Tell the Truth The Devil Won't 
by Colette R. Harrell 


Tell The Truth; The Devil Won’t  is the sequel to The Devil Made Me Do It.  Second stand alone book in the Heaven Over Hell Trilogy. The Love Zion members are in the middle of a spiritual tsunami. The flood has them up to their necks, deep in muck and mire, and treading water looking for a life raft. 

The full-figured Esther Redding doesn't realize it, but she desperately needs a change. Her Cinderella tiara is tarnished, and her glass slippers are cracked. 

Briggs Stokes has always had a soft spot for Esther. She was in his blood, and he didn't want a transfusion. When he returns to Detroit, he decides that nothing will keep him from her door. Well, nothing but once reformed bad girl Monica Stokes Custer. She's Briggs's ex, and she wants to be his "give me one more chance again" wife. The tug of war that ensues may be the catalyst that destroys the person they both love the most. 

Don't blink—pray. These shenanigans are too juicy to miss.



Excerpt: Tell The Truth; The Devil Won’t

Chapter One


It was dead cold. The air crackled with the sound of ice-covered tree branches crashing onto cement sidewalks; it was an unnatural arctic day, even for Harlem. There were motorists stranded on every major highway as an epic ice storm settled over the length of New York City. And while the air over those highways was filled with road rage, explicit language, and hunger pains, the contrasting hush of the opulent brownstones on 132nd Street was shattered by an eerie scream that filled the bitter air.

Monica Hawthorne, the ex-Mrs. Briggs Stokes, stood shaking uncontrollably. Her beloved, risked-everything she-had-to-have-him husband of one month, Randall, lay in a pool of blood on their imported Brazilian cherry kitchen floor. If Randall could, he would have stood up and told her for the tenth time that ten thousand dollars for a floor was too much, and just because she could buy it didn’t mean she had to. But Randall couldn’t utter a word. She watched horrified as his blood seeped into the natural grooves of the wood, giving credence to the fact that maybe the cost was too much.

Monica blinked, but he wasn’t getting up or giving her advice about her newly acquired wealth, because standing over him was his newly divorced wife, the ex-Mrs. Meredith Hawthorne. This She-Spawn-from-the-Pits, with her six hundred-dollar hairdo mussed, her designer clothes askew, and her chest heaving in spastic breaths, clutched the knife that once protruded from Randall’s chest. Words of explanation weren’t necessary; the vivid picture painted its own morbid story.

Monica was spellbound. She was in her own home. The ordeal of leaving one husband to claim another’s was behind her. The guilt had been laid aside. The shame stamped down, at least temporarily. It was Randall and her against the world. But it had all just changed—drastically. Snapping to, Monica shrieked, “Oh sweet Jesus! What have you done? You crazy—!” Her cries were halted by the demented gleam in the ex-Mrs. Hawthorne’s eyes. The maniac’s focus switched from Randall to her, then back to Randall.

Mrs. Hawthorne had gone mad, crazy, bonkers, cray cray. Monica’s head hurt at the thought that she was still addressing this woman by what was rightfully her new name. It bore psychological study that she could only think of the witch as Mrs. Hawthorne. For over three years the woman had railed it at her, negating Monica’s right to ever wear the title. She’d stood in haughty arrogance and promised in divorce court that she would never relinquish it. At the time, Monica didn’t care; she felt Mrs. Hawthorne could keep the last name, as long as she had the man. Now she felt she had been short-sighted. If in the middle of a bloody rampage, she thought of her that way, then who was she?

The murderous interloper looked on in glee as blood bubbled out of Randall’s mouth. Monica observed her spiteful approval as Randall’s hand feebly stretched over his wound, but failed in mustering the strength to staunch the flow of his river of life. His eyelids fluttered—pausing, fighting to focus as he scanned beyond Mrs. Hawthorne’s face. His eyes settled on Monica’s outstretched hands.

“Randall,” Monica whispered. She swayed in agony. Time was grinding to a stop, like an old-fashioned watch discarded in a moth-eaten hope chest, it would soon end, and Randall would be done. She needed a way to get close to him, but Mrs. Hawthorne stood as she had for the last three years, directly in her path.

Always . . . in my way.

Rage bubbled into a go-for-broke moment. Monica launched forward and charged Mrs. Hawthorne with a Joan of Arc warrior’s roar. The sound of the impact and responding grunt was dulled by the body that crumpled to the floor. Monica gambled . . . and lost. Her body fell inches from Randall’s.  Her hands bloodied, Mrs. Hawthorne rocked in despair. She had meant to take her time with the slut, but her offensive attack had taken her by surprise.

Then . . . Monica moved.

