Elizabeth walked into the room. “Is that the truth?”
Beau cringed. “Yes, it’s the truth! I wasn’t doing anything wrong.”
“You’ve been acting the way you used to—the rages, the tantrums. Now you’re coming in late and shouting at me.” Elizabeth gripped the edge of his bed. “Ever since this school year began, you haven’t been the same.”
He took in her bloodshot eyes, disgusted by the sight. “I’m surprised you noticed anything was different with me.”
She tugged at the lapels of her yellow robe. “Don’t push me. I went along with your father last time. He buried the incident under his money and connections. But do it again, and I won’t remain silent.”
“You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?” He didn’t hide his bitterness. “Every day you remind me with a look or a gesture.” Beau tossed off his comforter. “You spend your days in the bottom of a whiskey bottle so you don’t have to confront your son.”
“Don’t you dare speak to me that way.”
“What? Have I offended your sense of decency? That’s a laugh.” He got up and went to her. “People are talking about you. The sad little wife of Gage Devereaux. You know how he feels about his precious family name. I guarantee he will get rid of you long before he ever pushes me out the door.”
“God, you’re just like your father.” She backed away from him. “You even sound like him when you attack me.”
“Then lay off the booze.” He returned to his bed, wanting to end the conversation. “Find a man. It will get your mind off me.”
Elizabeth rushed up to him, her fists tucked into her sides. “Does Dawn know about you? Has she seen the real Beau Devereaux? I’d hoped that poor girl was getting through to you, but she isn’t, is she? Should I warn her to keep the family dog out of your reach? I can tell her what you did to mine.”
You bitch!
The rush of adrenaline forced Beau from the bed. He charged her, wanting to break her skinny little neck, but he refrained. The fear in her eyes delighted him. It gave him a rush, just like he got with Kelly and Taylor.
“If you ever say anything to Dawn, I’ll kill you.”
Elizabeth wasn’t like his high school girls. Her fear faded and a steadfast resolve replaced it.
“Yes, I believe you would.” She raised her head, becoming the society maven she always liked to portray. “I won’t tell your father you were out past your curfew. He has enough on his mind.”
He tempered his anger, not wanting to give his mother the upper hand. “I doubt he’d care.” Beau strutted back to his bed. “All he needs is an heir for his empire, not a son.”
Elizabeth gave him a stern rebuke with her cold eyes and then slipped out the door.
His head pounded after the confrontation. She always did that—enraged him to the point of madness. Ever since he could remember, he’d hated his mother.
Back in bed, he tried to sleep, but her comments lingered, and restless energy chased away his fatigue.
Unable to close his eyes, he turned to his cell phone. He snatched it up and read Dawn’s missed call notice. Perhaps talking with her would help him settle down.
“Beau?” She sounded groggy after picking up. “Why are you calling so late?”
He lay back on his bed, his hand under his head, his calm returning.
What would she like him to say?
“I missed you tonight. I wanted to hear your voice.”
“I miss you, too.” Dawn’s voice melted like butter over a flame. “Are you just getting home?”
“Yeah, Josh and Mitch met some girls at the river from Covington High. They were too drunk to drive home, so I took them. Made me miss my curfew.”
“What did your folks say?”
“It’s all good.” He added a boastful lilt to his voice. “I have to set an example for the other kids in school.”
She sighed into the phone. “You’re a good guy, Beau Devereaux. Did you have fun at the river? Please tell me Sara Bissell wasn’t there.”
“She was there.” He checked his fingernails in the light, thinking ahead, finding the right words to set his plan into motion. “I put her in her place when she tried hitting on me. She won’t be messing with you or me anymore.”
“What did you do?”
Her curiosity elicited a grin.
“I let everyone know what a slut she is. Hitting on me when I have a girlfriend, and not caring what she did with any of the guys at the river. I heard she went off with a couple of them.”
“Wow.” Dawn giggled and he smiled at the sound. “Wish I could have been there to see that. Her rep will be dirt come Monday.”
Done with the subject of Sara, he searched for something to keep her talking. “Are you having a good time at the lake?”
“I’m enjoying myself. Leslie and I are actually getting along, if you can believe it. My parents are happy about that.”
The mention of her sister set off alarm bells in his head. He sat up, his restlessness rebounding.
“What have you and Leslie been talking about?”
“Nothing much really. It’s been cool spending time with her again.”
Leslie in her ear was a bad thing. He didn’t want Leslie’s insubordination rubbing off on Dawn. He needed her compliant for a while longer.
“When are you coming home?”
“Sometime tomorrow night. We’re going out on the boat in the morning.”
“That sounds like fun.” It didn’t, but he figured it was what she would want to hear. “Wish I was there.”
“I wish you were, too. If you go back to the river, behave please.”
“I’m always good, baby.” Beau tapped his finger on the bed, anticipating another night of fun. “After last night, I don’t think the boys will be ready to party too much. They hit it pretty hard.”
Dawn yawned again. “I’d better get back to sleep. I love you, Beau.”
He hesitated, not sure what to tell her. Beau didn’t love Dawn, but he didn’t see the point in telling her that. He needed her for a little while longer.
