“Babe,” Nixon says as he walks over to Rowan, who’s nursing their son, “we’re going to go fishing.”

“Fishing, huh?” Poppy asks, tilting her head up to look at me.

“I want to go fishing!” Erica yells, making her baby brother jump.

“Not today, baby doll,” Nixon tells her. “Camden and I have to talk man to man.”

I flash Poppy a pleading look. If Nixon needs me, we don’t need little prying ears. Luckily, my girl is understanding.

“We don’t need silly boys to plan our own fishing expedition,” Poppy tells her. “Let’s go look at your globe and figure out where we’ll go without them.”

Erica bounces on her feet and tugs Poppy from the couch. Before she gets too far away, I grab her left hand and bring it to me so I can kiss it. She’s wearing her newest Michele Deco Diamond bracelet watch I got for her on Valentine’s Day, but that’s not what I want to see. What I want to see is how obnoxious the diamond on her ring finger looks on her tiny hand. I love that it’s ridiculous and over-the-top expensive. I thought she’d give me grief for it, but diamonds really are a girl’s best friend. She loves that ring. She loves what it signifies more. Next fall, we’re going to get married. This beautiful, brilliant, funny woman will be mine in every sense of the word. The Beckett name will be banished, and another Pearson will enter the fray.

“You’re beautiful,” I mouth to her.

“You’re mine,” she mouths back.

I’m grinning as I follow Nixon out the back of the house to his new boat he has docked. It’s a speedboat and not nearly as badass as Lady Vindicta, but Psycho Queen makes up where she lacks in looks and luxury in speed. She’s a monster that eats distance like it’s her fucking job.

We board the boat and Nixon wastes no time firing up her engine and blasting us along the coast. We’re miles away when I finally yell over the noise.

“Where are we really going?”

His jaw is set and the muscles in his arms are taut as he navigates the waters. “We have a meeting.”

I lift my brows. “Anyone ever tell you you have the whole Dexter Morgan vibe going on now that you’re a boat man like me?”

He grins and tips his head. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You would, asshole.”

We both smile as he drives us to our location. My brother has always had my back. Like now, he’s doing this for me. It was always in our plan. Sure enough, he pulls up to the dock behind Poppy’s childhood home. Where Marshall fucking Beckett still lives. That part really does my head in. He tattled to the FBI about his friends’ illegal activities that were more far reaching than even I had realized in exchange for immunity. I’d been pissed as fuck, and Poppy cried. The bastard may have lost his job, but he still lives his life out in early retirement while his friends rot in jail.

Nixon pulls up beside the dock and jumps out. He ties the boat quickly and motions to a cabinet. “Put that on and hand me one. We can’t risk it.”

I pull out the ski masks and gloves, shooting him an amused stare. “Why does it entertain me to know you have this shit ready?”

He shrugs. “Because you’re a happy bastard, I guess. Fuck if I know. Cover your face and your prints. Our meeting may get ugly.”

It can’t get too ugly, though. He knows I need my record clear and free for my future. And he sure as fuck won’t jeopardize his happiness with his family. Too much is at stake.

We’re just going to talk.

That’s all I ever wanted.

After we don our disguises, we prowl up the back of his property and sneak up to the back door. Nixon starts pulling tools out of his pocket to pick the lock. I pull on the sliding glass door and it opens. He snorts and puts the unneeded tools away. We slip inside and creep through the house. It stinks. Like old fucking man and stale liquor. He’s just about bankrupted himself over attorney fees according to Cronk who likes to hack into his bank accounts and keep me apprised on shit. I can’t wait until this bastard loses everything.

We find him sitting at his desk looking haggard and old. He’s fallen asleep in his chair, wearing just his boxers. His hair has turned white over the past months, probably from stress. He’s pathetic.

And yet…

I’m that little boy terrified as fuck.

My feet come to a stop, and I can’t move forward. Nixon squeezes my shoulder. “I’ve got you, man.” He pushes past me and slams a fist on the desk.

Marshall jolts awake and stares up at him in horror. “Who the fuck are you?”

Nixon pulls a gnarly looking knife from his belt as Marshall scrambles for his desk drawer. I rush over, finding my courage, and yank the drawer open. A gun. I jerk it away before he can get his hands on it. Realizing he’s stuck, he raises both palms.

“I don’t want any trouble, boys,” he says.

Spineless bastard.

“We’re not boys,” Nixon growls. “We’re your worst fucking nightmare.”

“I don’t understand,” Marshall mutters.

“We’re here for the meeting you owe me,” I bite out.

His eyes widen in horror. “Pearson? You sound just like your fucking dad.”

“And thank fuck your little girl is nothing like you,” I snap back. “Did you find out I’m going to marry her?”

