Page 1 of Devil’s Kiss (Sunset Cove #2)

Eleven Years Earlier

L IFE IN THE Pearson household was pretty standard week after week.

That was the one sure thing that Derek relied on to survive, day in and day out.

He knew his father’s routine as well as his own and made it a habit to give the fucker a wide berth whenever he could— less trouble for all of us in the long run that way.

Three nights a week, his dad worked the graveyard shift and dragged his sorry ass in just as the sun was rising.

So each morning, Derek’s goal was to be out of the house and running his way up the long stretch of hard-packed sand by then.

That way, when he finally finished his morning exercise his father would either be passed out drunk in his recliner or facedown in his bed.

Isn’t life grand, he thought, as he came to a stop at the back of their tiny, run-down home that morning, and looked up at the screen door.

The bottom of the three stairs that led up to the patio was broken, and one side of it was wedged down into the sand, making it a hazard to anyone who wasn’t aware should they try climbing it.

But that wasn’t really an issue, considering no one in their right mind would bother coming to visit the Pearson household.

If anything, they steered clear of it—one of the perks of being the town’s pariahs .

Well, he wasn’t so much because he kept his head down and his attitude in check…

most days. His father and brother, however, were a different story.

By some miracle of fate, he’d managed to distance himself from the two men who resided in this home over the past nineteen years.

Yet he still hadn’t worked up the nerve to leave altogether.

Not to mention, he had no fucking money.

That was something he was determined to change this year.

He was going to find a job. One that paid well.

And he was going to work as hard as he possibly could to get the hell away from the clusterfuck that was his everyday life.

That’s the plan, anyway.

Using the bottom of his shirt, he swiped the sweat away from his face and ran a hand through his short hair.

Fuck, best to get this part of the day over with.

It was such a fantastic feeling to be scared to set foot into your own home, and that was exactly the way he felt each morning, knowing he may come face to face with the monster who lurked inside.

After stepping over the broken plank, he carefully climbed the other two steps and winced when his foot hit the washed-out wood of the patio deck.

The groaning creak was difficult to avoid because no matter where you trod, the timber was going to protest. He froze in place, hoping the door wasn’t about to slap open and reveal his hulking father, but when nobody came out he figured he was safe—for now.

He crossed the deck and slowly opened the door and yep, there was good ole Dad sprawled back on the recliner with a beer bottle resting in his lap. It wasn’t even seven in the morning.

Keeping a wary eye on the sleeping man, Derek cautiously walked around the footrest and was almost home free when his sneaker landed on an empty cigarette carton his dad must’ve dumped on his way inside.

“Derek?” his dad slurred out in a low, raspy voice, and Derek bit the inside of his cheek in an effort not to speak. Their encounters were always smoother if he kept his mouth shut. He’d learned that the hard way.

“Derek,” his father said again, but this time turned in the chair to see where he was. “Didn’t you hear me, boy? I’m speaking to you.”

Reminding himself that the quickest way out of this situation was to reply and then hightail it out of there, Derek ordered himself to turn around and face the man who was barking at him. “Dad.”

“Where’ve you been?”

Like it wasn’t obvious from his attire or that he did the same exact thing every morning. Though it was a testament to the fact that, just as he’d always suspected, his father didn’t give a shit about him or what he did one way or another.

“Out for a run.”

“With that faggot friend of yours?”

The words were jarring, like a slap to the face, and Derek balled his fists at the familiar slur. It was nothing new. He’d been hearing this homophobic bullshit ever since his father had found out he was gay back when he was sixteen. That didn’t mean it galled him any less.

God, he wanted to punch the fucker in the face. He had the muscles to do it now, too. The only thing that held him back was the desire to be the total opposite to the piece of shit now kicking down the footrest and getting to his feet.

Like himself, his father was an intimidating wall of a man. Both topping out at six four, they each looked the other in the eye. He was sure that pissed his father off to no end, too, because it made him harder to push around. So did the big fucking muscles he’d worked his ass off to build.

