The Devil's Den: A Phoenix Thriller, Vol. 1

By D. E. Nelson

Following a tragedy in her hometown, Phoenix Gerard decides to start fresh in New York. Despite the fact there is a serial killer running rampant in the city, the move comes with little to no challenges. That is until her beloved roommate goes missing. The only question that remains is "Will Phoenix lose herself in search for revenge, or will she lose her life?" The outcome is impossible to predetermine when one plays a game of cat and mouse with a psychopath. Then again, Phoenix isn't exactly the epitome of sanity.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Newman Springs Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Apr 12, 2024
• ISBN: 9798890614551

Book preview

Table of Contents

Title

Copyright

PROLOGUE

BOOK ONE: PHOENIX

1: SIC PARVIS MAGNA OR WHATEVER THEY SAY IN GOTHAM

2: WHAT'S WITH HER AND ELEPHANTS?

3: THE CITY MAY NEVER SLEEP, BUT I DO

4: PAD THAI TASTES BETTER THAN ROMANCE

5: DEATH BECOMES HER

6: NO RULES, REMEMBER?

7: IT WAS DEFINITELY RHETORICAL

8: AMSTERDAM AVENUE

9: LOST DOG, FOUND

10: OKAY, THAT'S ENOUGH SARCASM OUT OF YOU

11: CALEDONIA

12: SHE'S ONLY IN LOVE WITH THE CHASE

13: THE HAUNTED

14: IS PAUL EVEN YOUR REAL NAME?

15: EVERYONE CAN'T BE A WINNER

16: LOVE PAIRS WELL WITH RED WINE

17: GAME ON, BITCH

18: SIT DOWN AND EAT YOUR FOOD, CHAD

19: KEN, INTERRUPTED

20: WHY IS EVERYONE SO OBSESSED WITH ME?

BOOK TWO: CHARLOTTE

21: THE HAZEL EYES

22: WE DECLARED WAR

23: A BETTER VILLIAN

24: FAR TOO LATE

BOOK THREE: PHOENIX

25: WHO LET SATAN OUT OF HIS CAGE AGAIN?

26: THE GIRL WHO CRIED WOLFE

27: DON'T DANCE WITH THE DEVIL, DEAR

28: THE ONLY WAY OUT IS THROUGH

29: WHO THE HELL IS LUCAS KNOX?

30: I HEARD THAT THE WEATHER IN SAN FRANCISCO IS NICE

About the Author

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The Devil's Den

D. E. Nelson

Copyright © 2024 D. E. Nelson

All rights reserved

First Edition

NEWMAN SPRINGS PUBLISHING

320 Broad Street

Red Bank, NJ 07701

First originally published by Newman Springs Publishing 2024

ISBN 979-8-89061-454-4 (Paperback)

ISBN 979-8-89061-455-1 (Digital)

Printed in the United States of America

To all those who have inspired and encouraged me, I send my love and deepest gratitude.

Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves.

—Confucius

PROLOGUE

Fear flickered beneath his eyes, and he closed them as he tilted his head back. His breathing hastened, and the sweat that had formed around his hairline trickled down the bridge of his nose. His eyes reopened, poorly concealing terror with rage. This feeble attempt at deceit made me smile, and I had become incapable of containing joy. Unable to resist, I antagonized him further.

Do I frighten you? I smirked.

Why in the hell would I be afraid? You're not going to kill me. He scoffed.

A giggle escaped and fractured my facade as his heavy breath hit my face.

Your breathing is rushed, and you're beginning to sweat. That tells me one of two things. You're either experiencing excitement or fear, I explained.

He scoffed once more and rolled his eyes.

So which is it, baby? I asked.

He was smarter than I thought; I was his worst fucking nightmare, and he had the good sense to be afraid.

Don't tell me you're suddenly excited to see me. I giggled.

Untie me, you stupid bitch, he snarled. His dark eyes darted toward me, and he grew more frustrated at my amusement.

I watched with a devilish grin as he yanked at the steel chains that entrapped him. Aww, what's the matter? The big bad psychopath doesn't want to play anymore? I teased.

I took his jaw in my hands and squeezed. He desperately tried to escape my grasp before my hand finally released him. I flashed a mocking grin and returned to the steel table. I held out the gun in my right hand and the knife in my left. Choose, I commanded.

He growled and yanked at the chains furiously, trying to claw my face. I didn't even give him the satisfaction of a flinch as I knew the chains would render his attempt useless. And my grin had not yet disappeared.