“She’s a bitch like her mother. I should have done her like I did Lana,” he bellows, his face turning purple with fury.

Nixon and I exchange a look.

“What did you do?” Nixon demands.

“You’re going to kill me anyway,” Marshall grumbles. “I think it would be good for you to destroy Poppy by telling her her mom didn’t kill herself. She stumbled upon some shit I had on my computer and threatened to move far away with my daughter. To turn me in. So I dragged that bitch into the bathroom and helped her cut her wrists open. Stupid cunt.” He points at me. “Go tell your fiancée I would have done the same to her had I been smarter.”

“Pick up that pen,” I bellow. “I want you to write a motherfucking apology to your daughter. For being a sick pig who hurts children and preys on the weak. Do it and make it believable.” We all know he’s not really sorry, but Poppy deserves an apology. She deserves to know the truth. “Tell her how her mother was forced to kill herself.”

“And if I don’t?” he taunts. “You’ll kill me anyway.”

“My brother will do no such thing,” Nixon growls. “Because he’s innocent and pure. I, on the other fucking hand, will peel your skin off square by square and feed it to you until you write the goddamn letter.”

The pussy of a man jerks his hand to pick up the pen. Nixon walks up behind him to read over his shoulder. He nods when Marshall sets the pen down.

“Now what?” Marshall demands.

“I want to know why,” I croak out.

He pins me with hate-filled eyes. My first inclination is to look at the floor, but Dad’s words are forefront in my mind.

“Eyes here, son,” Dad barks out. “When you’re talking man to man, you look him straight in the eye. I don’t care if he’s bigger than you. Smarter than you. Better looking than you. Richer than you. You look at him as though you are equals, but you know deep down you are better. You make him question his worth.”

I glower down at Marshall like he’s the scum of the earth. He is. About time someone calls him on it.

“I don’t know why,” Marshall snaps. “There. Happy? Are you going to kill me or what? I’m over this shit.”

Again, Dad is in my head, walking me through this every step of the way.

“Do what you have to do. You’re a Pearson. Pearson men are strong and don’t bow to fucking anyone.”

“Now,” I say as I hand the man the gun, “you’re going to do what you should have done a long time ago. Now, you give back to the motherfucking community, Mayor.”

He eyes the gun like he might try something funny, but Nixon thumps him in the back of the head, reminding him he could slit his throat before he even managed to point the gun at either of us.

“If you’re waiting for an apology, it’s not fucking coming,” Marshall snarls.

“It was never about an apology,” I tell him coldly. “It was about revenge. It was about seeing you break, motherfucker. It was about getting the last laugh.”

“Eventually, all those who wrong us, they break. They break because we break them.”

Dad’s words are on repeat as I make a motion with my fingers in the shape of a gun and push it into my mouth.

“Bang,” Nixon growls from behind him.

The old man startles and stares at the gun. “At least tell her I love her.”

“I’ll do no such thing,” I tell him, shrugging. “I’m too busy telling her how much I love her. How she’ll soon be a Pearson and won’t have that fucking last name attached to her. Don’t worry, I’m taking care of her in all the ways you failed, old man. Time’s up. Bang.”

He raises the gun to his mouth, and Nixon steps aside.

Pop. Splatter. Thunk.

Nixon laughs, and I let out a sigh of relief. My brother’s mask is covered in brain matter and his green eyes gleam wickedly. But he’s innocent. Every bit as innocent as I am.

“Hands are clean, Mr. President,” he tells me as he walks around the desk and grips my shoulder. “Let’s go home to our girls.”

I turn, and he stops me.

“I’m sorry,” he says, all humor gone from his eyes.

I hug my brother. “I didn’t come here for an apology.” Pulling apart, I lean my forehead on his. “I came to break him like he tried to break me.”

He smiles. “When are these assholes ever going to learn?”

“And what lesson is that, big bro?”

“We are motherfucking Pearsons. And Pearsons are unbreakable.”

I follow him out to his boat, and we slip away. It isn’t until we’ve dumped our ruined clothes miles out in the ocean—Dexter Morgan style—and are speeding back home that we speak again.

“I think Dad would be proud how we turned out,” I tell him.

“That prick would never admit it,” he groans.

I smile as I look out at the beautiful waters. I can almost smell the cigar from the shop that day. Hear the deep timbre of Dad’s voice. Feel the love radiating from him despite him hardly ever saying it.

“I love you, Daddy.”

“I love you too, kid.”

“He’d be proud,” I tell him confidently. “He’d be proud we broke him.”

“And that a Pearson is going to rule the world one day,” my brother says, laughing.

“Not the world. Just the country.”

“Close enough,” he says. “Now, don’t fuck up. Keep your head on straight. Marry the girl. And go take what’s yours.”

I grin at him. “It was always the plan, brother. Always the plan.”