Death by the River (A St. Benedict Novel Book 1)

by Alexandrea Weis

  She gave him a wary glance as she slipped through the crack.

  He followed her and on the other side of the wall, took her hand. He guided her down the dark, dank corridor to his cell. The air heavy with moisture; the odor of rot and mold hung around them. She didn’t flinch as the pinpoint of light coming through the cracks landed on the skeleton of a rat. Brave, too. Even better.

  Once in the cramped room, he went around lighting the candles.

  She waited at the doorway, the candlelight enshrouding her in a yellow halo. He admired the play of light and took her hand. The inviting smile on her soft lips enticed him. Unable to stop himself, he kissed her, a long, passionate kiss. She responded and her fervor for him added to the building excitement in his system.

  It’s time for some fun.

  Beau flung his arms around her, practically carrying her to the cot. He carefully eased her onto the blanket, plotting his next move.

  Andrea pressed her hand into his chest, pushing him back. “I’m not like other girls. I don’t want you to be gentle and romantic. I’m not looking for anything like that tonight.”

  Shades of Taylor danced in his head. “Tell me what you want.”

  Her fingernails scratched all the way down his chest to his crotch. “You ever hit a girl?”

  A wary thread snaked through him. Either she was twisted like him or a setup. He didn’t trust anyone.

  “What are you saying?”

  Her fingers deftly worked the button fly on his jeans. “Some girls like to be spanked. Some tied up with ropes or handcuffed.” The fly undone, she slipped her hand inside his briefs. “I like to be raped.” She bit his chin. “Rough, hard sex, with all the hitting and biting you can muster.”

  Beau should have been happy about his find in her, but a trickle of disappointment curbed his enthusiasm. She wanted to be hurt, wanted to have him abuse her—that didn’t motivate him. The fear he got from those he assaulted aroused him more than this half-assed recreation.

  She lay on the cot, her plump lips parted, eager for him, and though he wanted to button up his pants and walk away, he also wanted to show her his idea of rough sex.

  Why pass up the opportunity?

  He pushed her hands above her head. “I’m going to give you the night of your life.”

  He slammed her back on the bed and ripped her shirt open.

  Andrea let go a wild loud cackle, sounding like some hideous cry from a cursed witch.

  “Don’t hold back, Mr. Devereaux.”

  Beau combed his fingers through her long hair, gripped it in his fist, and then yanked her head back. “I aim to please.” He bit into the soft flesh at the base of her neck.

  “There you go.” She held him to her. “Show me no mercy.”

  Caught up, Beau roughed her up and slapped her face as he stripped her naked.

  He bit her shoulders, breasts, and inner thighs, waiting for her to beg him to stop, but she never did. She took everything he gave her, winced through every bite but never uttered a sound. Andrea never asked him to stop, and the rougher he got, the more she seemed to enjoy it.

  He bound her hands with her bra and secured them to the pipe in the wall. Her lower lip trickled blood, but she smiled through it.

  He didn’t care for this game. It wasn’t fun. He missed the wide-eyed terror, the cries, the pleas, the whimpering. Her happy grin left him empty.

  To offset the numbness her silence created in him, Beau took his violence to a whole new level with Andrea. The more he tried to make it like rape, the wider her grin got, heightening his anger. In a last act of desperation, he put his hands around her throat right at that climactic moment. He hoped to frighten her, shape her face in the mask of horror he’d grown to love, but it did nothing. Her smile continued as he choked off her air.

  When her eyes bulged, and her lips turned a dusky blue, he let her go. Gasping and coughing, she never turned away.

  “Don’t stop. I deserve it.”

  The fury in him had not been satiated. Determined to have his release, Beau flipped her over, slapped her ass, and started all over again.

  This time he didn’t let up on his chokehold. She bucked beneath him as her fair skin turned red and then pale. Andrea kicked violently and jerked, fighting for air. For a split second, he pictured Leslie, and only then did he get off, reaping his satisfaction from the panic in her graying face. When he let her go, she collapsed lifelessly to the cot.