What she was witnessing had Mrs. Hawthorne’s keening wail ricochet throughout the spacious brownstone. She glowered in anguish, howling as Monica’s fingers inched toward Randall’s, and they entwined even in their near-death status. She watched in ghoulish repulsion as the almost loving tableau played out before her. Her eyebrows arched as she made out Monica’s pleading words, “Jesus, help us.”

A rattle of air descended from Randall . . . and then stillness.  In slow motion, Mrs. Hawthorne turned in robotic movements away from the scene. Her steps faltered when she heard Monica’s fading voice, “Father, why hast thou forsaken me?”

The prophetic words washed over her as she stood in cold resolution. Shaking it off, she strutted away from the two people who had humiliated her in public and had caused her heart to bleed dry for three unbearable years. Randall had won his freedom, imprisoning her in her own madness in the process.

She had sworn to Randall’s dying mother, there would be no divorce. Tears gathered at the end of her hawkish nose, dribbling onto her twice-a-week, spa-waxed upper lip, then streamed down her cosmetic-tightened neck. She was Mrs. Meredith Hawthorne, of the Hawthornes, and failure was foreign to her.

In agony, she backtracked, and stumbled, tumbling over the bodies. Blindly, Meredith wiped her eyes, reared back, and spit in Monica’s face. Still feeling empty and unfulfilled, she stared, craving the ability to wake Monica and kill her again.  Rising, she noted Randall’s discarded, prized Civil War-era, matching pearl- and jewel-handled knives. She blew a kiss at him, and left the knives there. It was only fitting Randall have ownership of what he demanded in the divorce decree. What better way to deliver his bounty, then to use it as the method of obliteration for both he and his tramp?

Mrs. Hawthorne reached into her purse and pulled out her derringer. Acting as a lover whose desire is close to fulfillment, she caressed it.

Her insides churning, she panted, taking one last glance at the coconspirators to her destruction. She could answer Monica’s final question. God had forsaken Monica because she was a Delilah home wrecker. What Mrs. Hawthorne wanted to know, was why He had forsaken her.

She lay the letters for her children—who never called—on the solid mahogany credenza, then her purse. All she’d had was the facade of a happy life. She’d paid for it in an avalanche of tears as she played dumb blonde to Randall’s neglect and numerous indiscretions over the years, anything to keep him home.

And how had he repaid her? By falling for a nasty, ashy-prone, ghetto rat. The slut’s resulting pregnancy, and his request for a divorce, “so he could be happy” was the Joker’s wild card. How many wrongs was she expected to endure?

She looked around and hiccupped laughter—a great-granddaughter of the Confederacy ending up in a brownstone in Harlem?  Well, rise up every long-buried plantation owner and move over. I’m coming in, and from this gaudy, overpriced slum.  In the middle of her cynical chuckle, she bit her lip. She was stalling and knew it. The gun shook in her hands as she placed the barrel to her temple; lips pressed together, she focused on the brightness of the moon, brilliant against the frigid dark sky.

The trigger was pulled, and the gun clattered to the ground. Once again blood seeped into the Brazilian cherry hardwood floor. It should now have been quiet in the apartment. Instead, after the booming sound of the gunshot, you could hear through the intercom three things: the startled cries of a newborn, a phone ringing, and a feeble whimper. The air was clear and sweet with the aroma of citrus floral and the essence of myrrh. Large winged inhabitants fluttered about on missions of supreme purpose. Above, two hovered in midflight, one apparently holding the other from takeoff.

“Why do you hold me, Zadkiel? I must go. Did you not hear Monica scream? I am hers, and she is mine. Monica thinks that God has forsaken her. I am here,” he bemoaned. What the guardian saw split him in two. He could not linger.

Zadkiel pulled the guardian angel back, his wings clutched, and held him firm through the struggle. “Stand down. She cries out in fear, not faith. We are not charged to react to tears, but we are rewarders of faith. What is occurring is heartbreaking, but you have not been given leave to interfere.”

The guardian wanted to push at Zadkiel’s wings, but that would have been disrespectful. “Oh, why do the humans act this way? Must they torment and cause such pain to each other? They have left a child and though Monica has not been innocent for many years, her screams of pain bring too many hurtful emotions to the forefront. How can you float above it all?”

“I am not above anything, but we must be obedient to our Lord of Hosts. He has not given us permission to intervene; a greater good must be coming.” Zadkiel then telepathically shared with him how he kept the sounds of Randall’s and Monica’s pain in the background of his thoughts. “I am empathetic to your feelings. I have learned that our God knows all and His will is the only way. He did not create this mess, but He will make a way out for the innocent babe. Go sing a song of praise. It will ease your soul.”

Large expansive wings flapped in decisive strokes as a voice of power and beauty soared over majestic heads. As other voices joined in song, the angelic choir trumpeted the holiness and sovereignty of God. Contrary to the chaos, He continued to reign. In another realm, the gates of hell rattled in anticipation of the eventual capture and consumption of the new souls. It was a two-course meal: adulterer and murderer, their favorites.



