A man's life in chaos. His young daughter at risk. What is a pound of flesh worth?
Dante Ellis is a successful advertising executive on the rise. His world is plunged into a harrowing nightmare after he's targeted by ruthless hackers known only as Dark Messiah. Dante soon discovers no part of his life too sacred to be used against him, no secret buried too deep. What began as a veiled threat soon descends into a desperate conflict against the will of an unseen enemy.
If you're a fan of Michael Crichton, Preston & Child and Michael Connelly, then you'll enjoy Crucible of Fear.
A man's life in chaos. His young daughter at risk. What is a pound of flesh worth?
Dante Ellis is a successful advertising executive on the rise. His world is plunged into a harrowing nightmare after he's targeted by ruthless hackers known only as Dark Messiah. Dante soon discovers no part of his life too sacred to be used against him, no secret buried too deep. What began as a veiled threat soon descends into a desperate conflict against the will of an unseen enemy.
If you're a fan of Michael Crichton, Preston & Child and Michael Connelly, then you'll enjoy Crucible of Fear.
Spider
Dante Ellis gazed down, eyes narrowing as a harsh blade of light raked the office interior revealing desiccated corpses under the tattered remains of web.
How long had a spider been there? he thought.
Kneeling, Dante peered closer and spied the predatorâs remains dangling from a few dusty strands where the windows joined at his corner office. It surprised him. Heâd been here many late nights as the cleaning crew made their sweep. They were very thorough, but somehow, theyâd missed this.
In the dim light straining up from the city below, Dante saw the spiderâs legs were kinked inward, its final act before dying. Gossamer remnants of web clung to the glass, fluttering in micro currents above the twenty or so confirmed kills.
Dante smirked. Little guy had been busy.
He pictured it floating above the busy mail room on a strand of silk before being sucked into an elevator shaft. It continued sailing on the updraft, legs splayed as it swirled all the way to the thirty-second floor of the Monolith tower. How it had negotiated the busy studio floor all the way down to Danteâs office he couldnât fathom, lying in wait to ambush unsuspecting prey.
Light swept the office again as a helicopter outside slowed to a hover, appearing no larger than one of the spiderâs kills. Its spotlight continued over the tops of low-slung buildings to reveal an overturned car on the 134 freeway. Flames licked at the underside as smoke boiled up in a black smudge. Brake lights bloomed in a crimson smear as Friday evening traffic slowed to crawl.
A muffled cheer rose up from the party in the studio kitchen and Dante checked his watch.
Almost time.
He rose to his feet and looked down at the elephant pendant in his right palm. It gleamed in the dull light like a drop of mercury. âFor when you get scared,â Abigail had told him. He closed his hand around it.
The inner office door opened with a snick and he turned, head swimming. The wine heâd drunk earlier lay tart on the back of his tongue. The doorway was a black void, but Dante knew who it was. Only one other person had that code.
âNaomi,â he said.
There was no sound, no movement. Dante peered into the darkness.
âWhoâs there?â
A dark figure emerged from the doorway, one arm thrust forward. Dante stumbled back, slipping a hand into his suit jacket to grab his phone. The figureâs arm twitched. Sharp pain flared in Danteâs chest as his mouth went dry. A delirious thought occurred to him as the phone slipped through his fingers.
The spider bit me.
Blinding white pain radiated out to encapsulate his whole body in a spasm of agony. The room tilted and something hard crashed into his face. Stars skittered off like electric cockroaches as everything went black.
Blood displaced the taste of wine in his mouth.
Ragged jolts of pain rippled through him, making his limbs kick as his entire body went numb. His vision returned, distorted, the office etched in shifting streaks of gray and black. He lay on his right side, arm stretched outâhand clenched in a tight fist. Dante hoped Abigailâs pendant was still there because right now, he needed it.
A light flared near his shoulder and hummed three times, more felt than heard. His phone. Dante tried to squeeze his eyes shut but he could only manage a weak flutter. The light died and his vision sharpened for a moment. The dark figure stood over him, the outline of the personâs body razor-sharp against a starless sky. A ghost of its reflection shone in the glass behind.