  She lay motionless until the air entered her lungs in one loud, ragged gasp.

  He rolled off her and lifted her chin. Her eyes were dotted red from a few broken capillaries. Proof he had pushed her to the edge of death.

  What if he had gone further? What kind of rush would he have experienced if she had died? The idea floated around his head.

  “Wow. That was insane.”

  Her hoarse but perky voice rattled him. He preferred a woman’s whimpering to her accolades.

  “That was the biggest rush ever. I thought I was going to die. I tried to get other guys to do that to me, but none would.”

  Beau’s adrenaline surge fizzled. He pushed off her and rolled to the side, frustrated by the fact she wasn’t frightened of teetering on the edge of death. His only enjoyment during the evening ripped away, he got mad. She’d been the one in power all along. It made him feel impotent. Subduing another, belittling them, hurting them, those were the things he hoped for but hadn’t gotten with Andrea.

  “If you wanted it like that, you should have told me from the start.” He sat up on the side of the cot.

  “Do I get a round two?”

  Beau stood and worked his jeans over his butt. “I think we’ll save round two for another time.”

  “I like your style, Mr. Devereaux.”

  “Don’t call me that. Mr. Devereaux is my old man, not me.”

  Andrea cocked an eyebrow but didn’t comment.

  Beau studied the cut on her lip, the red handprints on her throat, and the assorted bite marks on her creamy skin. There was something intensely erotic about surveying the damage he’d inflicted. She was like a work of art, and he yearned to paint another.

  “When can I see you again?”

  Her lips curled into a wily smile. “I’ll be in touch.”

  With a last peck on his cheek, Andrea darted out of the room and through the gap in the wall.

  He pushed the vines aside and watched her run across the high grass toward the fountain.

  The encounter bittersweet, he wanted the rush of being with her again, but not the letdown. How much better would the interlude have been with another less willing victim or even Leslie?

  Tons better.

  Images of Leslie’s pale skin and blonde hair had meshed with Andrea’s during the height of his passion but dwindled in the afterglow.

  How much longer could he go on without her?

  Every night he spent with another woman prepared him for the day he would be with her. No matter the depth of pain or type of torment he inflicted, his greatest rush would come with Leslie.

  He rested his shoulder against the jagged line of broken stone.

  Perhaps the time had come to make his move. The world was his, and with his life getting better with every day, it was the perfect time to bring Leslie into it.

  The echo of twigs crunching floated down the corridor behind him.

  Alarm tensed his muscles. He turned, peering into the darkness.

  Was someone in the cells with him?

  Determined to defend his territory, Beau returned to his cell and snapped up a lit candle. He couldn’t afford for anyone else to come to his spot; he had more work to do here.

  In the corridor, he swept the candle from side to side, lighting up the narrow passageway. He checked the other rooms, kicked around some of the debris, but saw no one else. Could have been a rat or raccoon. He’d caught them in there before.

  Beau settled down and wiped the damp from his brow.

  Time to get back to the party.
>
  He returned to his room, put the candle back on the ice chest and made sure everything was in place. He relaxed, chalking up the noise to nothing more than his imagination.

  After he blew out the flame, he headed back to the damaged wall and slipped into the night.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Under a cloudless sky, an invigorated Beau strutted across the parking lot at St. Benedict High ready to begin the week he was sure would change his life. Around him, students sat on car hoods, stood in small groups, or stretched out on the quad, whispering amongst themselves.

  They’ve heard about my scout.

  He waited for an onslaught of well-wishers to come up and praise his good fortune, but no one seemed to notice him.

  Perplexed by the snub, he listened in as two girls, their heads together walked past him toward the school entrance.

  “They said she was beaten up,” a girl in glasses muttered.

  “I heard she was high on a new drug mixed up in someone’s bathtub,” her friend replied.

  Guys from his biology class sat on the hood of a green Toyota Corolla, deep in conversation. He stopped right next to them, pretending to adjust his book bag to pick up what they had to say.