Purchase Tell the Truth The Devil Won't by Colette R. Harrell
Sequel to topselling novel The Devil Made Me Do It 

Link: http://amzn.com/1622868196 



About the Author
Colette R. Harrell, wants you to know that she’s like you, God’s chosen vessel. She has come to be a gift, to be an encourager and a light that reflects God’s goodness.

She’s a wife, mother, author and playwright. A Detroit native, she currently calls Ohio home. She holds a master’s and is a Director of Social Services. Writing with humor and compassion to engage and minister to the human heart. Her motto is: whatever you do, do it “for love alone.”

Her latest novel, Tell The Truth; The Devil Won’t will thrill October, 2015. It is filled with wisdom and humor. This adventurous love story goes where Ms. Harrell loves to tread, down an unbeaten path. No millionaires rescuing damsels in distress—although she enjoys these reads herself—but every day people, falling and getting back up. 


The Devil Made Me Do It was her debut novel. It was nominated for The 2015 Phillis Wheatley Book Awards in First Fiction. It has been held as one of Black Pearl Magazine’s, top ten Christian fiction books for 2014. In addition, Read Between The Lines radio show, named it as one of its overall top ten books for 2014.

Make no mistake, her sophomore novel, Tell The Truth, The Devil Won’t will cement her as an author to watch. 



Follow Colette R. Harrell, Author
Book 1:  The Devil Made Me Do It
Book 2:  Tell The Truth, The Devil Won't
Reach her at:   http://www.coletteharrell.com 
Facebook Fans: 
https://www.facebook.com/ColetteRHarrellfans 
Colette R. Harrell FB:  
http://www.facebook.com/Colette.R.Harrell  


 

 

 

 


MOVE by Colette R. Harrell


This is an exciting time in my life. An opportunity to be astounded at where God has brought me. An opportunity to reach out to those who are waiting for their “shift.” And, yes, I am still on the journey, but thank God I have moved. My pastor, once taught on how the properties of the Dead Sea incorporated the action of taking and not giving; therefore, it was stagnant. Stagnation aborts growth and fosters inertia. What a life lesson! We should move, but in the direction of giving more than receiving. Can I get an Amen? What does your journey look like? Stagnation? Or movement?

On a shopping spree with friends one day, some wanted to split up and look for things on sale to meet their own specific needs. Having divalicious taste in shoes that day, my feet hurt. Those cute ten-minute shoes—so fashionable—so wrong—so I decided to sit down and wait. After sitting for a few minutes, the Holy Spirit nudged me to “move.” So, even though my feet still hurt, I was obedient. I stood and walked, but in a different direction than my friends. It was an unbeaten path. 

Later, I returned to my friends, arms loaded with all types of goodies. I was joyful because I had found favor with several salesmen and for very little cost, I had items that would bless my home and others. 

When they saw me, one of my friends exclaimed, “You weren’t where we left you!”

I smiled, and replied, “No, I moved.”

I realized then and there that it was in the movement (you see, it is a hearing and doing “thang”) that I received my blessing. And I’m doing a new thang as an author: publishing a book and giving my inner thoughts to others. There is some fear in the unknown, but I want to be a prisoner of hope. If anything should chain me, let hope have its way! 

I pray that we are NOT where we were the last time mama, daddy, girlfriend, boyfriend, husband, wife, friend or foe saw us last. If you ever put out a spiritual APB (missing person report) on me, tell them not to look where I was last seen, because, honey, I will have moved. I will have made some progress, even if I only moved a short distance forward. I would have . . . moved. 

I ain’t bragging ’cause He’s no respecter of persons. I’m just saying through my obedience (even when I’m tired) and through my tribulations (even when I want to give up), I am Moved! Lord, help me, somebody!

Don’t let anybody (even yourself) put you in a place where you don’t move (that’s right, DON’T, not CAN’T—it is a CHOICE). Let your spirit stand in agreement with the One who brought you. To stand still and know He is God is a forward move, not a stalemate. Every day they passed by the man that lay by the pool of Bethesda, and he was always there . . . lying and waiting. He had to come into agreement BEFORE he could move. 

Don’t be afraid if your forward move takes you along an unbeaten path. Get your life. He is faithful, and He will plant you where you will grow and flourish. And while you are planted in rich soil, you will move—first in the hidden places, then upward! Yes, my beloved, grow into maturity, dependence on God, and the ability to carry the seed to its birthing season.

I am praying with you today that you will pick up your bed of fear, debt, pain, sorrow, rejection, abandonment, and loneliness—and MOVE. He promises that the trip will be worth it. 



