Camden_Four Sons

by K. Webster

  Why did he prey on me?

  Fucking why?

  The old familiar rage burns in my gut. Reminds me I will talk to this motherfucker and tell him how it’s going to be. Poppy will hate me after. Especially when she gets drenched in the mud that will fling from her father when I smear him from one end of the country to the other. Guilt consumes me. There’s no way this could not affect her—no matter how I play it. Her career is on the line because of my revenge.

  But I can’t stop now. I’ve gone nearly a decade plotting this moment. The moment when I demand answers and then gleefully go to the press with what a monster their beloved mayor is.

  I’ve put it off long enough. Come Monday, I will march right into his office with or without a meeting, and the end will begin.

  “Ooh,” Poppy says as she starts packing her bag early. “We could go to that new sushi place. I’ve been dying for sushi. Please, Cam.” She bats her lashes and grins at me. Cute as fuck.

  My chest aches with emotion, but I swallow down the pain and shake my head. “Can’t. I have to meet with my brothers tonight.”

  Disappointment mars her features. “I could come with you. I know them all. I mean, it’s been years, but I think they all still like me.”

  I clench my jaw. “Mateo and his girlfriend will be there.” It’s a lie, but the nastiness feels good on my tongue. It gives me the push I need to power past her sweet smiles.

  As though she’s been struck, she flinches and looks away. “Oh. I’ll just go visit my dad then.”

  The fact that she’s leaving early on a Friday is admirable. She’s all messy-haired bun and bright matte pink lips today. More of a vision of her older self than I’ve seen in the past few weeks. I love her like this. I want to throw her over my shoulder, carry her out of here, and fuck her for hours—just like I do every night since we came back from our boating weekend.

  But because we’ve been glued together, sharing every little goddamn bit of happiness, I’ve forgotten my entire reason for being. I need some space to think and plot. I can’t do that when my face is buried between her thighs, licking her sweet honey. My mouth waters just thinking about eating her perfect pussy out.

  Focus, Camden.

  “We’ll go out on the boat tomorrow,” I promise. “I’ll pick you up at your place in the morning. Don’t pack anything. I like you naked.”

  Her insecurities fade, and she throws herself into my arms, fusing her lips to mine. I hug her tight and kiss her hard. If I didn’t think Nellie would show up, I’d lay Poppy on her desk and give her a goodbye kiss on her clit.

  “Camden,” she murmurs against my mouth, “I love spending time with you. I want you to know that.” She pulls away and regards me with glittering blue eyes—eyes that shine with happiness and affection. “I’ll miss you.”

  I smirk at her and playfully bite her nose. “I’ll be back.” I think. I hope. Fuck, I don’t even know anymore.

  “Promise me,” she utters, her voice soft and unsure.

  Images of her and I swimming in the gulf. Thoughts of her cooking with me side by side as she chatters on about how many islands there are on the planet. A picture slideshow of how perfect a boating weekend with her really is. Lots of fucking. Lots of laughing. Lots of us.

  “I promise,” I say finally. I mean it too.

  This settles her, and she sighs in relief. “Good. I’ll see you soon.”

  * * *

  “I can’t remember,” Rowan grumbles. “I think it calls for baking soda.”

  “Baking powder,” Lucy corrects.

  “Are you sure?” Rowan attempts to read a scribbled-on recipe card.

  “Flour?” Katie offers.

  “No,” Rowan and Lucy both bite out at once. “It already calls for flour.”

  I chuckle at seeing them trying to figure out Lucy’s gran’s famous chocolate cake recipe.

  “It’s baking soda,” Lucy says, huffing. “I remember. It’s my Gran,” she continues, as if that makes her right.

  “Remember last time you pulled the ‘it’s my Gran’ card?” I interject from behind them. “The cake never cooked in the middle because it was too runny and we had to throw it out.”

  All three women turn with raised brows.

