“It is indeed, but we did what we could.” Yeah, like setting her up.

Loser dads are a touchy subject for me.

I killed mine for less than disowning me—oh, mine owned me, all right. So much so that he beat me up every time I said the wrong word or acted the wrong way.

I march straight to Burlington-Smyth and the man’s eyes widen in terror with every step I take. I love the way his face drains of blood as my shoulder brushes against his, and I feel his body tensing against mine. I continue moving slowly without looking back. This was a threat. I wanted him to shut up, and he did.

Nobody cares about Prescott Burlington-Smyth.

But that’s about to change.

The minute I get back home, I jump out of the car and head to the basement without even taking a shower, pulling on the Guy Fawkes mask Irv retrieved from the basement and adjusting it on my face as I descend the stairs.

I’ve never had a girlfriend. Before prison, I had sex. Booty calls. One-night stands in cars and bathroom stalls and national f*cking parks on crisp nights. But I don’t know how to grovel. Never needed to before, and the only reason I need to now is because I want to switch teams.

I’m a switcher, after all.

I find Pea trying to tear the wood on the windows down, her movements listless and desperate at the same time. Blood runs down her arms, no doubt from her busted, nail-less fingers. Her head turns around at the sound of the squeaky door and that’s when I notice her eyes are nothing but swollen slits. Doubt she can see through them at all.

“Stop it, Country Club. You’ll never succeed.”

She physically winces at my words.

This girl’s walking out of here alive and well, out of an open door. She’ll give me money to run away, and I’ll give her a life to run back to.

Pea looks at me like I’ve just murdered her whole family, biting her lips to contain whatever it is she really wants to say to me.

“Why are you here?”

“Because it’s probably where I belong.”

“Is it?” Her voice is hoarse.

“You’re crazy, uncalculated and lethal for me.” I take a step in her direction. “So yeah. Being by your side is exactly where I should be.”

Checkmate, Godfrey. Your clock starts ticking now.

It should alarm me that I’m more excited about the prospect of killing Godfrey and Seb than I am with getting my own life back. But the truth is, life has become such a chore to maintain over the last few years, it’ll take me a long time to find my lust for it again.

He is standing in front of me, wearing his mask and to my dismay, my toes curl against the damp floor.

Even through the mask, his chin is strong and high. There’s something incredibly proud about this broken man. Nate’s fingers brush the wall as he paces like a predator in my direction.

“I f*cked up. You confided in me, told me what they did to you, then I went and did the very same thing on the grounds of being drunk, horny and a prick,” he admits, his tone calm. “But I want you to know one thing. I’m a killer, I’m a murderer, I am a prick, but I’m fair. The minute you told me your story, you were already free. These walls,” he knocks on the concrete, “they mean nothing. Up until this afternoon, I thought I was going to let you walk away then go do my own thing. But then something dawned on me,” he says and inches closer causing my jaw to go slack in anticipation. “I’m not f*cking done with you, Pea, and if it’s up to me? I’m not done f*cking you, either.”

I hug my body, trying to protect myself from something that’s already embedded deep inside me, to shake away the looming calamity that’s moving my way. He rattles something within me that’s not ready to be moved. Not right now, and certainly not by him. “Nate.” His name on my lips sounds like a warning. On some level, it is. He stops, his mask still offering this wild, up-to-no-good smile. “I don’t want us to part ways yet. I want us to flip hourglasses. To stir up chaos. To start a blood bath.”

He stops next to me. His hand drops to his hip and he lifts the hem of his shirt, rubbing his six pack.

“Prescott?”

“Yes?”

“I’m switching teams.”

My knees turn to jelly as my body starts quivering with released tension.

He is switching teams.

He is setting me free.

God, he’s going to help me glue the pieces of my broken soul together.

All the tears I kept from him come spilling down, my face damp and happy and my heart so, extremely full. I’m a crier. I cry when I get a paper-cut, when it’s that time of the month and when Bambi’s mother dies. The only reason I haven’t cried in front of Nate yet is because I don’t let my enemies see me break.

But he is not an enemy. Not anymore.

“You won’t regret it,” I say, shaking my head, trying to gain control over my emotions. He needs to see me strong. “Together, we’ll overthrow his empire.”

Nate doesn’t answer, but his eyes are hungry behind the mask. It dawns on me that I’m about to see his face, and something unsettling stirs in me. It’s not that I don’t want to see him. I do. I’m dying to lay my eyes on the man I had sex with, who’s about to give me life back, who’s been the center of my world for the past few weeks.