The helicopterâs light brushed past again, dimmer, revealing the figure to be a man dressed in black, face hidden behind a mask. A small object rose up over his shoulder, its delicate, greenish body reflecting brake lights from the traffic choked freeway far below. The orange wings flitted in a blur as it hovered.
It was a dragonfly.
A drone, much larger than the insect it had been built to mimic, its body at least eight inches long. The bulbous head bristled with miniature lenses and antennae that ticked with tiny movements as a red eye winked on its underside.
Danteâs phone flared again and he heard the buzzing this time. A text appeared on the screen. The words smeared into dark streaks as he tried to read the small letters trapped inside the text bubble.
The man knelt beside Dante, gazing down at him for a moment, eyes glittering. Then he turned and hefted an object from a messenger bag slung over one shoulder. It was a rectangular black box with an elliptical hole at one end, about the size of a laptop but thicker by a few inches. He removed the top section and set it down, then slid the bottom of the box underneath Danteâs clenched fist. His breath came out in a raspy hiss as he tried to protest. The dragonfly hovered closer, its flinty eyes adjusting with the faint hum of gears.
The dark figure sat back on his heels and pulled the mask up, head hung low. There was something strange about his face. Dante narrowed his eyes, face muscles twitching with the effort.
The man was crying.
âSorry,â he said, wiping his face with the back of one arm. âThey were just never going to stop.â
The dragonfly vibrated its wings with an impatient jitter and the man pulled the mask back down. He picked up the top of the box and placed it over Danteâs right hand. The two halves sealed shut with a series of harsh clicks. The low throb of distant music filled the silence.
Pain lanced deep into Danteâs wrist followed by a cold heaviness in his hand. He struggled to move, gasping as a wave of cramps rippled through him.
âDonât fight it,â his attacker said, voice thick. âItâll only make it worse.â
For a moment, Dante hoped this was a joke gone too far and everyone from the party would come pouring in, laughing, slapping him on the back.
From inside the box came a high metallic squeal, like screws being tightened down. The sound stopped and the room became silent again save for the whisper of the droneâs four wings.
The party had gone strangely quiet.
The masked man turned his face away and a muffled thump discharged from deep within the box, followed by a slight tug at Danteâs wrist. His body went icy cold.
This was no joke.
With trembling fingers, the man reached down and picked up the box before rising unsteadily to his feet. The box slipped from his grasp and fell, one corner striking the carpet with a thud. The two halves split open and the contents of the box spilled out and spun to a stop.
âOh, Jesus,â the man said.
Dante peered at the pale thing that lay there, eyes straining to pierce the gloom. Whatever it was, it had legs.
The legs twitched.
A hysterical laugh bubbled up in Danteâs throat. Itâs the fucking spider.
The hum of the dragonflyâs wings pitched down as it dropped lower then hovered again, a few feet from the floor. A bright pinpoint of light speared out from its underside, the beam flicking across the floor before coming to a halt.
The legs of the spider twitched again. But it wasnât a spider. It was a hand.
His hand.
The sickly, sweet odor of cauterized flesh stung the air as dark fluids oozed from the blackened stump. Danteâs stomach hitched and bile rose in his throat, the sour taste scorching his tongue.
The man picked up the severed hand with a thumb and forefinger. A bead of silver slipped out of the palm, dropping to the carpet. Danteâs fear-poisoned brain tried to remember what it was.
The hand dropped into the messenger bag. The man shuddered as it disappeared inside. Then he scooped up both halves of the box and fled, disappearing back through the inner office door, the hum of the drone close behind.
The room fell silent again.
Spasms wracked his body as Dante rolled onto his stomach, right arm heavy and unresponsive. He winced as his phone lit up, the touch of his face bringing the screen to life.
Need to call somebody.
He tried to speak but all he could muster was a low groan. It was a struggle to lift his head, neck joints popping under the strain. As the screen came into focus, the text heâd received earlier resolved, tack sharp. The words struck him like a hammer blow.
And if your right hand causes you to sin,
cut it off and cast it from you.
His heart thudded as pain lanced up his arm. He clutched at the stump with his other hand, the seared flesh slick with warm blood. He tried to call out again but his throat closed up, the cords of his neck taut. With a grunt he rolled onto his back, the ceiling tiles spinning above him.
Dante Ellis was finally able to find his voice, and he screamed.
