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

by Alexandrea Weis

  This was almost as much fun as taking a girl to the cells.

  Coaching staff and players from both teams rushed to Kramer. Mindful of those watching him, he ran across the field to join the others, ready to convince everyone it had been a terrible mistake.

  “Dude.” Mitch ran alongside him. “You nailed him.”

  “The ball slipped.” He slowed as they came to the small group tending to Kramer. “I didn’t mean to hit him.”

  “Devereaux!” Coach Brewer was in his face, ripping off his helmet. “What in the ever-loving hell were you thinking?”

  Beau glanced over his shoulder to see Kramer sitting up.

  He pressed his lips together, hiding his smile. “The ball slipped, coach. I meant to connect with Mitch, and I must have gotten hit when I threw it.”

  All the years of his perfect golden-boy persona would pay off in that one moment. Who would believe Beau Devereaux would intentionally hurt anyone?

  “Bullshit!” Coach Brewer leaned into him. “I’ve watched you throw balls for four stinking years. That was intentional.” He pointed to the bench. “Go back to the locker room.”

  He clenched his fists, ready to fight, and then he saw all the players and coaches from both teams soaking in his every move.

  Coolly, he backed away and walked off the field, keeping his head down. He wasn’t about to show everyone how happy he was about clobbering Kramer.

  The sound of his cleats hitting the gravel track echoed between the stands. He heard the whispers from the St. Benedict crowd as he drew near, then like a church bell on Sunday morning, someone’s throaty laugh cut through the quiet. He glanced up and saw Leslie snickering.

  He hurried the last few steps into the gym doors. Once inside the locker room, he let go of his rage and flung his helmet, taking out the clock on the wall.

  Beau plopped down on the bench in front of his locker, his head in his hands. Faces from the game whipped across his mind. Taylor, Kelly, but most of all Leslie. Her outburst had proved the time had come to make her his. Her insolence needed to be tamed, and he was the only one who could do it.

  The locker room door swung open and Coach Brewer waddled inside. He came up to his bench, his face the color of Beau’s jersey.

  “Devereaux, what in God’s name has gotten into you?”

  He didn’t look up, keeping his eyes peeled on the coach’s dirty tennis shoes.

  “That referee you hit is okay but probably has a concussion.” Coach Brewer waited for him to say something, then went on. “Do you understand what you’ve done?”

  Beau had been pushed far enough and rose to his feet. “It was an accident. I never meant to hit him. I let go of the ball too soon, got tapped. I don’t know, but it wasn’t my fault.”

  “I’m not buying that.” Coach Brewer scowled and pointed at the locker room door. “Everyone out there may buy your story, but I know what you can do. This entire game you’ve acted like you’ve lost your damn mind.” Coach Brewer shook his head. “You’re through, Devereaux. Leave your uniform on the bench and go. You’re off the team.”

  Coach Brewer stomped out of the locker room.

  Beau stumbled backward and plopped down on his bench, the dismissal thundering in his head.

  They had four more games, big ones, and they needed him. Not that loser Marty.

  He raised his head to the harsh fluorescent lights. The walls closed in. The air got thin.

  He had to think. He had to breathe. He had to get out of that damned locker room and plan his comeback. But how to regain his status? How did he win back what was rightfully his?

  Beau changed out of his uniform. When he went to put his jersey back in his locker, he hesitated. He wanted to keep it. He’d worked so long to earn it, but he decided it would look better to leave it behind.

  While he walked to his car, the blare of the announcer calling the game lingering over the parking lot, it finally hit him—he’d lost his stardom. The tightrope of control he had fought so long to keep in check had betrayed him, and he had let loose.

  Peeling out of the parking lot and speeding away from the school, Beau debated returning home. The last thing he wanted was another Gage Devereaux lecture. No, he needed to go to where he could recharge his batteries and release his frustration. To the one place on earth where he was always king—the river.

  * * *

  The first drops of rain came down on Dawn’s head while she stared at the empty football field. The injured referee sat on the sidelines, a bag of ice on his head. The St. Benedict players, still scattered on the sidelines, waited for their coach to return from the locker room.

  “Can you believe they kicked him out of the game for that?” Zoe tapped her red and white pompoms together. “That was a million to one shot. No one could do it on purpose.”

  Beau could.

  She didn’t bother to enlighten her. Zoe didn’t know Beau; Dawn had a lot of experience with his chameleon-like personality. She’d never put it all together until she saw the football hit its mark. He had been good at portraying the model son, overachiever, squeaky clean teenager with a heart of gold, and then like the Incredible Hulk, his anger would turn him into a monster.

  “You think they’ll let him come back—?”

  Zoe’s question was cut off as whistles sounded across the field and players scrambled to get back out on the grass.

  Dawn put her mind back on the game, but a lingering apprehension about Beau stayed with her.

  The rain came down a little harder and her heart rose in her throat as minutes ticked until the end of the fourth quarter. She cheered with gusto as St. Benedict closed in for a touchdown. Then their drive got blocked and they had to settle for a field goal.

