Page 175 of Reckless

Slate looks at him for a long moment before reaching into the folder and sliding a document across the table. “Nah.” His drawl stays slow and even. “I just want my fuckin’ land back.”

Calloway looks down at the page.

“You publicly acknowledge the committee’s decision was compromised.” Slate slides another across. “You sponsor the legislation restorin’ the McCrae grazin’ rights.” A third joins them. “And you don’t stop pushin’ until my family has back every. Damn. Thing. You took from us.”

Slate settles back in his chair. “That’s what this costs.”

Calloway looks down at the paperwork. “You think fourteen hundred acres fixes this?”

Slate’s mouth twitches. “Nah.” His voice stays quiet. “But it’s where you fuckin’ start.”

Silence settles over the warehouse once more, long enough that I can almost hear Calloway counting everything he’s about to lose.

His career.

His influence.

His money.

His future.

Finally, his eyes return to me. “And if I refuse?”

I wake the tablet screen with a tap of my finger. The cursor blinks patiently beside the ‘Send’ button. “One keystroke.” My voice barely rises above conversational. “The country’s reading this before you’ve cleared the front gate.”

Nobody speaks.

Calloway’s shoulders lower a fraction.

Not surrender, but acceptance.

His hand reaches for the pen. “I’ll need my attorneys.”

Sin slides it another inch across the table. “You’ll need them tomorrow.”

Another long silence stretches between us before the pen finally touches paper. Its scratch across the first page seems louder than the gunshot did.

Then the second, then the third.

One signature after another.

By the time he sets the pen down, the fight has gone out of him completely.

Sin gathers the paperwork into a neat stack, glancing over each signature before closing the folder.

Only then does Sin rise to his feet.

Calloway looks up at him, the arrogance he’d walked into the warehouse wearing replaced by something that looks a whole lot closer to exhaustion. “That’s it?”

Sin’s fingers hook around the front of his cut, gripping the leather on either side of his chest as he studies the senator for a long moment. “No.” A faint smile touches the corner of his mouth. “That’s all I’m willing to do today.”

The words settle over the room, heavy enough that Calloway holds his gaze for another second before giving the smallest nod.

Calloway pushes his chair back and rises, tugging the torn sleeve of his jacket into place out of habit more than hope.

No hand is offered.

No farewell exchanged.