  I open Rowan’s cabinet and pull out a box of chocolate pudding mix. “Gran’s secret was a shortcut. Remember? There is no baking soda.” I shoot a smirk at Katie. “Or flour.” I pull down a chocolate cake mix. “This and that. Use the directions on the cake box and add the chocolate pudding powder. That’s it. This recipe card is old. There’s another one in the box.”

  “Ohhh,” Lucy grumbles. “Yeah. Ugh. How do you remember this stuff? Last time we tried to make this was like two years ago.”

  “For one, I’m not always getting knocked up and losing my mind to pregnancy hormones,” I tease.

  Rowan swats me with a dish towel. “Go away, dick. The guys are in the game room. Be quiet, though. The kids are napping. As much as Erica would love to see you, she has been a grump today.”

  “If you wake them, you die,” Lucy threatens, looking kind of scary as she picks up a knife from the counter beside her. “Eva has decided she hates naps. Trevor finally got her down.” She waves the knife in a threatening manner. “Understood?”

  Katie cackles when I back away with my hands raised in surrender. Both Rowan and Lucy give her a sharp warning glare for being too loud.

  “I’m out of here, psychos,” I say with a grin. “Katie, run while you still can.” I lift a brow. “Unless Hayden got to you too.”

  “Ew. Don’t even start. No babies for us. Not yet.”

  Her happy smile tells me she hopes it’ll be soon, though.

  Three psychos to look forward to.

  Wonderful.

  I exit the kitchen and tiptoe through Rowan and Nixon’s house. They bought a nice place on the beach not far from Lucy and Trevor’s. It’s big and reminds me a lot of our old house, but not so cold. It’s warm with happiness. They’re building good memories here. I’m glad too. They’ve both been through some shit, and Erica deserves to have the best childhood a girl could have. She may be our little sister, but Nixon plays daddy to her, and he’s a damn good one at that.

  After peeking in Erica’s room to check on the girls, I make it down the hall to the game room. Trevor and Nixon are having a heated game of pool. Both are precise as fuck, so I can guarantee they’re neck in neck. Hayden sits on the couch, his laptop in his lap, drinking a beer.

  “Hey,” I greet as I walk in.

  Nixon nods at me as he bends over the table and takes his shot, knocking the last ball on the table into a corner pocket. Trevor curses, then grunts out a hello. Hayden glances at me and pats the sofa beside him.

  “Long time, no see, asshole. I thought you died,” he complains.

  I laugh. “I’ve been busy.”

  “Busy fucking who?” Hayden challenges, his gaze falling to my collar. “She likes pink.”

  Poppy’s lipstick is indeed smeared on my crisp white collar from when she attacked my neck at lunch earlier today. The memory has me smiling.

  “Camden’s got a girl?” Nixon asks, sauntering over to us. He sits on the coffee table and lifts a brow in question. “Since when, man?”

  Trevor grabs himself a beer from the mini fridge and brings me a bottle of water before settling on the arm of the sofa. “Spill. Who’s the lucky girl?”

  “Poppy Beckett.”

  Trevor chokes on his beer. “Mateo’s Poppy?”

  A grit my teeth and glower at him. “They broke up. Remember?”

  Nixon and Hayden exchange a shocked look.

  “I’ve been seeing her since I started interning for her,” I grumble.

  “Is that the reason they broke up?” Hayden asks.

  “No, asshole,” I snap. “They broke up because he cheated on her with his daughter’s whore best friend.”

  “Dude,” Nixon utters. “Is everything okay? You’re being kind of pissy. This was
just unexpected to hear.”

  “I just don’t want to get the third degree about who I fuck,” I bite out.

  “But…” Nixon’s eyes flicker with questions. He wants to know why I’m fucking her. Poppy. Marshall Beckett’s daughter. “Seems like a really bad idea.”

  “I don’t really see the problem,” Hayden offers. “They’re not together. Poppy is hot and nice.” He shrugs as if it’s done in his eyes.

  Trevor groans. “Except it adds more tension at the office.”

  Hayden laughs. “We always work our shit out, man.”