Yeah, I prefer the blade too. It's a more hands-on approach, I decided.

I placed the gun back on the metal cart and walked closer to him until I felt his breath on my face again.

You don't have it in you. So just untie me, he attested.

I trailed the switchblade along his cheek, down to his jawbone. You have absolutely no idea who I am, do you? I asked.

You've failed to make your point, he said.

He had calmed down, even though the switchblade caressed his carotid artery. His breathing was controlled now, but his hands were clenched. He glared at me, his eyes desperately trying to disguise his fear.

Let me go now, and I'll forgive this little episode of yours, he promised.

Oh, love, you and I both know you aren't capable of such a thing, I responded.

I can be. For you, he said. His eyes softened. A desperate attempt at manipulation, no doubt.

Wow, I giggled. I clapped, applauding his performance. Now, that was good. No, really, it was. If I were anyone else, I'd believe you. I smiled.

He began yanking at the chains again, failing again and again. I should've just killed you instead, he confessed.

Yes, he should have. A grave error on his part.

BOOK ONE

BOOK ONE: PHOENIX

1

SIC PARVIS MAGNA OR WHATEVER THEY SAY IN GOTHAM

Roosters crowed in the distance and disrupted my blissful sleep nearly an hour before my alarm clock was sure to. The aroma of freshly cooked bacon filled my room, and I could hear the clanking of plates and pots in the kitchen through the thin walls that framed my home. I rested in bed for a little while longer, thinking of how this would be the last time I woke up to what had become a very predictable morning.

As expected, I heard little feet pattering on the floor, growing louder, closer.

Auntie? she whispered.

A petite pair of eyes peered through the cracked door as the chime of my niece's voice greeted me before the sun did, which, too, had become familiar.

Come in, baby girl, I said.

Instinctively I patted the empty space beside me with the palm of my hand. Grace's feet scurried across the hardwood floor, toward my bed, and she hopped onto the comforter. I had become amused as she struggled to pull back the sheets with her tiny hands. Eventually she managed and instantaneously snuggled underneath them, right next to me. Grace's smile was even more intoxicating than her voice.

It's time to eat, Grace demanded.

I gazed into her beautiful brown eyes and realized she'd be the thing I missed the most.

Oh, is it now? I teased.

I began tickling her, and her laughter filled the room.

Fine. I guess I'll be having a fried egg with a side of bossy four-year-old for breakfast. Sounds delicious. I giggled.

No! Not me! You can't eat me! Grace screamed.

She quickly jumped out of the bed and ran out of the room, back toward the kitchen. I could still hear her laughter as the sound of her footsteps grew distant. But I was in no mood to chase her even though I knew that was what she wanted.

Growls escaped my stomach as the smell of food persisted. I pushed away the bedsheets and made sure my right foot touched the ground first as I exited the comforts of my bed. I rolled my eyes at my own superstition and walked toward my bathroom to brush my teeth. As water cascaded from the showerhead, an array of uncertainties flooded my thoughts. Although I had been excited to leave home, an impending fear arose in the depths of my mind. A codependent father and his high-maintenance grandchild should not be left to their own devices, especially since Grace inherited my sister Mia's personality, which surely wouldn't fair well with my dad. Not without a referee, at least.

Mia, I whispered.

I choked back tears as best I could despite the fact that there wasn't a soul who could see or hear me crying at the moment. Silently I stressed over the neglect Grace would endure if I wasn't there to nurture and guide her. I'd been the only mother figure she had. Surely, my father couldn't be trusted with her hair. Each time I'd been forced to do a walk of shame through the school halls after my father's attempts at grooming were, indeed, traumatic experiences. I splashed my face with water, getting rid of all evidence of my grief, and lathered myself with soap.

New York had been one of my desired destinations for quite some time. Although, I wondered now if it would even be a good fit for me. More questions I was unable to answer plagued me until the hot water rushing from the showerhead turned cold. I passed by my stuffed suitcases as I left the bathroom and walked toward my dainty closet to find the only unpacked towel sitting neatly on its shelf.

Finally, I turned my TV on in hopes of drowning out my own thoughts.

Breaking news. Lana Castillo, a twenty-three-year-old grad student at NYU, who was reported missing nine days ago, has officially been pronounced dead. Ms. Castillo's disappearance sparked nationwide coverage when her roommate…

God, I hated the news.

