Page 25 of Deviant

“I see that, asshole. But where to?”

I scan him from head to toe, the fucker still only in his boxers, even though it’s well past noon.

“Where do you think? Some of us have to work for a living, you know?”

“Not when it’s their day off, they don’t,” he counters back knowingly.

Little shit.

“You keeping tabs on me, little brother?” I smirk.

“Fuck no. Couldn’t give a rat’s ass what you do,” he snarls in disgust. “But Mom can’t be alone, and I’ve got shit to do this afternoon. Being your day off and all, I thought you’d be the one to stay home today.”

“You thought wrong.”

His nostrils flare, his light-blue gaze throwing daggers at me.

“Don’t be an asshole, Elias. I’ve been on babysitting duty all week.”

“Taking care of our sick mother isn’t babysitting, asshole. It’s called being a good son,” I snarl back at him. “But if that’s too much hassle for you, why don’t you get a real job so I can stay with Mom from now on? I’m sure I can ask Rick to give you a job at the garage.”

This gets his attention, and not in a good way.

The fucker doesn’t want to spend his time doing an honest day’s work, much less get his hands dirty working at the same garage I do.

No.

Aidan is just like our deadbeat father—he prefers to earn his cash the Blackwater Falls way, and by that, I mean lettingThe Scourgemoney fall on his lap instead.

I bet the fucker is counting down the days until he starts receiving his own share of the pot and no longer has to mooch off our mother.

Lord knows when that happens, he’ll never spend a day looking after her again.

Not that she has that long, which is a blessing all in itself.

She still thinks Aidan walks on water and can do no wrong.

But I know better.

The little shit-stain is a parasite.

Sucking out the good in everything until there is nothing left but an empty, hollow void.

“Come on, Elias. Do me this solid. All I need is an hour,” he says more diplomatically as if his friendly tone could convince me. “Just one hour.”

“Why do you need it so bad?” I ask, my curiosity somewhat piqued.

“That’s none of your fucking business,” he snaps, unable to keep up with the charade of being nice to me.

“Have it your way then.” I begin to turn around to head toward the door again, only to have him stop me once more.

“Jesus fuck, but you’re a dick,” he hollers, disgruntled. “Just give me an hour. One fucking hour. That’s not asking for too much.”

I turn around and cross my arms over my chest.

“Fine. You want an hour? I’ll give you an hour. On one condition—you tell me why you need it so bad.”

His briefly relieved expression turns hesitant for a second as he considers his options.

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