  “Because I love your dumb ass,” Trevor says. “But Mateo may not love your little brother anymore when he finds out he’s fucking his ex-fiancée.”

  “It shouldn’t matter,” Hayden argues. “They broke up.”

  “Yeah, but it does matter,” Trevor challenges.

  Oh, fuck. Here they go again. They can’t go like three minutes without fighting.

  “It matters,” Nixon barks out, once again eyeing me with questions. “It matters because he doesn’t really like her.”

  I rise to my feet, and Nixon does the same.

  “Not here,” I snap.

  “You’re going to do something stupid,” Nixon warns. “You’ve come too far to ruin your life over this.”

  “You don’t know anything,” I roar, shoving him back. “You know fucking nothing.”

  “I know I saved your ass that night,” he bites back. “Don’t tell me I know nothing. I know enough to know when you need protecting again.”

  “What the fuck?” Hayden demands.

  I scrub my face with my palm. “Get Brock on Skype. I’m only going to say this once and I’m not going to repeat it.”

  “I told you not to wake—” Lucy shouts from the doorway.

  Trevor walks over to her and kisses her forehead. “Not now,” he murmurs. He closes the door, shutting her out before walking back over to us. I sit back down on the sofa and let out a huff of frustration.

  Be brave.

  Be fucking brave.

  While Hayden pulls up Skype, I think back to the time I wasn’t brave. Poppy asked me if there was ever a moment I should have spoken up, and there was. I should have said something and I didn’t. I was afraid. I battled the shit alone and look how far that’s gotten me. Over the past couple years, my brothers and Uncle Trevor have gone through some trying bullshit. If anything, it’s proven to me that they are my family and will have my back no matter what.

  Just like Dad would have if he were here.

  My brothers have their beef with him, but I know who he was at the center of his being.

  He was protective.

  * * *

  “Where are we going, Dad?” I ask as he drives us through the city.

  “Shopping,” he grunts.

  I’m happy to get some alone time with him, so I grin like an idiot as he drives me to the mall. We spend hours where Dad helps me pick out some suits I like and a few watches. I want to be just like my dad one day. Strong. Powerful. The toughest and richest guy around. I’m tired of being weak. I don’t like being used for someone else’s sick games. Eventually, we end up in an old cigar shop. I’m not allowed in here, but Dad thrusts a wad of money at the shop owner and the guy happily allows us to do whatever we want. Dad finds us two leather chairs in the corner and hands me a cigar. I don’t get offered a lighter, but it’s still cool. He does a bunch of stuff to prep the cigar, then leans forward with his elbows on his knees to stare at me.

  “How are you doing, kid?”

  His question makes me nervous, and I look over my shoulder. Marshall isn’t here. I still shiver thinking he could be hiding behind the counter.

  “Good,” I whisper, looking down at my lap.

  “Eyes here, son,” he 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 stare at my dad in awe. I’ve never known someone so awesome. “Yes, sir.”

  He smiles. “You’re a good kid, and you’re going places.”

  “I want to be like you,” I tell him, beaming.

  “You’ll be better than me,” he grunts, taking a drag of his cigar. The smoke gets blown out, billowing around us. I like the heady tobacco scent. I mimic his actions and pretend to blow out smoke too.

  “I’m doing okay,” I tell him, answering his first question.

  “You know if anyone hurts you, I will destroy their fucking soul, right?”

  I laugh because Dad looks so fierce. If only that were true. I wish I could tell him about Marshall. Tell him about all the weird times he came into my room. All the times he’d jerk off on me and make a mess. How I got a lock on my door to keep him out. I wish I could tell him about the time Mr. Beckett really got me. The time he hurt me so bad, it hurt to go to the bathroom for days.

  “Camden,” Dad says. “Has anyone touched you?”

  His words make me squirm. My confession sits on the tip of my tongue. Tears threaten, but I refuse to let them fall.

  “I’m gross and my dad will be embarrassed of me.”

  “And?”

  “If anyone finds out, they’ll take me away from my brothers. They don’t let gross boys stay with their brothers.”

