Page 173 of Reckless

“You remember the McCrae place?” A faint line appears between Calloway’s brows. “Reckon not.” Slate nods to himself, exactly as though he’d expected that answer. “Figured as much.” He folds his forearms across his chest. “You signed one piece of paper, and my family lost fourteen hundred acres of cattle land we’d been ridin’ since my granddaddy was a kid.” The warehouse falls quiet again. “I figured back then you were just another politician…” his gaze never leaves Calloway’s, “… now I figure you’re just another son of a bitch.”

Nitro lets out the smallest huff beside me, almost a laugh, and Bear scratches at his beard, but nobody interrupts.

The words settle over the room all on their own.

“So, this is revenge?”

Slate’s mouth twitches. “Nah. You takin’ my family’s land…” he shrugs one shoulder, “… that made me dislike you.” His expression hardens. “You sendin’ people after women…” he leans out, pressing his fingertip to a picture of Piper being followed, “… that made you my problem.”

I watch the calculation start behind Calloway’s eyes.

Nevada.

Montana.

Federal.

State.

Every direction he turns, another door closes.

He tries anyway. “There has to be another way to handle this.”

Sin doesn’t even blink. “There was.” Calloway frowns. “You should’ve picked it before you started threatening our women.” The words land harder than anything we’ve shown him so far.

I reach into the folder beside the tablet and slide a couple of photographs across the table, which glide over the timber before coming to rest directly in front of him.

He looks down.

Piper, coffee in one hand, walking back to the clubhouse.

Sage, in her kitchen cooking, the picture taken through the window across the apartment.

Calloway stares at them for a long moment without touching them, and Sin lets him.

When he finally speaks, his voice is quieter than it’s been all night.

“Piper’s twenty-six. She’s deaf.” The photograph never leaves Calloway’s sight. “She wasn’t carrying a weapon…” Sin pauses, letting out a frustrated huff. “She wasn’t breaking the law.” Sin leans forward just enough to rest his forearms on the table. “She was walking home, minding her own business.” He folds his arms across his chest. “And Sage… she was in her own home, and you had a man photograph her in her personal moments, invading her privacy. Invading her home literally while she was there, not to mention the guys you had try to run us off the road, and shot at her to try and quiet her.”

Silence settles over the warehouse.

“You’ve spent twenty years telling people you’re protecting communities.” Sin’s voice stays calm, almost conversational. “Tell me how two innocent women became a threat worth following through the streets.”

Calloway opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

I reach into my pocket and lay Ryan Gilbert’s driver’s license beside the photographs.

Calloway’s eyes flick to it, then back to me, then widen in shock.

“I found your photographer upstairs.” I tap the license once. “I know his name.” Another tap. “I know where he lives.”

The color drains from Calloway’s face so gradually I almost miss it, but the fight doesn’t leave him all at once. It bleeds away.

His shoulders settle first.

Then his jaw unclenches.

Calloway’s eyes lift to Sin. “All right…” The words come out rougher this time, stripped of the confidence he’d walked into the warehouse wearing. “What are your terms?”