  “She was a Covington High girl,” one skinny guy in a baseball cap said.

  “Why was a Covington High babe at the river?” a member of his group asked.

  Kelly. Everyone should have been gossiping about his coming success on the football field. Instead, they were obsessed with her.

  But she’s your success, too.

  A surge of pride washed away his jealousy. Without him, no one would have anything to talk about.

  He enjoyed the snippets he picked up here and there. Kelly had never told anyone about their interlude, and that boosted his confidence.

  Leslie and Dawn’s car entered the lot, and his optimism surged. With his girl back, his future set, and his secret safe, he felt sure the day ahead would be a good one.

  Before the engine had shut down, Beau opened Dawn’s door. The girl looking back at him was not the exuberant one he’d dated for the past several months. Her tense features reminded him of the snarling cougar she wore on the front of her cheerleading uniform.

  “Hey, Beau.”

  Her flat tone sent a jolt through him. “What’s wrong?” He took her hand. “Didn’t you miss me? I missed you.”

  Dawn kissed his cheek, but her passion was gone. “Yeah, I missed you. We just got in late last night.”

  He didn’t believe her. She was different.

  Beau gazed at Leslie, who stood on the other side of the car, taking in the line of her profile, eager to smell her sweet skin.

  “How did you like your weekend at the lake, Leslie?”

  Her smirk reeked of her insolence. God, how he wanted to break her right there.

  “Why? Disappointed I didn’t die in a boating accident?”

  Dawn shut her door. “Enough, both of you.” Dawn took his hand and pulled him away. “Why do you do that? Why do you tease Leslie?”

  Beau removed her bag from her shoulder, displeased with her line of questioning. It was what he expected from Leslie, not Dawn.

  “You used to love it when I teased her.”

  Dawn brushed the hair from her face. “It was cute in the beginning, but then you did it all the time.”

  He pointed to the Accord, aggravated with the change in her. “I don’t understand. You hate your sister.”

  “I never hated her. I just never talked to her. But this weekend, we had a really good time. I don’t want to go back to fighting with her again.”

  Shit! He needed that wedge between them to keep a handle on Dawn and intimidate Leslie. This sisterly love crap wasn’t part of the plan.

  “Do you want me to kiss her ass? Is that what you’re saying?”

  She shook her head, scrunching her brow. “I want you to be nice to her, and to Derek. Can you do that for me?”

  He never said a word. He didn’t argue when he got angry—he got even.

  When Beau glanced back at the car, Leslie stared at him with a menacing scowl.

  “If that’s what you want, baby, I’ll be as nice as pie to your sister.”

  “Great.” Dawn’s bubbly demeanor returned as she walked ahead, a bounce in her step. “I told her you would be reasonable. She was the one who thought you wouldn’t want to have anything to do with it.”

  “Your sister just doesn’t know the real me.” Beau chuckled as he thought of getting his hands around Leslie’s neck. “I’ll have to show her who I really am.”

  * * *

  In the halls, the bang of lockers and excited din of conversation accompanied Beau on his way to the school cafeteria. He scoured the faces of the students whizzing by, paper bags, lunch bags, or thermoses in their hands. None of them were Dawn.

  They had agreed to meet up to have lunch together, and she had always been on time in the past. Annoyed, he rammed his hands into the pockets of his khakis and waited.

  With nothing to keep his mind occupied, it drifted back to Andrea. He’d relived their night over and over again, especially the part where he had brought her to the brink of death. Images of strangling her excited him more than roughing her up. Maybe it was time for a new thrill.

  “What’s up, Beau?”

  Sara Bissell stood in front of him, in a long-sleeved, fitted black dress, tight around her boobs, and a silver chain of handcuffs around her neck. The jewelry brought a grin to his lips. He’d love to pull the chain tight around her throat and see what she looked like when the life left her eyes.

  That would be a rush.

  He rested his shoulder against the red brick next to him and checked out her long legs. “I missed you Saturday night.”

  “Yeah, I can guess just how much you missed me. Fifty dollars’ worth, perhaps?”

