Angel of Wrath

Publisher: FaithWords
ISBN-10: 0446698008
ISBN-13: 978-0446698009

About the Book

Book 2 of The Voice series

Burned-out Special Ops Agent Charlie Madison; Lisa, a friend who has been kicked out of the FBI; and Jaz, his quirky thirteen-year-old niece, must work together to find a ruthless serial killer. The madman systematically murders one “sinner” after another who attended a popular megachurch that seems focused only on increasing attendance.

Meanwhile, a coven of teens play with satanic practices they don’t understand until they accidentally release a terrifying entity into their world. Made of mist but full of fury, the creature attacks its victims with memories of their guilt-ridden pasts.

Terror and tension increase on every side as the killer and creature join forces. Now Charlie and his group must rely on their wits, strength, and above all, their faith, to fight the deranged forces of earth and the relentless powers of hell. More than a suspense thriller, ANGEL OF WRATH will keep you turning pages long into the night and thinking throughout the day.

Angel of Wrath Reviews

“On the heels of his interesting and unique story The Voice, Myers offers a tale that is at times terrifying, yet all too real. With excellent writing that draws readers into the characters’ lives, this is a must read. ”
Romantic Times, April 2009 Issue
With well-drawn out characters and great action, Myers crafts a story that not only serves as a page-turner but also as a thought-provoker. From pastoral issues, to the nature of forgiveness, to the importance of family, to spiritual warfare, Myers raises questions that will keep your mind turning long after you’ve closed the last page. Angel of Wrath is a triumph of storytelling. The crisp action sequences and murder mystery serve only as a backdrop to further this character-driven drama.
Josh Olds

Angel of Wrath

“Bill Myers is a genius. Not only is Angel of Wrath full of engaging characters and heartstopping suspense, but underneath it explores thoughts and truths that will keep you pondering long after the book is closed.”
—Lee Stanley, producer, Gridiron Gang

On the heels of his interesting and unique story The Voice, Myers offers a tale that is at times terrifying, yet all too real. Readers will be drawn into the realm of the supernatural and pray that the characters can find a way out. With excellent writing that draws readers into the characters’ lives, this is a must read.
–Romantic Times (April 2009)


The Voice

“A crisp, express-train read featuring 3D characters, cinematic settings and action, and, as usual, a premise I wish I’d thought of. Succeeds splendidly! Two thumbs up!”
—Frank E. Peretti, author

“Nonstop action and a brilliantly crafted young heroine will keep readers engaged as this adventure spins to its thoughtprovoking conclusion.”
—Kris Wilson, CBA Magazine

“It’s a real ‘what if ?’ book with plenty of thrills . . . that will definitely create questions all the way to its thought-provoking finale. The success of Myers’s stories is a sweet combination of a believable storyline, intense action, and brilliantly crafted, yet flawed characters.”
—Dale Lewis,


“Why are you always being so mean to me?” Jazmin mumbled from beneath her blankets.

“I’m not being—”

The kid was good. Even though she was deaf and unable to read Charlie’s lips from under the covers, she instinctively knew his response. “Yes, you are! Mean, mean, mean!”

He reached down and shook her leg.

“Don’t touch me.”


Another shake.
“I’m awake! Quit harassing me!”

Charlie took a breath, grateful for the self-control all those years in Delta Force had taught him. If she had been anyone else—a fellow soldier, a new recruit—her insubordination would be met with a bucket of ice water followed by orders shouted into her face to get down and give him fifty or one hundred. (The twenty-mile run would be optional.) But this creature, with so much emotion and so little logic, seemed unable to grasp even the basics of discipline and chain of command.

He shook his niece’s leg again. “Let’s go.”

With a heavy sigh, she threw back the covers, sat up, and glared at him. Well, as much as a single, half-opened eye can glare. “You have to be the rudest human being on the face of the planet.”

“Tell that to your first-period teacher.”

“She’s a Nazi.”

“One more tardy and you get Saturday detention.”

The thirteen-year-old plopped back down on her pillow. “Right, like that’s my fault.” Before he could answer, she changed the playing field. “You blew it with Lisa, didn’t you?”

He hesitated. Ever since Jazmin was exposed to the Voice of God the previous year, she had developed an uncanny ability to sense situations. “To hear deeper things,” she said. “Sometimes I even know what people are thinking.” Of course Charlie was skeptical, but there were those times. . . .

Pushing the strawberry blonde hair from her eyes, she continued. “How many times have I told you, women want what they can’t have.”

Charlie started to reply, but she cut him off. “You just can’t go around throwing yourself at us.”

“Nobody’s throwing themselves at—”

“And telling us whatever’s on your mind.”

“People appreciate honesty.”

“Excuse me? Excuse me? We’re talking women here.”

Charlie shifted topics to something he understood. “Do you want oatmeal or eggs?”

“I want you to leave me alone.” She reached for the covers, but he’d learned a few tricks from their months together. He’d already gripped the blankets, making it impossible for her to pull them back.

“Oatmeal or eggs?”

“I’ll eat at school.”

“Oatmeal or eggs?”

“Eggs! All right?” Her heavy sigh made it clear she was dealing with a moron.

“Eggs it is.” He dragged the blankets off her. Now she would either lie there and freeze or get up and storm toward the bathroom.

She did neither.

Pulling into a fetal position, she moaned pitifully. When he didn’t respond (another trick he’d learned), she yelled, “I wouldn’t have all those detentions if you’d drive me to school like all the other parents. You can be such a Nazi sometimes.”

