their own business, so she could do what she wanted, when she wanted. In fact, they ignored her. She’d been living in this northern part of Brooklyn eight months and not once had any one of them asked her how she could afford it. They just gave her dirty looks, as if she didn’t belong. She assumed that’s what they were thinking. They had no idea if she rented or owned. These yuppies were too busy climbing their own ladders in the arts to be bothered with a nobody like herself. But she’d show them. All of them. Soon she’d be at the top, looking down on exactly the right people.
She stood facing her altar in the dark basement with her arms up in the air, spread apart, palms facing each other. Under her black ritual robe, she felt the heat swell within her, rising up from her core to the top of her crown. She was ready.
“Oh, Goddesses of the Dark, and Aradia, the Devine Queen of Witches, hear my call tonight,” she whispered. “In the light of the moon in the Mars hour, I, BlackRam, High Priestess of the Covenant of Lasting Darkness, hereby summon every deity in my circle to come to me now. As I use my wand to consecrate the four directions in your honor, I vow to you my complete devotion.”
BlackRam glanced at the clock on the wall behind the altar. Nine p.m. She nodded. She had marked off this hour as the moon in Mars conjunct, perfect for plotting an evil deed. And, yes, she was evil, down to her demon soul. She faced east, held her right arm out in front of her, and, with her selenite wand grasped in her hand, encased herself with spiraling motions. First, her aura in front of her, then above her head, and lastly behind her back--all the while, making sure that she stayed within a two-foot circumference. “I invoke, from the Dark Goddesses, commitment to my beliefs.” Then she turned south and repeated the same movements with the selenite wand. “I invoke, from the Dark Goddesses, success and strength.” Then she faced west. After repeating the movements with the selenite wand, “I invoke, from the Dark Goddesses, a flexible nature.” She turned to face north. The selenite wand whisked through the air. “I invoke, from the Dark Goddesses, accomplishment.” Now facing the altar, she continued the invocation.
“Oh, Goddesses of the Dark, I have proved my devotion to you. My triple-beholden will require your strength to walk the left-hand path. As I gaze into your light, bestow upon me the power and energy to command my triple-beholden, BlackMoon, BlackFlower, and BlackCloud, to carry out my deeds. Command them to worship me, obey me, without fault or hesitation. Make their obedience unfaltering, no matter the difficulty, complications, or forces by others to disobey. I’m tingling with ripples of warm energy running from head to toe. I feel my body swaying forward and back in rhythm to your burning flames. Your dancing light empowers me to accomplish the tasks at hand. Oh, Goddesses of the Dark, I am indebted to you. Thank you, Goddesses. I will make you proud. This spell will not place any curse upon me. As I proclaim in Hecate’s name, my beholden and I shall remain Dark Souls Forever.”
She bowed her head for a moment, giving thanks, then stepped back to admire the altar. The black and white paisley silk cloth lay neatly, covering the mahogany bar in the basement of her brownstone. She concentrated for a moment, remembering Hecate’s favorite oils, then chose from her assortment the small bottle of Death Commanding Oil from a shelf, standing on the left side of the bar. She tilted it to let a droplet touch the middle finger of her left hand. Her right middle finger met with the left. Gently she tapped the sides of the black, seven knobbed candle from bottom to top. As the candle released the aromas of jasmine, basil, and pennyroyal, its flame, dancing high and strong, gave her the affirmation that her deities surrounded her. Forming a circle around this candle, she placed five more. Three black, two red--five, seven knobbed candles. One knob for each day. One week was all they had. Five candles for five deaths. Five deaths in seven days. Then she and her beholden could disappear.
No. She could disappear.
Her beholden would be dead.
BlackRam picked up her lighter. The flame ascended with a pop. She held the wide sleeve of her robe close to her right arm as she lit the other five candles and then stepped back to the left side of the altar. Everything was in place. Chunks of black tourmaline and logs of kyanite lay interspersed between the candles. The blues and the silver tones in the kyanite balanced her chakras and deflected negativity from her, as did the tourmaline. She released a prolonged breath.
She’d need as much protection as she could muster. A wooden pentagram, six inches in diameter, lay in front of the candles closest to her. She worshipped this five-pointed amulet, never performing a ritual without it. She lifted it off its programming bed of clear quartz crystals, brought it to her heart with her palms crossed over it, and then replaced it on the mantle.
