There Is No Devil Sinners Duet Book 2 By Sophie Lark-pdfread

Her real work has always been leeching off men. Randall has lasted the
longest, because he was the first one stupid enough to marry her.
Even my father didn’t marry her. Whoever he might be.
When I can’t stay outside any longer, I slip my key in the lock and open the
door as silently as possible.
I hate the smell of Randall’s house. It stinks of dirt from his back garden—in
which he is always laboring without ever managing to make it actually pretty
—and of the brand of cheap boxed wine my mother likes to drink, and
Randall’s pine-scented aftershave.
The only part of the house I like at all is my own room. My goal is to get
there as quickly as possible without being seen.
I creep down the hall, forced to cross the open doorway leading into the
living room. I can see the back of Randall’s head as he sits in his favorite
recliner. I hate the blocky shape of his skull, the buzzed gray hair, and the
fold of fat between his hairline and his plaid button-down.
I’m tip-toeing across that opening when Randall says, “Get in here.”
My stomach sinks down to my loafers.
I creep into the living room, my hands already clammy.
He expects me to come stand in front of his recliner. I take a quick glance at
his face, trying to gauge how bad his mood is today.
Three empty beer bottles sit on the side table next to him. Three isn’t too bad.
However, the ruddy flush on his face makes me think those aren’t the first
three of the day.
“You’re late,” he grumbles.
Randall’s voice sounds even older than he is. It sounds like a bag of rocks
tumbling around in the back of a truck.
“I didn’t have detention,” I say swiftly. “I was walking home with some girls.
Mandy Patterson and some others.”