Tell the Truth The Devil Won't (Book 2)
Link: 
http://amzn.com/1622868196 

The Devil Made Me Do It (Book 1)
Link: 
http://amzn.com/1601627823
   


 

 

 

 


 

Intimate Conversation with Colette R. Harrell


 

Colette R. Harrell, wants you to know that she’s like you, God’s chosen vessel. She has come to be a gift, to be an encourager and a light that reflects God’s goodness.  She’s a wife, mother, author and playwright. A Detroit native, she currently calls Ohio home. She holds a master’s and is a Director of Social Services. Writing with humor and compassion to engage and minister to the human heart. Her motto is: whatever you do, do it “for love alone.”

Her latest novel,
Tell The Truth; The Devil Won’t will thrill in October 2015. It is filled with wisdom and humor. This adventurous love story goes where Ms. Harrell loves to tread, down an unbeaten path. No millionaires rescuing damsels in distress—although she enjoys these reads herself—but every day people, falling and getting back up. 

The Devil Made Me Do It was her debut novel. It was nominated for The 2015 Phillis Wheatley Book Awards in First Fiction. It has been held as one of Black Pearl Magazine’s, top ten Christian fiction books for 2014. In addition, Read Between The Lines radio show, named it as one of its overall top ten books for 2014.

Make no mistake, her sophomore novel,
Tell The Truth, The Devil Won’t will cement her as an author to watch. 

BPM: Can you share a little of your current work with us? 
My sophomore novel is titled
Tell The Truth; The Devil Won’t.  It continues the story of some key characters from my debut novel, The Devil Made Me Do It. I had a ball writing this! It deals with overcoming betrayal, second chances at love, and redemption. We find out what happened to our reluctant, tarnished, tiara-wearing Cinderella princess, Esther Wiley. We scream, I told you so, at Briggs Stokes, our long-suffering pastor. Finally, he learns the wisdom . . . If you want to help others, you first have to put the oxygen mask on your own face and breathe! And, there’s Roger, our prisoner of hope. Ready to face the world again—if he can only catch a break.

BPM: What’s the most important quality a writer should have in your opinion?
Perseverance! You can tell a good story . . . know grammar and syntax . . . but, baby, if you can’t stick with it, your writing career will be toast! Despite your nine-to-five job, your family commitments, your church and community responsibilities, and the days you just can’t pull it all together, you have to rock with it! And when you fall behind due to life pushing you around? You have to roll up your sleeves, get it together, and go back after it.

BPM: Did you learn anything from successfully publishing The Devil Made Me Do It? 
Yes, I learned that fear can’t hold me. We can get real caught up in what people may or may not say about us. So much so that it ends up crippling our ability to move. I learned to talk myself off the ledge and place myself into the fray by doing each step by faith. I can tell you this, sometimes the crocodile tears tried to limit my vision, but guess what? I stuck my hand out there and felt my way through.

BPM: What was your primary quest in publishing the second book? Why now?
I felt like the story The Devil Made Me Do It’s original characters weren’t finished telling their story. As long as we are alive our stories continue to unfold, so I knew they had more to tell. Could Briggs and Monica make it? Did Lawton and Esther really ride off into the sunset? Whose baby was Monica having? How did prison affect Roger? And, just a little secret . . . My readers from
The Devil Made Me Do It were messaging me, e-mailing me, and stopping me in public. The common thread of their questions? Where’s the doggone second book?!

BPM: We are here to shine the spotlight on your new book, but what's next?
Oh my goodness! A lot is happening. I am currently writing my third and final book in this series, The Devil Wears Two Faces, and it will be released in April 2016. This book is predominantly new characters, with some characters from the previous two books as backstory. 

This year, I received a nomination for my first novel, The Devil Made Me Do It, from the 2015 Phillis Wheatley Harlem Book Awards. Black Pearls magazine named it as one of their top ten Christian books of 2014, and Read You Later radio show named it as one of their top ten books for 2014. My first year has been eye-opening, dramatic, and a roller-coaster ride. I’m praying that we continue the journey—no seat belts needed.

BPM: How may our readers follow you online? Please share your social media links. 
My biggest challenge is staying up to date on my social media. But, there is nothing more inspiring than hearing from my readers. Y’all hit a sistah up!  It Takes A Village To Raise A Dream.  Be A Part Of Someone's Village!

Author website: 
http://www.writespirit.org 
Pinterest: 
http://www.pinterest.com/coletteharrell/ 
FB Profile: 
http://www.facebook.com/Colette.R.Harrell 
Fanpage: 
https://www.facebook.com/ColetteRHarrellFans 


Order Tell the Truth The Devil Won't (Book 2)
Link: 
http://amzn.com/1622868196 

Order The Devil Made Me Do It (Book 1)
Link: 
http://amzn.com/1601627823  

 

 

 


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