Sous la chaleur estivale de Londres, deux frères orchestrent l’attaque terroriste la plus meurtrière que la ville ait jamais vue. Trois trains à destination de l'aéroport sont immobilisés et des milliers de personnes sont retenues en otage. Et lorsque la poussière retombe, la police métropolitaine est à la recherche de solutions.


Les terroristes promettent de laisser partir les otages, mais d’abord le détective Jake Tanner doit jouer son rôle dans leurs jeux tordus. Les règles sont simples: suivez-les et personne ne sera blessé. Brisez-les, et les conséquences seront fatales. Mais quand il découvre l’identité de l’un des passagers, Jake réalise qu’il ne s’agit pas seulement de sauver des otages.


Aux prises avec un personnage sans visage qui s’est désigné Dieu, Jake doit sauver les passagers avant que la ville ne s’abîme.


Mais jusqu'où ira-t-il? Va-t-il sauver tout le monde à temps? Et aimera-t-il la vérité glaçante qu’il apprend en chemin?

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"Dark, dangerous, complex and disturbing"

- Amazon Reviewer



Steven and Jessica Arnholt weren’t afraid to share the darker, seedier side of their relationship with others. In fact, it helped. When it came to the bedroom – and what happened behind the four walls – there was nothing that they kept hidden. Tonight, however, was different. Jessica wasn’t ready for what was about to come her way, and when her husband asked whether she was, she lied. In his hands he held two glasses of red wine, the liquid as dark and deep as blood. One glass for him, one for her. 

‘Thanks,’ Jessica said, taking the glass from him and placing it down on the desk beside her. She rolled up the sleeves of her blue tartan shirt and sat on the chair, tying her long, auburn hair off her face and into a ponytail. ‘What time’s he coming?’ 

Steven checked his watch. A long, sinewy forearm and skeletal fingers extended through the red tartan shirt he wore – the same brand and material as hers. His skin looked a ghostly white against the red. 

‘In about five minutes,’ he replied. 


‘Is the room set up?’ 


The sides of Steven’s mouth flickered. He took a sip of wine and licked his lips, wiping the excess from his skin. ‘I finished it earlier. Let me show you.’ 

Jessica took his hand and travelled with him through the gallery. On the left wall was a new piece of artwork that she didn’t recognise – which now explained where Steven had been disappearing to for the past three days. Jessica paid it little heed though, as there were more important things to focus on than admiring his work and realising he wasn’t having an affair. Her mind was too distracted. She felt apprehensive. Nervous. Afraid. She’d experienced a night like this before – countless times, in fact – but she had a feeling that tonight was going to be different; the full moon was on show and she knew, particularly for Steven, it would awaken the beast. His beast. 

Steven came to a stop by a heavy black door that led to the basement. He lifted the handle and pushed. A black wall stared back at them, lit only by the dancing light of the candles that hung intermittently on the wall. Jessica went first. Her feet landed delicately on the steps and she held on to what holdings she could find on the brick, using it for guidance. As she reached the final step, a deep red swathed her. 

What had, hours ago, been her husband’s art room was now his dungeon. Along the back wall was a row of what Steven liked to call ‘his toys’. Dildos. Whips. Beads. Spankers. Blunt objects. But there was a new addition. To the right of the other objects were a set of kitchen knives. She daren’t ask what they were for… not yet anyway; she was too absorbed by the magic of the entire room. Her body tingled at the sight of it all. 

In the centre of the space was a large table, with four chains placed in each corner. It had been crafted to her exact measurements, and they allowed no room for manoeuvre: once she was locked in, she was locked in until released. On the right-hand side of the room were two poles, and at the top of them, another set of chains; one for each hand – or foot, depending on Steven’s preference. 

Jessica took another sip of wine.

‘What do you think?’ Steven asked. 

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Nobody's seen The Crimsons for years.

Nobody knows where - or when - they're going to strike next. 

Until now.


the CONSPIRACY: season ONE