  “And?”

  “Your best friend is the boss of all the policemen. He’ll put me in jail too.”

  “Do you believe it?”

  I lift my gaze and chance a look at him. His stare is hard, and he isn’t smiling at me. “Yes.”

  “Good boy.”

  “I’m doing okay, Dad,” I tell him. “I’m doing okay. I may look like a kid, but I’m a man.”

  Dad sits back in his seat and watches me for a long time, wordlessly. Finally, he gives me a nod. “Promise me something, son.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “If there’s something I can do, you tell me. Otherwise, you do what you have to do. You’re a Pearson. Pearson men are strong and don’t bow to fucking anyone. Eventually, all those who wrong us, they break. They break because we break them.”

  I launch myself from my chair and into my dad’s lap. He’s stiff at first, but then he hugs me. I’ll break Marshall Beckett. One day, I’ll break him. I will figure out a way that doesn’t make my dad embarrassed of me or get me taken away from my brothers. I’ll be smart about it. I have to be.

  “I love you, Daddy.”

  “I love you too, kid.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Poppy

  After Camden left to go visit his brothers, I’ve felt brittle, and trying not to be clingy. It’s hard, though. I’ve grown quite addicted to him. Spending every waking moment with him has been incredibly refreshing. I feel like I’ve crawled out of the fog that is my life and stepped into a new world. A warm world filled with laughter, salt water, and orgasms.

  But this afternoon was a cold slap of reality.

  He was a glimpse of the guy who stood in Mateo’s kitchen that day a few weeks ago and turned my world upside down. Sure, I’d seen him around. Being engaged to Mateo, it was inevitable. But that had been the first time he’d actually entered my life and caused a stir. He made me notice him. Forced me to. And then I learned it was all for a reason.

  I still don’t know that reason.

  Yet.

  I pull into Dad’s driveway and groan to see his three best friends’ cars parked out front. The last thing I want to do is see them, but I need to talk to Dad. I park my car and get out, my flip flops slapping the pavement. It feels rebellious to be wearing a summer dress rather than a suit and heels. Camden makes me brave. He urges me out of my shell.

  Slipping inside the house, I walk through on a hunt for Dad. Voices carry from the living room, and before I reach the space, I listen.

  “I’ll figure something out,” Dad snaps. “Don’t I always?
Just calm the fuck down.”

  Tension crackles in the air. I backpedal and head toward his office to wait. Like I used to do when I was a kid, I sit in his leather desk chair and spin around. But, unlike when I was a little girl, I stop and do a little snooping. I don’t know his password to his computer, but do know where he hides his desk key. Once I grab it from under the keyboard, I open the locked drawers. I start thumbing through files. Most are normal financial records. But the file in the very back is labeled Project GB. I yank the folder out, only to find it empty. Dammit.

  Someone clears their throat from the doorway, and I jerk to my feet. Senator John Ham glowers at me from the door. His eyes are bloodshot from drinking, and I can practically smell the booze from here.

  “Oh, hey,” I squeak out. “Just looking for my dad.”

  He stalks over to me and seizes my neck with his big hand, shocking me. “You’re looking through his shit.” His rage can be felt in the way he tightens his grip and cuts off my airway. I claw my fingers at his wrist to no avail.

  “Ham,” Dad barks from behind him. “What the fuck?”

  John shakes me in his grip. “She’s going through your shit! Of all times!”

  “Put her down,” Dad snaps at his friend.

  John releases me and staggers away. Peter, the normally flirty judge, walks in scowling. Roger Bowers, the police commissioner, follows him, looking stressed. I rush over to my dad and hug him. My throat hurts, but at least he’ll protect me from his drunk friends.

  “What were you doing?” Dad demands.

  It takes me a second to realize he’s talking to me. “W-What?”

  Gripping my shoulders, he pushes me at arms’ length and nods to the desk. “You were going through my stuff. Why?”

  “I know,” I hiss. I don’t really, but I want to see his reaction.