“I’ll call you tomorrow night.”
Beau hung up with images of Leslie revolving in his head. When he told her how he felt, she would be on her knees, begging for him to hurt her, wanting to feel his hands around her throat.
That’s real love. And she’s gonna know it very soon.
Chapter Nineteen
A foggy tunnel loomed before him. Shadows played along the curved wall and beyond, he heard women’s screams. The alluring sound urged him deeper into the darkness until a voice rang out.
“Beau, wake up.”
The tunnel evaporated, and beams of light pierced the darkness around him. He opened his eyes and then his vision cleared.
His father arched over his bed. His thick brown hair damp, his face freshly shaven and his dark, harsh eyes glowering.
Damn!
“What is it, Dad?”
Gage Devereaux sat on the edge of his son’s bed, seeped in the musky, woodsy fragrance of Clive Christian Number One, and oozing the sense of mastery he commanded whenever he walked into a room. His no-nonsense business manner permeated every aspect of his life.
“I got a call from Kent Davis at the Sheriff’s Department this morning. It seems a girl who was at your river party last night was pulled over for driving erratically. They said she was very upset, looked like she had been roughed up, and had to call her mother to come and get her. Her name was Kelly Norton. Did you know her?”
Beau wiped the sleep from his eyes as his heart thudded. Play it cool.
“No, never heard of her. Does she go to St. Benedict?”
“No, Covington High.” Gage checked the time on his gold Rolex. “I’m concerned because Kent’s been getting a lot of complaints about the parties at the river. The noise, trash, and unattended fires are angering people who work and live along the river. You spend a lot of time there, and I want you to be careful.”
“We j
ust go there and hang out.”
Gage stood up. “And drink. I’m not stupid.”
He kicked his comforter away. “I don’t drink. You told me not to. We just have fun, listen to music and talk.”
Gage scowled, not looking convinced. “You aren’t like the other kids. Your future is already planned, and you have the family’s reputation to uphold. You will be a leader of this community. That position requires a certain sense of responsibility.”
Beau suppressed a groan. “I know the drill, Dad, but can we have this talk another time? I’m beat.”
His father grabbed the shoulder of his shirt and yanked him out of bed. “I want to make myself perfectly clear. When I tell you to mind yourself, tell you to stay out of trouble, you will obey me. I will not have you screw up everything our family has built.”
Beau stiffened as his father held him, and he stared, terrified, into his old man’s black eyes.
“Yes, sir.”
Gage let him go and strutted to the bedroom door. “Get dressed. We’re leaving in fifteen minutes.”
Beau wanted to punch the wall. “You’re serious?”
His father opened the door and glanced back at him. “You didn’t think I would let you off for blowing your curfew last night, did you?”
He left the room, and Beau punched the air. “Dammit!”
* * *
Gage Devereaux pulled his red 750i BMW up to the front gate of Benedict Brewery. Beau sat next to him, his gaze fixed on the ten-foot-high wire fence surrounding the facility. It was part of the security his father had added when he’d moved his offices from his other businesses to the brewery, so he could run his little empire from one location close to home. Beau had been seven at the time and had just returned from a short stint at Children’s Hospital in New Orleans. He believed the change would give him more time with his father. He had been wrong.
A private security guard, one of three on duty, waved from the guard house next to the gate. Beau caught a glimpse of the multiple TV screens inside where eighty cameras on the property monitored everyone coming and going from the site.
“New guy?” Beau asked as his father drove through the gate.
“We rotate new security guards through the facility every year or so. Only George Cason, my security head, stays on.”
Beau glimpsed the single black smokestack rising out of the red-bricked processing plant.
“Seems a bit excessive for a brewery.”
“Our family owns more than the brewery.” Gage navigated a narrow cement road with landscaped gardens on either side. “We have other business interests to protect. In a few years, when you take over more of the day-to-day management of things, you will understand.”
While the car passed two big metal buildings used for equipment storage, Beau’s hopes for his future floundered behind his father’s plans. It was all he had ever heard since he could remember—his life had been predetermined because of his name.
He had been in every building scattered across the fifty-acre facility at some point or another. Either working during the summer in the red-bricked packaging and shipping building, its loading docks filled with the fleet of green Benedict Beer delivery trucks. Or hanging over the giant copper vats in the processing center where the fermentation process took place. He’d even spent his freshman year of high school assisting in the sleek glass and steel research and development building, where his father’s team of “beer fanatics” came up with new brews to keep the company vital.
Gage waved to a delivery truck as it pulled onto the road. “We’ve started sending out Fall Fest Beer for the Oktoberfest’s going on around the area.”
Beau tuned out his father as the sleek car eased into the reserved spot outside the gray clapboard, two-story office building.
“Come November, you’ll be spending your afterschool hours in this building with me.” Gage opened his door. “I’ve let you slide on your duties since football practice began, but once the season is over, you need to get serious about the business.”
He bit his tongue as his father got out of the car.
This is such bullshit.
To the side of the building was a straight wooden staircase that climbed to a dark glass door on the second floor—his father’s private entrance to his office.