“No,” Derek finally answered. “I was running alone.”

“Why?” his father said. “Your boyfriend stand you up?”

Derek prayed for patience as he looked out the lone window in the back of their home. “He’s not my boyfriend. And Finn doesn’t run. You know that.”

His dad half staggered, half walked over to him, and when their shoulders collided Derek glared at him and saw an evil twinkle light his eyes.

“Yeah? Well, good thing. His knees are probably shot from all the cock he sucks.”

He should’ve just walked to the kitchen, but Derek felt the tight leash that’d been holding him back finally snap. He reached out, grabbed hold of his father’s thick wrist, and halted him. “What did you just say?”

His father’s bloodshot eyes narrowed an inch and he gave a menacing grin.

“I said, his knees are probably—” But before he could finish, Derek had swung his arm around and sucker-punched the prick right in the jaw.

As if on instinct, and without giving it a second thought, his father backhanded him so hard that he went stumbling across the room.

Jesus, the fucker can hit. He has that skill down to an art form, Derek thought as he raised a hand to his eye. That’s gonna leave a goddamn bruise. There were two things his father excelled at in this life: drinking and fighting. It just so happened the fighting was usually with him.

As his dad seethed, he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and muttered, “Get out of my sight.”

The words didn’t hurt, not anymore. Derek had grown used to the idea that he disgusted his father.

What he would never be able to understand was the stranger glaring at him.

It was hard to fathom you could come from such a vile creature filled with so much hatred.

Yet at the same time, the physical resemblance was so uncanny it was difficult to refute.

Cradling the side of his face, Derek congratulated himself on getting one in before he’d been clobbered, and then gingerly stepped around his dad.

He knew nothing else would follow. Ever since the age of seventeen, when he’d packed on the height, weight, and muscle and could actually fight back, it never went further from there.

But until the day he moved out, Derek would always be on guard and watching his back, because fuck only knew if one night his father would crack and ambush him.

Stomping down the hall, he told himself over and over that no matter what happened this year he would get a job, and he would get the hell out of this house for good.

JORDAN DEVANEY STOOD under the hard-hitting spray of warm water and let the jets from his three showerheads hit every possible muscle on his deliciously aching body.

Yesss, last night had been exactly what he needed. He’d decided to indulge himself in a little nighttime delight before his new rule of no party shenanigans during the work week kicked into full effect after accepting his new position at the local university.

He laughed to himself as the water slicked down over him, still unable to believe that he was going to be in charge of educating future generations. He’d decided that the dean could quite possibly be mad for giving him such a position of authority, but he knew that wasn’t the case.

He was brilliant; there were no two ways around it.

A certified genius according to his IQ and the bachelor’s degree he’d received at the ripe old age of fourteen before going on to complete his PhD by his twenty-first birthday.

And on top of those two facts was the recommendation from one of the university’s most beloved professors.

The woman whose job he would be taking over—Professor Anne Hamilton. God rest her soul.

When he’d been nothing more than a smartass kid getting in too much trouble for his own good, his mother and father had pulled him from school on the recommendation of his teachers, who said that his test scores may require he have “special” schooling.

Soon after, they’d hired several tutors to home-school him.

As money wasn’t ever an issue in the Devaney household, his parents threw the best minds in the business at him, and when he showed a special interest in history they hired on the brightest, and toughest, teacher in the nation.

Professor Hamilton. The woman who’d recently recommended him , of all people, to take her place when she found out she was going to need her energy to fight a new crusade: her ailing health.

He still couldn’t believe it. He had more money than he knew what to do with and he’d always assumed he’d travel to far-off and exotic places to take part in exciting archaeological digs, not be stuck in some stuffy room teaching uninterested teens about ruins from a slide show collection.

But around six months ago she’d asked him a question he hadn’t been able to answer.

“Are you satisfied with your life, Jordan? You have so much, and everything has always come so easy to you. But is your mind challenged? Or do you want more? Don’t you want to make a difference?”