When my sister was murdered, they would cover the story so callously. Every day for months, my family and I were forced to relive the tragedy every time we passed by a television screen or when we caught strangers gawking at us. Luckily, the lawsuit my father slapped on the local news stations was how he paid for my college.

Remains washed up from the East River, near the Manhattan Bridge, merely days ago. Sources close to the Castillo family confirm that the DNA of those remains are, indeed, a match for Lana Castillo and that her death has been ruled a homicide. We will be following this story closely, to bring you any updates…

I heard a knock on my bedroom door as I moisturized my skin. The weight of the pounding revealed the identity of my visitor before they even spoke.

Phoenix? Breakfast was ready a while ago! he yelled.

My father's definition of a while ago was a mere fifteen minutes. Aaron Gerard, a heart of gold but the patience of a toddler—Davina, my mother, would utter those words in an attempt to tease my father when I was a little girl. Years passed before I realized those words were an inescapable truth.

Give me one minute, I lied.

I quickly turned down the volume on the TV until it faded into a whisper. I dressed into the fresh pair of clothes I left hanging in the closet last night, and I returned to the bathroom, where I spent another half hour applying makeup and fixing my hair. I skipped into the kitchen, sheepishly smiling as I approached my father's disappointed glare.

Good morning, Dad! I said.

I quickly planted a kiss on his cheek and strived to refrain from eye contact. My peripheral vision indicated he hadn't moved from the place I first found him. Instead, his joints were tensed, and his arms crossed. He was scowling at me as if I were a criminal. I continued avoiding eye contact as I grabbed a ceramic plate from the cabinet. The pancake, eggs, and bacon began spinning around inside the microwave, and I finally mustered the courage to turn to him.

I wanted to make sure I was all ready before eating. You know I'm slow in the morning, I explained.

Silence.

You don't want me to miss my flight, do you? I asked.

His glare did not fizzle out.

Okay, I'm sorry, I surrendered.

His expression softened as he unfolded his arms. He leaned toward me to return a kiss on my forehead.

Eat your food. I want to be on the road in twenty minutes, Dad said.

He began walking toward my room. I'll start putting your bags in the car! he yelled.

Thanks, Dad, I replied.

I grabbed my breakfast from the microwave and walked into the living room, where I could hear cartoons playing on the TV. I found my place on the carpet, right next to Grace, before digging in.

Family is what you'll always need, because it's where home is—Mia often lectured me on the importance of our little tribe, but those words were the most memorable. She was all too consumed with sentiments of legacy and loyalty; and this wall of mine, made of skeptical and hopeless bricks, would come undone whenever she was in my presence.

All right, put on your seat belt, Dad demanded.

But what was duty next to freedom?

Yeah, sorry, I uttered.

Lost in the abyss of my consciousness, I hadn't even realized we had pulled out of the driveway. My dad's silver Volkswagen purred like a kitten.

We're getting close to the interstate, he explained.

After our mother abandoned us, Mia took on the role of my mother figure. I could always count on her. She made me swear I'd do the same for Grace if the worst ever happened. Then it did happen. Now that broken promise crippled me—a consequence of knowing I was prepared to deny my sister her dying wish.

Whoa, Grace whispered.

I briefly noticed Grace tapping on the window from her booster seat, as we drove by a field of wild horses.

Pretty, she sighed.

Mia's sentiments were what killed her and turned her innocent daughter into an orphan.

You like the horses, baby girl? I asked.

I would not make the same mistakes.

Yeah! They're so pretty! Grace giggled.

Maybe I'll take you riding someday, I lied.

I knew I would never return home. It wasn't even a consideration.

Yes! That would be fun. Grace smiled.

I was twenty-two years old, and I'd never left Florida. New York had so many opportunities for me, and the crime rates were unprecedented. What on earth was the point of getting a degree in criminology if I was just going to waste it living in a small lawful town? If I did not leave now, I would never find the strength to do so again.

Hmph, Dad uttered.

My father interrupted my thoughts as he sighed once more, a horrid habit throughout the duration of the car ride. I rolled my eyes before he could close the trunk of the car, with my last remaining bag strapped over his shoulder. Just as my ears started to adjust to the deafening roars of the airport, I watched as a gray-haired man sneezed into the same hand holding his passport. To no surprise, he walked up to a representative at the curbside check-in and extended said passport.

God. What a cesspool.

My dad awkwardly paused before facing me. I knew exactly why. He had no intentions of crying outside a crowded airport. I deliberately avoided looking into his eyes because I, too, felt uncomfortable with the idea of strangers seeing me so vulnerable.

