“Lizzie, I don’t understand. Why would someone do that? When did someone do that to him?” I ask.
“Sullivan, they found him this morning behind his frat house. Why would someone do that just when I was getting to know him?” she cries, turning blood-shot, pleading eyes to me.
“You guys were dating?” I ask, surprised.
“Not really,” she answers shyly. “But it was getting there. He invited me to a party on Friday but I couldn’t go. That would have made us exclusive, you know?”
I realize then, that I had taken Lizzie’s place. She would have been drugged instead of me and eventually raped. I want to be angry about it. I want to say that she deserved to have been almost gang raped instead of me. But I can’t. I wouldn’t have changed anything that happened that night. Better me than her. Beyond the shadow of a doubt, she would not have survived that night – psychologically or physically. This has been my life, something I have been used to. I have developed a tough skin and an even tougher mind; that is how I have survived life for so long. Lizzie is not made like me; she would have crumbled under the enormous weight of her rape. She may not know it, but she is much better off without Dylan in her life.
I look around as Lizzie starts crying in my arms again and find a few students staring and pointing at me. I scowl at a few of the sorority girls and they scowl right back at me. These are some of the same girls who tried to get me to join their little girls’ club and who tried to buy my allegiance to them. When I had refused, they turned cold bitches. I dodged that bullet and consider myself lucky that I keep my circle small as a rule and that I didn’t join a sorority full of vipers and hoity-toity whores. I much prefer regular whores anyway.
“Are you Miss Sullivan Beal?” I hear a male voice behind me call out. Turning around, I see a man in a suit flashing me a badge. He is tall, pudgy with greying hair at his temples and rich black hair. His large frame boasts strong arms that are bursting against the short sleeves of his work shirt.
“Yeah,” I answer, a little confused.
“My name is Detective Connelly and my team and I are investigating the murder of Dylan Harwinton,” he explains. “Did you know the deceased?”
I wonder why they would need to speak with me about Dylan’s murder when I was too out of it to even defend myself against rape; a rape that he would have committed if I hadn’t have been rescued by Ben, my light…my knight. I didn’t know the guy as well as others might have, and all I have to say is good riddance.
“No, detective,” I answer.
“A few of the girls seem to think that you do. Would you mind speaking in private?” he insists.
“This is my friend, detective; we hide nothing from each other.” I’m only blowing smoke up his ass; Lizzie and I aren’t that close. Anything to keep from being alone with him where he could pick up my lies.
“Well then, can you tell me if there is any truth to what these women are saying?” he inquires.
“I’ve only spoken to him twice in passing. That hardly qualifies as knowing someone, does it not?”
“When was this?” he asks further, pulling out a notepad.
“Just a few days ago, it was nothing important,” I answer, trying to make it all sound trivial. I don’t need this kind of attention. This will bring an investigation into a past that I would prefer to remain hidden. The less demons awakened, the better.
“Well, I assure you, even the smallest bit of info can be helpful in a case like this,” he informs me, staring intently at me. He wants to break me down, but I won’t yield. Not just because I’m innocent, but because I can’t afford for my secrets to be revealed. Rick can’t find me and Ben can’t find out the type of person I was.
“He invited me to his frat party and I said no,” I lie with a straight face.
“Is that all, Miss Beal?” he pushes.
“Yes, detective,” I respond, heart thumping against my chest. He has to take my word for it. Any doubt, any investigation into anything I say will be catastrophic.
Detective Connelly stares at me with questioning eyes; eyes that know bullshit. Pity he’s never met my bullshit. I’ve been lying to authorities since I was eight years old. I’ve been fooling men into believing my love for them runs deeper than the ocean. And I’ve been lying to myself that I could never love another man.
The detective does the eye shift that lets me know I’ve won – a quick look to the left, down then back to me. His shoulders relax and he changes his stance, tucking one of his hands in his pockets.
