Read Her Moons Denouement (Fallen Angels Book 2) for Free Online Page A

I think this fucker is a totem short of a friggin pole.  He is one scary son of a bitch.’
    ‘More a roof missing than a tile Sir.’ Tait muttered in response. 
    ‘Proverbs 2:18-19 speaks of her. ‘Her house sinks down to death, and her course leads to the shades.  All who go to her cannot return and find again the paths of life.’  She is the Night Hag, the one who came before Adam.  She is my demon and she seeks atonement.  She is Lilith.  She knows where demons hide inside a human body.  They wallow in the bowels, in the detritus of digestion, feasting on our waste.  She is the incarnation of lust, and she uses me.  She uses me to get to where they wallow, so she can seduce them, lead them through the writhing ecstasy of intestines, up through the churning bile of a terrified stomach, sliding and gorging on the sputum slipping down a constricting throat as she propels the demon out of the humans mouth, into the plastic bag as I orgasm, reciting the rite of exorcism, ‘Vade retro satana’, imprisoning the demon.  She slivers back down through the dead body, back into me and their soul is delivered into Gods Kingdom.  And the world is freed of another demon.  For the life of one, the lives of many are saved.’ he proclaimed proudly, smiling at his reflection all the while.
    ‘What a steaming pile of horse shit.  Shelley Crabtree, sodomised and asphyxiated.  You killed her.’ shouted Bentley in anger, hammering his finger into the picture in front of him.  He reached for the next file.
    ‘We imprisoned Shabnock.  We ridded the world of the scourge of gangrene and worms.’  O’Driscoll said calmly, still smiling, still holding his stigmata out.
    ‘Demi Simpson, sodomised and asphyxiated.  You killed her.’  Bentley continued, veins in his temple pulsing purple, his face reddening with anger as he opened the folder and threw the picture of a dead Demi in front of O’Driscoll.
    ‘He is Belial.  No more do the Sons of Destruction roam this earth.’ 
    ‘Josie Richards.  Sodomised and asphyxiated.  You killed her!’ spat Bentley, pulling another photograph out of a folder and flinging it in front of O’Driscoll.
    ‘He is Baalberith, he makes men blaspheme and murder.  He is imprisoned.’ 
    Bentley picked up the next folder, utter frustration and acrimony dancing on his features: which were broken by a visible uncertainty as he looked at the name on the folder, taking the photograph out as he did.
    ‘Heather Scott.  Sodomised and asphyxiated.  You killed her.’  Bentley said, less assured as he placed a photograph of the dead woman on an altar, the Archbishop standing in front of it with his erect penis out, onto O’Driscoll’s outstretched hands.
    ‘I do not know this woman.’  O’Driscoll started, looking down at the name and at the photograph.  He looked intently at Bentley, then to the DI’s reflection in the mirror before continuing.  ‘You know this woman.  Your Demon knows this woman.  Your Demon knows this woman intimately.  You have tasted her.’   
    ‘What the fuck are you talking about?  She’s there, in a picture with you and your raging hard on, dead.  There’s a signed confession in the folder as well.’ answered Bentley, trying to imbue his voice with bravado, but there was a worry evident in it, which was even more evident in his expression, and he saw that when he took in his own reflection.
    ‘I can see your Demon, in your reflection.  He whispers to Lilith, he speaks of your transgressions.’
    Bentley was obviously rattled as he pushed his chair back and stood up, leaning over the table, towering over the calm form of O’Driscoll.  ‘Just shut the fuck up you utter nutter.  You killed seven women.  And it’s not just your confession and these photographs that prove it. Forensics have seven plastic bags wrapped in your stupid fucking scrolls downstairs and in less than an hour will have the necessary physical evidence that will let