  Anxious and exhausted from the roller coaster ride of an evening, she screamed when her team got the ball back with thirty seconds left on the clock. The rain stopped and the crowd put aside their ponchos and umbrellas, got to their feet, and shouted in unison with her squad for the home team to score.

  Then, with ten seconds left, she held her breath as Marty Evans let go a Hail Mary pass to connect to an open receiver in the end zone.

  Touchdown!

  Ecstatic, she tossed her pompoms into the air, jumped, and yelled, and hugged her fellow squad members. The roar of the home crowd blotted out all other noise.

  The players left the field, hurrying back to the locker room. Everyone lingered in the stands, reveling in the excitement of the game.

  Dawn wiped her face with a towel, listening to the various theories moving through the stands about what had happened to their favorite hometown hero.

  “He had an off night,” one mother, holding an umbrella, offered.

  “He was totally stressed over the scout,” a freshman girl confided to her friends.

  “Too much partying on the river,” a faint female voice said next to her on the steps.

  Dawn glanced up and caught Taylor standing at the railing and gazing out at the empty field.

  Her loose-fitting clothes and faraway look confused Dawn. The Taylor she’d spent hours in cheer practices with had been a tough customer—no-nonsense, practical, and competitive. The change astounded her.

  “What do you think will happen to him?”

  Taylor had a seat next to her. “Nothing more than he deserves.”

  The anger in her voice took Dawn by surprise. Since when was Taylor so anti-Beau?

  “I wonder where he went.” Dawn searched the parking lot behind the home team’s stands for his car.

  “Aren’t you meeting up with him at the river?” Taylor asked.

  “No. I’m going home when I leave here.” Dawn collected her pompoms, confusion mounting in her heart.

  Why was it so hard to forget him? He had not looked her way once during the game and it had killed her, but then the way he’d acted …

  “I’m not sure I want to go out with Beau anymore. After what I saw tonight … I’ve never seen him like that in public. He’s always so car
eful to show people what he wants them to see. He slipped tonight, and I’m afraid what will happen next.”

  “I’m glad you’re reconsidering your relationship.” Taylor studied the crowds emptying the stands. “He’s kept a lot from you.”

  Her stomach churned at the suggestion. But how did Taylor know anything about Beau?

  “Are you talking about what goes on at the river?”

  Taylor’s cheeks lost their color. “You don’t know how he is when you’re not around. He’s not what you think.”

  Dawn hugged her pompoms, feeling sick. “You mean the other girls, huh? I’ve suspected there were others for a while now. It’s got a lot to do with why I want to end it. Is there something else?”

  “Please stay away from him.” Taylor gripped Dawn’s forearm. “He’ll hurt you if you don’t.”

  The grotesque mask of terror on her face shocked Dawn. Why should Taylor be so worried about her relationship with Beau? In her gut, Dawn’s suspicions mushroomed. What did Taylor know? What could be worse than his cheating on her?

  Perhaps she needed to find out for herself what was going on. Until she knew for sure, she doubted she would ever be completely free of Beau Devereaux.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Trees draped with Spanish moss created ghostly shadows along the sides of the rode as Beau drove to the river. The rain had cleared and the stars poked out from behind drifting clouds. The only sound in his ears was the hum of his engine and the thumping of his heart. Anger flowed through his veins, burning away every ounce of his restraint.

  The faces of the girls who had demoralized him at the game, who had taken away his chance at stardom, drifted in and out of his head. He couldn’t let them get away with any of it.

  He hankered for a way to satiate his desire to hurt someone. The lot empty, he left his car by the entrance and made his way across the shells, the crunching of his shoes the only sound around him. He followed the path to the beach. Just as he was about to step through the thick brush running along the shoreline, the lone howl of a dog sailed through the air. He came to a grinding halt and listened.

  No way! Is that what I think it is?

  He checked the brush. He sure didn’t want to end up eaten by one of those damned wild dogs. That would be a shitty way to go.

  His toes hit the sand and disappointment shredded his hope. There were no early birds to the party. All was quiet.

  He kicked at the water clawing the sand along the shore, thinking about what might have been. Could he redeem himself? Could he still find a way to play college ball?

  Images of a life at the brewery or sitting behind his father’s big desk left him feeling weak in the knees. He didn’t want that life, and he would be damned if he would settle.

  Suddenly the sounds of rushing water became like the roar of the crowd at the football game. He wanted peace and no reminders of what had just happened. There was only one place where he could be truly alone. He headed across the beach to the path leading toward The Abbey.

  His feet pounded the ground, declaring his frustration. He needed another girl, someone else to destroy.

  Beau turned right at the broken fountain, smirking at the praying angel.

  “Nobody’s listening, buddy.”

  He set out across the high grass, running his fingers along the tips of the shoots. The tickling sensation added to his throbbing need to pulverize flesh and bone.

  He debated what to do with the rest of his life. Perhaps with his days free of the hassle of football practice, he could pursue other extracurricular activities. The kind used to enhance his burgeoning interest in pain.

  Apprehension zinged through him when he stepped inside the cells. The warm light from flickering candles danced on the walls around him. Someone was in his room.

  He hugged the wall, ready to tear into whoever had dared to steal what was his. He paused at the doorway and peeked into his room, trying to get an idea of what he was up against.