“Well, Miss Beal, if that is all you have to share then I won’t be keeping anymore of your time. If you remember anything, anything that can help in our investigation, please feel free to share,” Detective Connelly implores.
“Will do, Detective,” I say, not meaning a word.
He turns and then leaves Lizzie and I. Lizzie thanks me for being there for her and for assisting in the small way I did for the investigation. She leaves and I am left to ponder the strange morning.
Murder? The thought is baffling. Who would do this? And sodomy? The whole thing seems like something from out of Law and Order: SVU. Much as I hate him for what he almost put me through, I do pray for justice for his death. It is a gruesome thing to happen to someone.
I find myself walking aimlessly, as I think over everything that Lizzie had told me. Reality then hits me: someone did this for me. But who?
I look up to pinpoint my location, feeling the need to go back home to Ben where I’m safe and sound, when I spot a black SUV across the street with its front passenger seat window slightly open. Stopping, I start to stare at the vehicle. It sends an ominous chill down my spine and I decide to spin around, heading back in the direction of my classes. It’s just a vehicle, and it shouldn’t scare me, but it could be Dylan’s frat brothers come to take revenge for their brother’s death. I can only fit in one brush with death per year, so I think I’ve filled my quota.
As I begin walking, I hear tires screech and the SUV speeding off ahead of me. Strange…
“Sorry,” I apologize, feeling the hard wall of someone’s chest as I bump into them.
“You should watch where you’re going, Sullivan,” the person says silkily. I have nothing to fear, but somehow his voice puts me on high alert. It’s Ryan.
“Oh, hey, Ryan,” I greet. “What are you doing around these parts?”
He stares at me with a cold look which sends my defenses rising. I have been making an effort to like the fucker, but if he has issues with me, he’d better tell them to me now when I don’t hate him. He had better watch the attitude too, because my word against his is all I’ll need to end whatever it is he and Rachel has.
“I don’t know what he sees in you,” he starts, leaning into me. His breath tickles my ear and I flinch away from him. I haven’t had to defend myself in a while; he would be well worth giving an ass-whopping to.
“But I can’t wait to find out,” he finishes before walking away and bumping into my shoulder for added effect. There goes any liking I ever had for this guy. Oh well…I tried.
My cell phone rings and I whip it out and immediately a wide smile colors my face at the sight of Ben’s name.
“Hi,” I answer, shyly.
He sighs into the phone and I immediately start to worry.
“I needed to hear your voice,” he says.
“Why, what’s wrong?” I ask, wondering if somehow the police could have gotten to him.
“Just a rough day at work preparing for investor weekends and new acquisitions,” he tells me. “I miss you. I should’ve brought you to work with me. You kneeling before me as I go about my day would have done wonders for my mood.”
I almost choke on desire as an image of me stark naked and kneeling in his office flits through my mind. The vision is potent enough to intensify my breathing and, of course, Ben picks this up.
“You like that, don’t you, my sweet girl?” he breathes, and I know it is having the same effect on him.
“Only if it involves you spanking me, Ben,” I respond, very aware that I am in the middle of my college campus dirty talking with my man.
“Have you been naughty, Sullivan?” he asks gruffly.
“If you consider soaked panties naughty, then yeah,” I answer with a mischievous smile. He goes silent and I know I have him by the balls literally.
“Fuck!” he roars and I laugh at his outburst. “You don’t know how much I wanna get lost in you, Sullivan. I’d get so deep that you wouldn’t know where I end and you begin.”
“God, Ben, you can’t do that,” I whimper, biting my lip at the temptation.
“Okay, I’ll stop, because I swear to God that there’s not much keeping me from making good on that; not even your first day back to school,” he declares.
“That would do wonders for improving my day,” I tell him on a sigh.
“Talk to me,” he commands me in a soft voice.
I tell him about my morning and he stays eerily silent through it all, which prompts me to ask, “Did you…did you have anything to do with his death, Ben?” I’m nervous. While I know that he would do anything to protect me, killing and sodomizing someone to do it would be a bit much.