I guess I'll see you soon, he said. He struggled with each word.

Yes, I uttered.

I, too, found it difficult to manage speech.

I reached for the strap on his shoulder to add to the collection of suitcases standing at my side. He glided it off before I could and placed it gently on my shoulder. It was then that I noticed he was trembling. I quickly wrapped my arms around his neck as best I could while a duffel bag was now draped over me. He wrapped his arms around my waist and squeezed.

I love you, I whispered. I was afraid I would cry if I spoke too loudly.

I love you more. He sighed.

After a few silent moments, we finally managed to loosen our grips.

My turn! My turn! I want a hug too, Auntie! Grace demanded.

I was so wrapped up in my farewell to my father that I nearly forgot her presence. All too eager, she jumped into my arms despite the space my duffel bag occupied. I twirled her around and planted a tiny dozen kisses on her cheeks and forehead. Her giggles persisted.

I love you, baby girl, and don't ever forget that! I said.

I love you too, Auntie. But when are you coming back? Grace asked.

I struggled to choke back tears once more.

Soon. Very soon. I promise, I lied. I caressed her cheek and fell into the vortex of her gaze. But don't you worry. Auntie will call and video chat with you every day she's gone, I said. It had become a habit to speak to Grace in third person.

We'll be looking forward to that. Dad winked.

We said our last farewells, and after checking my bags at curbside, I went off to navigate through the cesspool. Once I made it through security, my cell phone buzzed in the tiny black purse I got for Christmas last year. I pulled it out, only to find a tentative text message from my best friend.

Aurora: What time does your plane land again?

Aurora was extremely forgetful. I always had to remind her of her own locker combination in high school. She was now attending medical school at Columbia, and it would be nice to live in the same city as her again. However, I so graciously hoped that having a strong memory wasn't required in her field of study.

Shit. I began to hyperventilate as I took note of the time on my cell phone, which read 8:52 a.m. My flight started boarding seven minutes ago.

Damn it, I whispered.

I couldn't count how many times I apologized for bumping into a stranger or how many times I dropped my carry-on bag as I darted through the bustling airport.

Phoenix Gerard? The flight attendant called my name over the speaker just as I arrived at the gate.

I flagrantly waved my right hand in the air, shouting along the way. I'm here! I yelled.

Oh, Ms. Gerard, we are glad you made it! We were just about to close the gate, she said.

No shit, Sherlock.

Of course. I smiled.

I placed my cell phone over the scanner to use the electronic boarding pass. It had proven to be much more convenient than trying to search for the physical one in my duffel.

Here you go, I said.

All right, you are all set, Ms. Gerard. Enjoy your flight. she smiled.

I glimpsed at her name tag.

Thank you, Monica, I responded.

I hastily found my window seat, placed my carry-on in the overhead bin, and snuggled up with my leopard-print blanket. It was then that I decided to text Aurora back.

Me: It lands around noon. There are no layovers.

I waited a few minutes for her reply, but I got nothing—peculiar as she was my ride from the airport. Once the flight attendant was done giving the spiel, I turned on airplane mode on my phone. As music resonated through my earbuds, I tried to find humor in the thought of hitchhiking through New York with three large suitcases, a duffel, and a petite black purse.

I drifted off to sleep, smiling.

*****

Everyone, please return to your seats. We are preparing to land.

I jerked awake when the flight attendant announced our arrival through the intercom. Instantly I regretted falling asleep on the plane, although I wasn't sure what possessed me to do so, given the lesson I learned on my way to Denver a few months ago. When I visited my cousin Victoria and her new husband, I needed an ice pack the first night I spent in their guest bedroom.

Excuse me, I said. I interrupted a stranger coming off the same flight as me. Where's our baggage headed to? I asked.

Baggage claim 4, he said.

He seemed agitated as he quickly trotted away in his fancy Italian loafers. I rolled my eyes as I journeyed to the conveyor belt. I turned off airplane mode on my cell phone in hopes of discovering a reply from Aurora. To my disappointment, I found nothing.

Honestly, if I was forced to pay for a cab on my first day in the city, I would fucking kill her.

Thankfully, my luggage practiced the buddy system as they made their way to me. It was not without difficulty that I collected the three of them. Breathless, I struggled to drag my suitcases until I was standing outside the airport, at curbside pickup. I stretched my neck, desperately searching to spot Aurora's tiny red car.