  The flare of a lit cigarette in the shadows of the room caught his eye.

  “Told you I would be in touch.”

  Andrea stretched out on the cot, a coat wrapped around her, staving off the chill in the room. The color of her hair intermingled with a red scarf draped around her neck as she reclined. A slender sliver of a smile welcomed him inside.

  He wiped his hands together, imagining things he would like to do with that scarf. “I needed to see a friendly face tonight.”

  “I figured your friends would be at the beach by now and I didn’t want to be seen.” She put out her cigarette in the wall behind her. “So, I came here.”

  Beau approached the cot, his desire to hurt her charging to life. “They’re probably still at the football game.”

  She sat up and shimmied closer to him. “And why aren’t you at the game?”

  His heavy sigh resonated like a howling wind inside the small room. He leaned over the cot, apprehensive about saying too much.

  “That’s a long story.”

  She traced her finger along the blue vein running up his left forearm. “You’ve got all night to tell me about it.”

  He ogled her tight jeans and her long legs. “I’m not in the mood for talking.” He took a tendril of her silky hair between his fingers. “What I really need right now is to forget.”

  She stood from the cot, curling her arms around his neck. “You don’t even want to talk about what’s bothering you?”

  Her hair sifted through his fingers. He was anxious to change the subject. “I know nothing about you. Where do you go to school? You never mentioned any place before.”

  “I’m not in school.”

  She smiled and he noticed the slight gap in her front teeth.

  “Why were you hanging around here the other night?”

  “It was by chance.” Her deep green eyes gazed into his. “I was partying with friends on the river and wandered off. I’m glad I did.”

  Beau got excited at the thought of her being all his for the night. “Where are your friends? Did you come alone?”

  She ran her hand up his chest. “Yep. I’m all alone.” She took her lower lip in her teeth and then let it go. “And all yours.”

  Unable to wait any longer, Beau held Andrea by the back of the neck and kissed her. It was a long, slow, deep kiss. The kind he never liked to give, but with her, it just felt right.

  A howl came from the direction of The Abbey.

  Andrea pulled away, listening to the air. “Sounds like the wild dogs are close by tonight.”

  He nuzzled her neck, not giving a damn about the dogs. “You know about them?”

  “I did a little research on this place. Talked to a few of the locals.” She moved away from him. “There’s quite a legend about it.”

  He watched her hips beneath her coat, getting turned on by the painful things he would do to her. “What legends?”

  Andrea tossed her head. “The dogs hang around The Abbey waiting for the lady in white to claim them. She was a gamekeeper for the seminary school and a lover of one of the monks. She died on the grounds, betrayed by the man she loved. The dogs were kept to manage the varmint population. The wild dogs are said to be the offspring of her dogs.”

  Beau slipped the coat off her shoulders, eager to see more of her. “I’ve lived here all my life and never heard such stories.”

  She waited as he put her coat to the side. “Then you don’t listen to the people around here. I also found an old newspaper article in your local library about the gamekeeper and how she was found hanging from a tree in a white hooded priest’s cloak. It was all kept very hush-hush at the time by the Catholic Church. After the woman’s death, her dogs were allowed to roam the grounds and live off the land. They’re said to only appear when death is near.”

  Already bored with her story, he unzipped the fly of her jeans, eager to have his hands around her slender throat.

  “That’s just creepy.”

  She glanced at his hands as they tugged her
jeans down her hips. “A guy who brings girls to these abandoned cells is into creepy.”

  Beau hesitated, confused. “What’s wrong with the cells?”

  He’d never considered himself weird. The cells had been a means to an end—a private quiet place to be with girls. But as he considered her statement, he liked the image the cells portrayed. It was his laboratory, like he’d read about in Frankenstein, where he could experiment and create his own monsters.

  She cupped his cheeks and brought his mouth back to hers. “It’s fine for us, but if you find a nice girl, don’t bring her here.”

  He chuckled as he traced the outline of her jaw with his finger. “There’s no such thing as nice girls.”

  Every girl who pretended to be nice hid a darker element beneath her pink cheeks. They were just as much into pain as he was.

  Andrea took the red scarf and lassoed it around his neck. She worked her jeans the rest of the way down and kicked them away. Like an exotic dancer teasing a client, she hooked her fingers along the lacy edges of her pink underwear and slid them down her hips with an alluring grin.

  His mouth watered with the things he would do to her. Her panties drifted to the floor, and he moved in. Spinning her around, he spooned into her back and kissed her neck. She smelled like a forest during the height of spring, adding to his desire to possess her.

  On the cot, he removed the scarf from around his neck and dangled it in front of Andrea.

  She held out her wrists. “Now you’re talking.”

  “It’s as if we’re the same.” He cinched the scarf around her wrists. “Don’t you think?”

  Their kiss was long and delicious. He broke away only briefly to wiggle out of his sweatshirt and jeans.

  “I want to do everything with you, Beau.”

  That was all he needed to hear. He quickly collected a condom from his jeans and slipped it on. He settled next to her on the cot.

  Initially, he was gentle. He caressed every inch of soft skin, but as his hunger grew, his need to hurt her did too.