Beau followed Gage up the steps and, once inside, peered down a hallway decorated with framed posters of beer bottles. Strawberry Ale, Bogue Falaya Rock, Crescent Dark Ale and the Devereaux Special Blend were just a few of the names Beau had memorized.
His father opened the door to his immediate right; Beau noted Connie Fricken’s empty desk farther down the hall. Beau couldn’t remember a day he hadn’t seen Gage’s longtime secretary at her post.
“Where’s Connie?” He stepped into his father’s corner office.
“It’s Saturday. She’s off.”
Lucky her.
“I want to talk to you about college.” Gage had a seat behind his impressive mahogany desk.
Carved with swirls and decorative designs, the desk wasn’t as ornate as the one he had at home, but it was just as distinctive. His office was a replica of his study at home. He even had the same Oriental rug on the floor.
Beau sank into a cold leather chair, eyeing the certificates of merit, awards, and commendations earned by the brewery over the years, desperately avoiding his father’s eyes.
Gage folded his hands on his desk. “I know you’re setting your sights on getting on at Tulane to play football, but I think you need to reconsider.”
Beau’s irritation festered. “What? You don’t believe I have the chops to make a college team?”
“I won’t beat around the bush. No.” He flourished his hand in the air. “You’ve got talent, like I did at your age, but it’s not enough. You need to face that now and commit to your future.”
Beau feared his father and the repercussions he could bring down on him if he refused to accept his fate.
“What if I don’t want this future? Why can’t I figure out what I want?”
Gage slapped the desk.
Beau flinched and sank deeper into his chair.
“I could really give a shit what you want. You’re expected to take over the family businesses just like I did and my father did, and his father before him. This is the price you pay for being a Devereaux.”
Emboldened, Beau leaned forward. “You can’t make me do it. I’m gonna be eighteen soon. I can leave and be whatever I want.”
Instead of shouting or taking a swing, his father drummed his fingers on his green blotter, staring down his son. He said nothing for what felt like an eternity. Gage’s silence was more insufferable than his lectures.
Beau looked out the long picture window, down at the red rug beneath his feet, his fingernails, the edge of the desk, anything to avoid his father’s disturbing gaze.
Gage stopped drumming his fingers. “Okay. I’m going to make a deal with you. I’ll give you one shot at football. I think you will fail, but if you prove me wrong, I will relent and let you try playing college ball to see what you can do.”
Beau perked up, not sure if he believed him. “You’re kidding?”
“If you blow this shot, you will devote yourself to attending college and working summers here with me.” Gage pointed a long, threatening finger at him. “And you will take your place as head of the company when I give it to you. No more talk about what you want. Your ass will be mine.”
His rebellious streak resurfaced. “I’ll prove you wrong.”
Gage gave his son a cursory once over. “I’ve got a friend in the athletic department at Tulane. I’ll give him a call. I’ll ask him to send a scout to look at you for the next game.”
He couldn’t believe it. Joy shot through Beau like a bolt of lightning. He jumped in the air, almost toppling over his chair.
“Are you serious?”
Gage showed no emotion, not even a raised eyebrow. “They will determine if you’re good enough to play. If they
pass on you, you will give up this dream of playing football.”
Beau went around the desk to his father, holding out his hand. “Yes, sir. If they tell me I’m no good, then I’ll give up. But they won’t, I know it.”
Gage Devereaux studied his son, the doubt swimming in his eyes, but he did not shake his hand. “I think you’re in for a rude awakening, Beau. And when that happens, you’re to promise me one more thing. No more outbursts.” His father stood, rising to his full height, just a smidgen over his son. “You will control your anger, and if you can’t, I will take action this time.” He then took his son’s extended hand and shook it.
Beau didn’t give a damn what his father said. He was going to impress the scout from Tulane and make the team. Then he could kiss the brewery goodbye and do what he wanted with his life.
Nobody’s gonna tell me what to do.
* * *
“Can you believe my old man has got a scout coming to the game?”
Too excited to sit still, Beau paced in front of his bedroom window.
“Fan-fucking-tastic news.” Mitch’s voice grew louder with every word.
“Josh is game to celebrate tonight at the river. You in, Mitch?”
Beau had called each one of his teammates to let them know about the scout, hoping to motivate them to be in top form. If they played well, he would play well. Mitch and Josh were stoked.
“Anythin’ you want to do. You know me, I’m always up for a party at the river.” Mitch’s voice rose a little. “Hey, have you heard about Kelly?”
Beau’s enthusiasm sputtered. “Kelly? What about her?”
“Cops picked her up. Word is she got knocked around a bit at the river.” Mitch hesitated. “My parents heard about it and started asking me all kinds of stuff about what we do there.”
Beau tapped his finger on his phone, not happy the crazy bitch from Covington had rained on his parade.
“My dad asked me about it too. We’ll just have to start being more selective about who we let into our parties.”
Mitch’s deep laugh came through the phone speaker. “Sounds like a winning game plan. What time we headin’ out?”
Death by the River (A St. Benedict Novel Book 1) Page 16