As she adjusted the hood of her robe on her head to conceal her hair, she bent her head down toward her chest. She inhaled deeply as the scent of lavender whiffed across her nose, remnants from her cleansing bath to prepare for tonight. She reminded herself she had to clean the tub. This time she had remembered to put in the plug so the carnations wouldn’t clog the drain again. Boy, were they hard to get this time of year. She had finally found a florist in Carroll Gardens that had them preserved in silica in the fridge. She bought the entire stock. Five bags of petals cost her over a hundred dollars, but it was so well worth it. There was nothing like her cleansing bath, soaking in a tub, and rubbing her body down with carnation petals until they crumbled in the rose water that was sprinkled with lavender oil. She inhaled deeply to bring the scent within her memory into her nostrils.
Everything had to be perfect. Her gaze traveled the circumference of the magick circle she had created on the rose-colored tile floor. Not one grain of salt was out of place. Only a small path remained without the marking. She checked the mahogany bench that hugged two walls. Each of her beholden had her favorite cushion. Affirmed. They were in place. The mahogany panelled walls, bookcases, and ceiling still radiated the scent of the lemon cleansing oil she had used earlier today. There was not one atom of negativity from the outside to impede their ritual tonight.
Contented, BlackRam turned her attention to the bolline on the altar. Lifting it, she gazed at the pentagram on its white marbleized handle. With her fingernail, she scraped the remnants of wax from her previous ritual off the curved blade. She’d use it tonight when carving amulets for her beholden from the candle wax drippings. They loved her amulets. They felt protected. Little did they know when the amulets were in their pockets, they would be commanded to commit murder.
***
They dragged the naked body, trudging backward into the dense foliage in the park on the outskirts of Chelsea, in the lower west side of Manhattan, with a flashlight app on their smartphones guiding the way. Two women with latex-gloved hands held him, while the third kept lookout, and lifted his feet to help, but she grimaced and had to let go. The two pulling him couldn’t ignore the foul odors of his discharge upon death, either. Most of it remained in his GT-R coupe and on his Armani suit, which he wouldn’t miss. With his butt scraping against the ground, more fecal matter would be removed from his body.
BlackFlower knew they’d have to cover those tracks. She wondered what it would take to clean that one-hundred-twenty-grand ride but, just for a moment, to re-think if they had left any evidence behind. She checked their left wrists. Good. The white band with the letters DSF in black, honoring their sisterhood, remained in place. On the three of them.
She had a job to do. It had to be done. Now. A few more weeks and the trees would be barren. The only ones that heard the rustling of bushes were the birds that were up at four-thirty in the morning. Not even joggers passed through here at this hour. They’d made sure of that. Planning had taken months--the park, their prey, everything, down to the hour, the Mars hour. The kill took place at four a.m.
She had only another half hour to execute the commands.
“Damn! This guy is heavier than he looks. This place is good. You two leave. This was my kill, and I’ve still got lots to do. Gimme that, Cloud,” BlackFlower barked as she grabbed the knapsack Cloud had slung over her shoulder.
BlackFlower hated that, using a shortened name, but when they addressed each other, BlackRam insisted they drop the “Black.” It was just too cumbersome to say, especially when she chastised them. BlackRam granted permission to use their formal Wiccan names when they performed ceremonies, and only then. To BlackFlower that was demoralizing, demeaning, and childish. However, it was her job to obey.
Flower saw Cloud and Moon shine their lights over the path made by the dead man. Good, she thought. At least they’re being useful. She reached into the knapsack and handed them fresh disposable gloves. After they put them on, she handed each of them a small rake with an expandable handle and a black garbage bag. Moon pulled the handle up. Flower knew Moon would know what to do. This wasn’t her first time disposing of evidence. Actually, Flower had to admit that this wasn’t the first time for any of them. Aside from their own indiscretions, if Ram had her way, and Flower knew she would, this week wouldn’t be the last, either.
The two women knew their assignment. Whatever leaves, branches, and dirt they or this man had touched on the path coming in was to be raked up, put in a bag, and dumped in the river on the east side. That included every item of their clothing except their wristbands. Wouldn’t find evidence so easily across the borough. That would give them more time without interference from the cops. Flower studied them as they retreated. They packed so much into the bags, Flower doubted that any evidence would remain. Lastly, she’d have to clean up after herself. It was part of the plan. Faltering equaled punishment. At one time or another over the last couple of years since they formed Dark Souls Forever, each one of them had succumbed to Ram’s wrath. One time was all it took.