Jill Sorenson - Crash Into Me

Ben was having the most realistic erotic dream of his life. Summer had not only dropped her towel, she’d dropped to her knees in front of him, and was taking him into her mouth, drawing him deep, practically eating him alive.

He was reaching down to tell her to take it easy, they had all night, when he came up with a tangle of long, curly hair.

Oh, shit.

Coming fully awake, he jumped out of bed, stumbling, his feet still wrapped up in the sheets. Light from the hallway illuminated the room enough for him to confirm that the woman in his bed wasn’t Summer.

It wasn’t a woman at all, but a sixteen-year-old girl.

His daughter’s best friend, Lisette.

“Don’t you want me to finish?”

Following her gaze down his body, he realized he was fully aroused, and she was responsible for it. This wasn’t an erotic dream. It was a fucking nightmare.

He jerked his boxer shorts up with shaking hands. “Get out,” he said through gritted teeth, feeling totally violated.

She pouted prettily.

“Get the fuck out, now!” He looked around the room in a panic, as if the pedophile police were about to burst in on them. “I’m going to call your mom and tell her about this, you little-” He bit off the word he was about to say, reminding himself that Lisette was just a confused girl, not much different from Carly, and he would go apeshit if some unfeeling bastard called his daughter names.

Her face crumpled. “But I love you!”

“Oh, Christ,” he muttered, turning away from the sight of her naked body.

Like Carly’s cutting herself, this was a situation he couldn’t have anticipated. He knew Lisette was a problem child and a bad influence, that she wore too much makeup and too few clothes. Her parents let her run wild, and he’d always felt kind of sorry for her. Never once had he imagined she would try to climb into bed with him.

He should have locked his door.

“Just get out of my room, Lisette,” he said over his shoulder. “I’m not interested in little girls. Don’t ever do this again.”

“I’m not a little girl, you asshole, I’m a woman!”

He felt the pillow hit his back, and was infuriated to think that Carly might wander in on this insanity. He couldn’t make Lisette leave, short of physically removing her, and he wasn’t going anywhere near her. Spine stiff with fury, he walked out of the room.

Downstairs, as he dialed her mother’s cell phone number with stabbing fingers, it occurred to him that Lisette would have a very different story to tell about tonight’s debacle, one that could get him into a considerable amount of trouble.

If he kept his mouth shut, she probably would, too.

Then again, silence implied guilt.

Before he could rethink his actions, Lisette’s mother answered. Her voice was low and throaty, as distinctive as always. From the background noise, it sounded like she was at a party.

“Sheila. This is Ben Fortune.”

If the name caused her any distress, her voice didn’t reflect it. “Ben. What can I do you for?” She laughed lustily at her own joke.

“You know Lisette is staying over here with Carly, right?”

That got her attention. “Right. Oh, right. Is everything okay?”

“Not really. They’re fine, but-”

“What? You’re breaking up.”

“I said-”

Static interrupted him, and it was the last he heard from her. After a few minutes, he gave up trying to reach her, and when he ascended the stairs again, he found his bed empty. Breathing a sigh of relief, he locked the door to his bedroom for the first time since Olivia died.

He was exhausted, but sleep eluded him until just before dawn.

On the south side of Windansea, he waited, crouched in the shadows. He’d seen the girl before and considered taking her. What he’d just witnessed through the ocean-facing window of Ben Fortune’s bedroom had clinched it for him.

He prided himself in being calculated in his selections. Only when he disassociated himself from the act, and the victim, did he feel satisfied by the outcome. He’d learned to release his twisted needs with strangers after that initial, near-fatal mistake.

Choosing a woman he knew, even in passing, was risky; choosing one with a connection to Ben, even more so. Emotions were tricky, sticky things that sullied this dark business. He liked to kill clean.

He took several deep breaths, trying to calm the beast that lurked within him. It wanted to grab the girl and tear out her throat. Hold her down while she struggled to break free. Wipe the taste of Ben from her lips as she took her last breath.

In the chill of predawn, he was far from cold. He was sweating, panting, raging. Bloodlust burned inside him, hot and bright.

After that first, grievous error, which had almost precipitated his downfall, he’d been afraid to strike again. A year had gone by. He’d planned, deliberated, waited. And finally, when the perfect opportunity presented itself, he’d leapt upon the female offender and wrung the life from her malformed body.

The memory made his mouth water.

She’d been nothing to him, nothing to anyone. She was just another pretty face, little more than a sexual plaything, and that had infuriated him. God, how he hated her kind, and relished making one pay for the transgressions of all.

A nameless sacrifice would be a better candidate than the girl who had just left Ben’s bedroom, eyes flashing with anger, curly hair flying around her tearstained face.

But she was right there in front of him and he couldn’t deny himself the pleasure.

Just before dusk, Carly went to look for James at the same place she’d seen him last.

Across Windansea Beach, the sun dipped low into the Pacific, casting shimmering gold over that tumultuous expanse. The waves were choppy, no good for surfing, so her dad had settled into his leather chair with one of his boring philosophy books. He was such a nerd.

He let her go out under the pretext of jogging, a sport she used to enjoy. She was going to take it up again, she decided, putting in a good sprint to get there. She’d have to sprint back if she wanted to arrive home in time to avoid suspicion.

While she waited, leaning back against the dark gray stone, she sifted sand through her fingers, letting her mind drift back to the last time she was here, and what she’d been doing. Or about to do. Moaning in frustration, she closed her eyes, wishing she could make a tiny little cut, just a swift, sweet nick, to take the edge off.

“I thought I told you not to come here.”

Her eyes popped open. Again, she’d neither seen nor heard his approach. In the shadow of the rocks at sunset, there was enough light to see that she hadn’t exaggerated his appeal in her mental picture of him. He was tall, but not gangly enough to be an awkward jumble of knees and elbows like some boys his age. In the last rays of the sun, his brown hair glinted like bronze, and she saw that his eyes were a striking dark blue.

“You don’t own the beach,” she replied sulkily, wondering why her heart was doing double-time.

“I don’t want your blood on my sand.”

“Do I look like I’m bleeding?” She raised her hands to show him that they were empty, not realizing until then that she held fistfuls of sand. “You’re just disappointed that I haven’t taken off my shirt.”

“No,” he said, drawing out the word. “I don’t like seeing you hurt yourself.”

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t know,” he replied, looking out at the last sliver of sun.

“I can’t do it anymore anyway. My dad found out.”

“Good.”

She squinted up at him. “Whose side are you on?”