He is silent for a few minutes more before he answers questioningly, “Do you think that I had anything to do with it?”
I roll my eyes at his dodging of my question, but I answer anyway, “I don’t know, Ben. You did say you would protect me, does this count as protection?”
Once again, he is quiet before clearing his throat and replying, “It would count.”
Cold chills of fear sweep my body and I fight down utter despair threatening to choke the life out of me. I am in love with a sadistic killer.
“But I prefer to keep my hands clean,” he further says.
The breath I release at his confession is enough to blow a brick house down. Thank God.
“I am disappointed that you would think me as heinous as to commit an act like that, Sullivan. I may be a sadist, but I am, by no means, a murderer.” I would be disappointed too. It was very unfair of me to think the worst. I should have had his back; given him the benefit of the doubt. However…
“I am not sorry that I asked you, Ben,” I state. “I am yet to know you on such a level as to doubt your involvement in criminal activity. As offended as I would have been, I would not blame you if you were to question my innocence in such a crime.”
“You do speak the truth,” he concurs. “So, may I ask, did you kill your friend?”
“He wasn’t my friend,” I snap. “And now you’re just being rude.”
“It was not my intention, Miss Beal,” he says, not in the least bit apologetic. “But you do make a valid point, I don’t know you.”
He’s using my own words against me. This is what I get for dating a smart, powerful man.
Before I can tell him to fuck off, he puts me further in my place, making me feel small and stupid for even opening my big mouth.
“However, that does not give me the right to accuse you of things of this nature, especially when you have not given me the slightest reason to believe you are that kind of person. The intimacy we have shared is incomparable, Sullivan – and I am not speaking only of sex – but by that alone I can say that I know you, or parts of you that you have not allowed others to see in a while,” he explains. This guy has me pegged. Fuck, this guy has me.
Meekly, I squeak out an apology, “I’m sorry.”
“I know, my sweet girl, and that is why I have already forgiven you,” he voices, making me feel worse.
“Hey, none of that,” he admonishes.
“None of what?”
“Feeling bad about yourself,” he says rightly. Fucking psychic.
“You suck,” I grumble.
“Yes, I do, baby, and so you do…so fucking well.” I blush at that. His dirty mouth sets me ablaze.
“Are you gonna be alright today?” he asks, still concerned about me. His sweetness doesn’t end. It should be creeping me out by now – I’m not used to men being nice or concerned about me. I haven’t had that since Jared. Instead, it makes me feel important to him and that is such a good feeling. It’s still scary as fuck – being important to someone – but a damn good feeling.
“I will be thanks to you,” I tell him honestly.
“Good. But if you need anything, I’ll come running, okay?” he promises.
I believe him.
CHAPTER 18
The rest of the day is a bore what with the state-wide tragedy and the fact that I miss Ben desperately. Lizzie had to go home as the grief was too much for her to continue to bear. The poor girl never even kissed the guy and this is how she is behaving. God forbid if he had taken her virginity, she’d have been a basket case. She’ll get over it, over him. She just needs to cry this one through – the death of something that never happened.
Most of my classes are geared toward grief and coping due to the “untimely death of such a young life”. Everyone calls it untimely, but I call it karma. Every time I think about what almost happened to me that night, a smile of vindication tugs at my lips. It makes me that much more thankful for Ben. Amidst all my bad decisions and self-sabotaging behaviors, he seems to be the only thing I’ve gotten right. I believe him when he says that he had nothing to do with Dylan’s death, but I can’t say I’m not disappointed. I would have given anything to have been lucid enough that night to see him kick the shit out of him and his friends. Fuckers…
Going through the motions of the day is not quite all it’s cracked up to be when your heart is elsewhere. Like with a tall, handsome dom…
I guess he is reading my mind, because in the middle of one of my graduate psychology classes – that I had been admitted to as an undergrad – I get a text from him.