First and foremost, a large thank you to Reedsy Discovery and D.W. Whitlock for providing me with a copy of this publication, which allows me to provide you with an unbiased review.
Always eager to try something away from my usual genres, I agreed to read this ARC by D.W. Whitlock. The novel poses as a thriller, with a strong tech undertone, perfect for those who like exploring the darker underbelly of online cyber crimes. When an advertising executive is targeted, his life is turned upside down and he soon realises that nothing is off limits when it comes to getting a pound of proverbial flesh. Whitlock leaves the reader thinking throughout in this chilling tale of tech-based blackmail.
Dante Ellis thought that he had it made. A successful advertising executive whose career was still climbing, Ellis was sure success was in his back pocket. When he receives an odd text message one morning, heâs not sure if it is a threat or some joke. However, things soon spiral out of control and Ellis is faced with some chilling realisations. Someone is prepared to go quite far to flex their muscle and bury Ellisâ reputation at the same time.
As the story progresses, the reader is introduced to a number of other characters, all of whom are met some some similar, if less intrusive, attacks on their lives. The perpetrator is soon identified as the faceless âDark Messiahâ, showing that nothing is off-limits when technology is used. Through the seemingly harmless use of a dragonfly drone, Dark Messiah is able to keep an eye on those it targets, stirring up trouble or nuisances at the click of a button, with its drones always on scene.
While Ellis continues to get wrapped up in the sticky web that is spun around him, Dark Messiah ups the ante and targets the younger generation. A single parent, Dante Ellis soon has to worry about his daughterâs safety, as Dark Messiah crosses the line and targets the young girl. Her life on the line, Ellis is left to do whatever is asked of him in order to ensure his daughterâs safety.
Who is this faceless entity that calls itself Dark Messiah? What is the reason for targeting these seemingly unconnected group of people? All is revealed in a chilling story that D.W. Whitlock presents to the curious reader. This is one debut that will have many flipping pages well into the night, if only to see who is behind all the mayhem, all while peering around, looking for dragonflies or other âwatchful eyesâ.
I liked the dust jacket blurb of this piece and was sure that I would get sucked in by D.W. Whitlockâs story. While the book started with a bang and never gave me time to breathe, I am not sure I was as sold as some. The piece clipped along and left me wondering throughout, but it was also not as gripping as I would liked. However, I cannot place my finger exactly on what was missing or might have been a means of solving this reading dilemma.
Dante Ellis is surely the central protagonist in this piece, though the story does offer a large collection of characters with which the reader can connect. Ellis finds himself on full display, his life and reputation slowly torn apart throughout the piece. There are glimpses of backstory needed to fill in the gaps of the narrative, though it is the development (or dismantling) of the character that remains the core of the novelâs impetus as it relates to Ellis. The reader finds themselves trying to piece together who or what might want to target the ad executive, while feeling some degree of sympathy for his continual downfall. Whitlock does well to create this connection for those who enjoy linking themselves to characters.
There are plenty of characters and subplots for the reader to enjoy throughout this piece. While the early portion of the novel presents them as unconnected, there is a sense that Dark Messiah has a purpose. The villainous antagonist is ever-present throughout, providing the reader with something to dislike as the story progresses. That being said, there is surely a degree of respect for the evil doing, represented by the seemingly innocent dragonfly drones.
I liked the story to a degree, but was not sold entirely by the plot. As I mentioned above, I cannot pinpoint what was missing, but there was a disconnect that I desperately wanted to see throughout the novel. The premise was sound and the narrative kept moving along nicely, but I could not find myself fully enthralled or connected with what continued to occur. That others loved the piece is no surprise to me. Whitlock has a knack for writing and his crisp chapters pushed the story along with ease. Offering multiple perspectives proves refreshing and adds a layer of ominous sentiment to the overall delivery; that it is not a single personâDante Ellisâwho is suffering at the hands of this faceless entity. Iâd likely read something else by D.W. Whitlock down the road, just to see if it might be me and my current mindset that left me less than fully committed.Â
Kudos, Mr. Whitlock, for a strong debut. I can see many who will thoroughly enjoy this piece, though there needs to be a balancing out. I suppose I am one who offers that, in review form.