Damn it. She could be so thoughtless at times.

You look like you need a hand. I can help you with that.

An all-too-familiar voice interrupted my inner rant, and I turned to my left, knowing what I'd find. My vision was overcome by a short and sweet-as-cherry-pie figure. Her long black curls framed her oval face, accompanied by a smile that lit up brighter than all of New York City ever could.

Aurora Sinclair. As I live and breathe. I sighed.

The discontent melted away. And before I knew it, her arms wrapped around my waist.

I missed you, Aurora said.

She finally loosened her grip and took a step back. I captured her tiny hands in mine and gazed into her big and beautiful brown eyes.

I've missed you more, I replied.

I couldn't conceal my excitement. Nor did I want to. Aurora abandoned our stare-down and leaned down to grab two of my suitcases. I still held on to one of them, including my duffel bag and my itsy black purse.

Okay, come on, she demanded.

Aurora nodded her head in the direction of the short-term parking lot across the street from where we stood.

I want to get out of here. We have lots to do, she explained.

Oh, is that so? I teased.

Oh yes, I made an itinerary, Aurora said.

I laughed, waiting for the punch line. But it didn't follow.

She quickly noted the expression on my face. Oh yes, love. I'm serious. Aurora giggled.

Dear God.

We start at my favorite restaurant, Del Frisco's, for brunch. Then there's the Empire State building, a stroll through Times Square, a comedy show, and dinner at Virgil's. Obviously, after dinner we'd go back to your place to change clothes before hitting up a nightclub. Although, I'm not quite sure which one yet, she explained.

A nap would have been preferable.

That's awesome. I can't wait, I lied.

Nonetheless, our alcohol consumption began at brunch and never ceased. Our laughter increased—as well as our clumsiness. People became distorted images, and the moon began to speak to me. Eventually, the lights of the city blurred together, and so did time. Oblivion engulfed me like flames, and I was cloaked with unconsciousness. Memories flooded my dreams.

— — — — —

Ms. Gerard, is there anything you're not telling us? Detective Floyd asked.

Goosebumps emerged on my forearms, and my heart stuttered. I wasn't ready to divulge the trauma I endured at the behest of Travis.

No, sir. That's everything I know, I lied.

Detective Floyd frowned and leaned forward on the white table that occupied the interrogation room. He sighed after failing to assess my expression.

I'm just having a hard time understanding why he'd leave you alive. He was manic and volatile, or so you claim. And then there's the matter of your fingerprints on the gun, he said.

I picked it up after the fact. I wasn't thinking straight. I had just witnessed two deaths, one of which was my sister's, I explained.

Tears had begun to roll down my cheeks, and I could taste the salt as it trickled onto my lips.

That's enough. My daughter has answered all your questions. We're leaving, Dad said.

He placed his hands on my shoulder, gesturing for me to exit the hard plastic chair I'd been placed in.

Mr. Gerard, need I remind you that you're only here as a courtesy? Phoenix is eighteen years old. We don't need you present to question her, Detective Floyd replied.

No, but you do need our lawyer present. So if you require any more information, contact them, Dad barked.

2

WHAT'S WITH HER AND ELEPHANTS?

For the first time in years, the dawn was escorted by abnormalities. I nearly cracked the screen of my phone, trying to silence the alarm clock. I fondled the comforter draped over me, trying to recollect my memories. My eyes swept their environment, desperately searching for any sign of familiarity. How the hell did I even get here? As my eyes adjusted, my memory began to return. The drunk version of me insisted I spend the night in my new apartment. My roommate would arrive today, and I was determined to call dibs on the master bedroom.

I clenched my throat as its dryness and the pounding inside my head suggested I needed water. Great. I was severely hungover on a Sunday morning. And sore. Aurora would have to—

Holy shit! Aurora! I yelled.

I stumbled out of bed and walked toward my new living room. As I traveled down the hall, I recalled the satisfied reaction I had yesterday afternoon. That was when I first entered this spacious abode. It was a luxury two-bedroom condo. Its walls were light blue; and it was fully furnished with modern decor including a kitchen with high-end appliances, marble countertops, and a balcony overlooking Central Park. It was being subleased by some rich bachelor who spent most of his time traveling.

I tripped over one of my suitcases that laid flat on the floor, blocking the entrance into the living room.

Why are you making so much noise? Aurora barked.

Her voice was raspy, and she was still half asleep. She had