I miss you.
Oh, Ben. I do too.
Tell me about it. :(
A few seconds later my phone buzzes with another text from him…telling me about it.
I miss your smile, your curves, your eyes…they’re so big and beautiful. Oh & I miss the way you look when you drool.
I smile. He says such sweet things. My heart twists as I realize that this isn’t where I want to be. I want to be anywhere that Ben is.
Ben I miss you too. I wanna be anywhere but here right now, as long as you’re there.
My class ends and quickly I pack my books up. I leave without my usual chatter with classmates. Heading outside my cell rings and my heart leaps with hopes that it is Ben. It isn’t.
“Marshall?” I answer confused. Is something wrong at home? Did he hear about Dylan’s death, or worse, my close brush with gang rape? My heart-rate spikes as I steel myself for possible bad news.
“What did we say about publicity, Delilah?” he asks gruffly.
I sigh, thankful that it isn’t bad news at all, just Marshall being his usual overprotective self. “I know, I know. No high profile events.”
“And it doesn’t get more high profile than Ben Hayes. What are you thinking? This is Jared Mayhew all over again,” Marshall admonishes.
“I know,” I answer softly. His name still brings me some degree of sadness.
Marshall exhales, seemingly frustrated. “I’m sorry to throw him at you like that.”
“No, you’re right,” I agree, berating myself because I should know better. “I need to be more careful. This is nothing but fun.”
Marshall grunts his approval, but I know that he’s still not convinced.
I know it’s a lie. Bile rises in my throat at the thought that none of this is real. The feelings I have for Ben rival those I had for Jared. At the same time, though, I know I can’t fall in love with another man ever again. Love isn’t for me, and my kind of love is too tainted, too blemished to share with anyone. It would be better for everyone if I kept whatever feelings I had to myself.
“How have you been though?” he asks, steering the conversation away from more sensitive topics.
“I’ve been gr
eat,” I tell him, purposefully omitting my attempted rape. I don’t want him to worry since he has so much to worry about regarding my safety already. I can’t add one more thing to the list.
“You looked beautiful in the pictures, though, sis.”
“Thanks, Marsh,” I pause then ask, “How’s mom and dad?”
“They think you’re in Amsterdam with that last postcard you sent them. They miss you still, but they’re trying to get on with life,” he informs me. “They said you’ll come back when you’re ready; they’re just glad you’re alive.”
“I hate that I’m doing this to them,” I confess. It is a struggle everyday not to call my mom just to hear her voice, but I know I can’t. My case is still open.
“I know you do, but until things cool off here, it has to be this way,” he advises me.
“Any news on Rick?” I question. Rick is the fucking bane of my existence right now; the reason I’m on the run; the reason being with me is a bad idea for Ben.
“Last I heard, he was working for his Dad, but it’s more like living off his riches. I haven’t seen him around much, though,” Marshall tells me.
A sick, eerie feeling sweeps over me. I remember the man I’d seen the other day but shrug it off. If Rick knew where I was, he would’ve struck already. He’s not the type to wait when it comes to me. The wind kicks up an unnerving chill and I clutch my coat tighter around me.
It’s just the wind, I tell myself.
“How’s uh…” He trails off and I know who he wants to ask about. “Um…”
“Rachel?” I spur him on.
He releases a deep sigh. “Yeah, Rachel. How is she?”
“She’s good, dating again,” I tell him.
He goes silent and I know it hurts him. They could never get their shit together long enough to have a proper relationship. Ever since Rachel’s abortion, things have been strained between them. This minute they’re together and the next they aren’t. This minute they are neck deep into each other and the next they are at each other’s throats. It didn’t help matters when after one of their fights, Marshall got drunk and slept with one of his associates in the apartment that he’d bought for Rachel to stay in after she graduated. They are still madly in love with each other – emphasis on the mad – and I still have hope for them both.
Tainted Love (Book 1) Page 21