  He kicked at a scrap of paper on the ground, tired of her games. “What are you talking about?”

  She sneered at him. “Mitch Clarkson is telling everyone you bet him fifty bucks to get me to come to the river. Is that what I am to you? A bet?”

  Her raised voice attracted a few curious glances from the students heading into the cafeteria. The last thing he needed was for Sara’s tantrum to get back to Dawn.

  He grabbed her shoulders. “Yes, I bet Mitch I could get you to the river, but you never showed up.” He shoved her into the brick. “And I’m glad you didn’t come.” He lifted her necklace with his finger and let it fall against her skin. “You don’t know anything about bondage. I know it’s all an act, Sara, because I’ve tasted the real thing. Would you like me to tell everyone in school what a fake you are?”

  She wriggled under his hands. “You’re an asshole.”

  He eased up against her, setting his mouth within inches of hers, aching to hurt her. “Yes, I am. But if anyone asks, I’m good ole Beau. The guy everyone likes, and if you jeopardize the image I’ve worked so hard to create, I’ll show you what real bondage is. I’ll tie you to a bed and beat you within an inch of your life.”

  Sara’s cheeks heated. “Keep talking, big boy.”

  Beau let her go. A torrent of disgust rode through him, obliterating whatever had attracted him to her.

  “You’re a sick bitch.”

  She licked her lips. “Takes one to know one. And I can see what you’ve been hiding behind that little Mr. Perfect image. You like the rough game, and if you asked me, you’ve played it before with someone. Could it be that poor girl from Covington High they found on the road?”

  He analyzed her face, searching for any hint of what she knew. He suspected it was nothing, but her accusation flustered him.

  “Keep reaching. You know damn well, I never touched her.” Beau backed away, pointing his finger. “Don’t start shit with me you can’t finish. Because I will make you regret it if you ever cross me.”

  Sara’s head turned. “We have company.”

  Dawn stood a few feet away, gripping her lunch bag. She frowned
at him and then marched through the cafeteria archway, almost running him over.

  Sara snickered, sounding like a venomous snake flicking its tongue.

  His apprehension skyrocketed. He couldn’t risk losing Dawn. He was the one who had to let go first. His reputation would suffer big time if she dumped him.

  “This isn’t over,” Beau muttered to Sara and took off after Dawn.

  “Where have you been?” he caught up to her, slipping his arm around her shoulders. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

  Dawn wiggled out from under him. “Well, you weren’t going to find me hiding behind Sara.”

  “Her? That was just a little reconnaissance for Mitch. He’s got the hots for her.” Beau gripped her elbow, urging her to stop. “Hey, talk to me, baby.”

  With a loud snort, Dawn turned to him. “Beau Devereaux, you expect me to buy that? You make it hard for me to trust you. Everyone says I’m a fool for staying with you.”

  The comment stirred his desire to throttle a certain someone. “By everyone, do you mean your wonderful sister?”

  “Actually, my sister is pretty damn wonderful.” Dawn pried his hand off her elbow. “She hasn’t lied to me, cheated on me, or made me feel stupid, like some people.”

  Beau wiped his hand over his mouth, seething. “After school, let’s talk. I think we have some things to iron out about our relationship.”

  “Talk? You hate having conversations about our relationship.” She put her hand on her hip, giving him a defiant scowl. “Whenever I want to talk about something, you tell me, ‘Don’t worry about us, we’re fine.’”

  She even tried to imitate his deep voice, which irritated him even more.

  “Well, now I’m ready to talk. I realize we need to.”

  “I can’t.” Her sassy attitude evaporated. “I’ve got cheerleading practice, and I told my mother I’d be home for dinner. Shouldn’t you be concentrating on the scout for Friday night instead of worrying about me, or any other girl for that matter?”

  The reminder of the scout quickened his pulse. He couldn’t wait to put high school and girls like Dawn behind him.

  “I’m not worried about playing football in front of a scout. I’m worried about us. You’re everything to me, baby.”