Charlie knew he should let it go. He could outthink and outmaneuver any enemy in the field, but win an argument with her? Never. Even when he won, he somehow lost. No, he should just drop it, walk away. But the comeback was so obvious, the life lesson to be imparted so clear. Against his better judgment, he waited until she was looking at him and said, “We live five blocks from the school.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Five blocks. You can walk.”

“Walk? With these blisters?” She raised a foot a couple of sizes too big for her child body.

“You’re the one who wanted to buy those silly thongs.”

“Flip-flops. They’re called flip-flops. Thongs are what you won’t let me buy. Even though everybody wears them.”


“Flip-flops,” she sighed. “The subject is flip-flops.”

It was happening again. Like some prehistoric mammoth, Charlie’s lumbering legs of reason were being wrapped around and around by the rope of her lightning-quick irrationality. Still, this time he could break the cords. The logic was so clear.

“The choice is yours, Jazmin, not mine.”

“Right. I can choose to become some fashion geek, just ’cause you’re too lazy to drive me to school.”

The mammoth staggered. “You can buy whatever clothes you want, as long as you deal with the consequences.”

“Except thongs.”

“Young ladies don’t wear thongs.”

“My point exactly.”

The mammoth dropped to his knees. But he was strong; he could rise. “We’re talking about you being late for school.”

“You’re talking about me being late for school.” The cord wrapped tighter. “And that’s my whole point.”

“No. The point we’re discussing is you being late for—”

“The point is, we’re always ‘discussing’ what you want to discuss. Never what I want to discuss. You, you, you. It’s always about you.”

“Jazmin, if you’re late one more day, you’ll have to make it up in Saturday detention.” There. He couldn’t have made it any clearer.

With sufficient melodrama, she rose to her feet, his army sweatshirt hanging around skinny arms and boney knees. Was it possible? Had he won? Before he could stop himself, he had to add a final word: “Right?”

She rolled her eyes and pushed past him with her own final word:



Will woke up to singing. It was pretty bad. Actually, it was barely a song. But he recognized the words:
“Praise Him, all creatures here below.”

He rolled his head to the right and saw Jaz. She stood three feet away, her back to him. Directly in front of her was the creature. It seemed a lot mistier than the last time he saw it.

“Praise him something-or-other la, la, la. . . .”

The thing tilted its head quizzically but came no closer.

“Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost!”

“Will! Get in here!”

He rolled his head to the left and saw his family’s Volvo with the passenger door open. Jason sat behind the wheel motioning to him and shouting, “Get in!” as Jaz continued to sing:

“Praise God from whom all blessings flow.”


He struggled to sit up, his head feeling full of cotton. He turned back to Jaz.

“Praise Him, all creatures here below.”


With effort, he struggled to rise, fighting through a wave of dizziness.

“In the back with Heather!”

He obeyed, stumbling toward the car.

“Hurry! She can’t do that forever!”

He opened the back door and fell inside. Only then did he see Heather leaning against the opposite door, unconscious, her shirt ripped and soaked in blood.

“Praise something, something, ’cause God is cool.”
He turned back to Jaz, saw her stealing a look over her shoulder at them.

“Come on!” Jason shouted to her.
She backed away from the creature, inching toward the Volvo.

“Praise Father, Son, and Holy—” She spun around and dashed for the car. “Ghost!”

The creature screamed as Jaz leaped into the front seat. It dove at her and she slammed the door just before the car rocked under its impact.

“Go!” she screamed. “Go, go, go!”

Jason hit the gas and they spun out. He glanced at her and shouted, “What were you doing back there?”

“I don’t know!” She turned to her window, then twirled around and looked out the back.

“You don’t know?!”

The car rocked again, so violently that Jason almost lost control.

“It’s a song!”

“No kidding!”

“I used to sing it in church—as a little girl!”

Above her shouting and the roaring engine, Will heard the thing give another long, loud shriek.
“Whatever it was,” Jason yelled, “it did the trick!”

Another slam. This time the roof briefly buckled.

“Go!” Jaz yelled. “Faster!”

Jason pushed the accelerator to the floor. Heather moaned and he glanced into the rearview mirror. “Put your hand on her wound!” he shouted at Will. “Stop the bleeding!”

Will gave a dubious look at the girl’s wet shirt. “Do it!”

He leaned toward her, searching for the exact source of blood, when the thing crashed into the back window so hard that the glass spiderwebbed. He ducked, hearing Jaz scream and Jason swear.

Another crash followed.

Will spun around and looked through the crinkled glass to see the thing kneeling on the trunk. It was raising the very branch he had used earlier. Once again, it crashed it into the window. This time the glass shattered, raining hundreds of pellets over them. Will threw himself across Heather, protecting her as the thing reached in, groping at his back. He hunkered lower, but a vaporous, claw found his neck and wrapped around it. The other hand appeared from the opposite side. Then it began to pull.

Will reached up, slipping his fingers underneath the claws, pushing at the vapors. Though mist, they had a substance that gripped so tightly he could barely breathe. He fought like a madman, kicking and thrashing as it yanked him upright. A moment later it dragged him through the opening. Glass broke away, scraping his shoulders and arms, his hips and legs.

Once he was out the window, the arms wrapped around his chest, pulled him off the car and down onto the road. He twisted and squirmed, digging his heels into the gravel, but it did no good. The creature raced forty feet down the road before cutting to the right, crossing the ditch, and dragging him into the forest.

© Copyright Bill Myers 2009