Free Devil's Kiss (Sunset Cove #2) by Ella Frank Page B

Ignore him. Ignore him. “Yeah. I have a job.” Or don’t.
    He took a step in the direction of the front door, hoping that would be the end of that—but he should’ve known better. His father never let anything go. It was one of the reasons the Pearson household was a minefield. One misstep and a bomb exploded right under your feet before you had a chance to fucking blink.
    “Where do you work?”
    Like I’m ever going to tell you, you piece of shit.  
    Derek swallowed back his initial thought and closed his eyes. Just let me go, he prayed, and took another step toward the front door.
    “I asked where you’ve been workin’, Derek. Or you lyin’ to me? You doing something you shouldn’t be?”
    If he were smart, he would walk out the door and keep his mouth shut. However, Derek was coming to realize that maybe he wasn’t as smart as Mrs. Finley was always telling him he was.  
    Pivoting around, he dumped his bag on the floor and walked over to where his father was taking a drag of his cigarette.
    “And what do you possibly think I’m doing that I shouldn’t be? Drinking? Drugs? What a fucking joke. You asking me that.”
    His father scoffed. “Don’t get smart with me, boy.”  
    “I wouldn’t dream of it. You might not understand me,” Derek said as he looked his father straight in the eye and wondered why, somewhere in the back of his head, he was hoping his dad would try and take a swing. Maybe because then he would have an excuse to hit him back.
    Instead, his father bent to connect the antenna in and then held it out in front of him, trying to get a signal. Derek looked him over, shaking his head as he took in the grubby white wife beater— how appropriate —the black cotton shorts with a hole in the left thigh, and the years-old flip-flops. The man was as run-down as the house he lived in.
    “If you’re workin’, you ought to be contributin’.”
    Derek’s words failed him at that, and then he started to laugh—the sound unhinged and a little bit deranged. “You can’t be serious.”
    His father’s blue eyes, identical to his own, found his, and the arctic freeze in them explained the iciness that ran through his own veins.  
    “Course I’m serious. You live here, dontcha? It’s my roof that provides shelter for you. If you’re working, I expect rent. Monthly. You can bring it to me tonight. Two hundred’ll do.”
    Derek could feel his disbelief morphing into a full-on boiling rage as his father’s words hovered between them, and when he brought the cigarette to his lips, Derek took a menacing step toward the man.  
    There was no way he was going to give this fucker a single penny of his. Not when he was saving every last cent so he could get the hell away from him.
    “I’m not giving you a goddamn thing.”
    Finally a static-filled image appeared on the tube and his father froze in place, craning his head to see his handiwork. “No skin off my back. It’s simple. If you don’t have the cash, don’t bother coming home.”
    As if his father had just hit him, Derek reeled back. “What?”
    “You heard me. If you don’t bring the cash, boy, you ain’t welcome.”
    “Alan doesn’t do shit and he’s here—”
    “Alan’s worthless,” his father snapped.  
    “Like father, like son,” Derek said, hating that that was the damn truth. He’d been working his entire life to be the exact opposite to the loathsome human currently staring at him, but he recognized threads of the man’s genes in him, like his temper and need to release his pent-up anger.
    “Apple never falls that far from the tree, Derek. You should know that. You’re a chip right off the old block yourself—”  
    “Shut up,” Derek barked, shuddering at that thought. “I’m nothing like you.”
    “Aren’t you? You’re such a cocky shit, holier than thou in every way. But look at you; you’re not so pure. And I ain’t just talking about who you fuck,” he jeered, leaning in so close that