Page 182 of Reckless

Mace shifts his weight against the wall, arms folded across his chest. “You already know how this ends.” He nods once toward the laptop. “Quit dragging it out.” His voice is quiet, almost conversational. “You’re fresh out of better options.”

Travis’ eyes close, just for a second, and when they open again, something is gone out of them—resistance.

He takes the stylus and signs the declaration at the bottom of the page.

I watch the digital signature populate every copy of the statement.

There’s no taking it back now.

The room stays quiet for another beat before Travis looks up. “W-what… what h-happens now?”

Nobody answers immediately.

I close the laptop. “Now?” The word hangs between us. “Now you start over.” His brow furrows. “You don’t have a career anymore. Every professional license attached to your name will come under review. Your finances will be buried under investigations for years. Friends you’ve known for decades won’t answer your calls once they find out why federal agents are asking about you.” I sling the laptop bag over my shoulder. “If you’re smart, you’ll leave Nevada before anyone decides you’re worth making an example of.”

Travis’s face drains. “What do you mean… leave?”

“Vegas is finished with you.”

“I… I lose everything?”

I meet his eyes. “You already did.”

The words knock something loose inside him. “Where am I supposed to go?” he asks, panic creeping into every syllable. “How am I supposed to find work? What if Calloway finds me? What if the media…” The questions spill over one another.

I simply turn toward the door, and the others fall in beside me without a word.

Behind us, Travis pushes back from the table. “Wait!” His chair scrapes hard across the tile. “You can’t just leave me like this!”

We keep walking. “H-hey!” His voice cracks. “W-what am I supposed to d-do?”

I pause at the doorway without turning around. “Survive.”

Then, we all walk out.

Travis is still pleading by the time the front door closes behind us, but I have lost interest.

The afternoon heat hits the second we step outside. Koa lets out a slow breath before crossing the driveway to Slate. They shake hands, the kind of grip that says more than either of them ever would.

Static is already throwing a leg over his bike when my comm crackles to life. “Montana,” Sin says. Satisfaction sits beneath the calm in his voice. “You have our debt.”

Slate chuckles under his breath. “Reckon debt’s the wrong word.” He shrugs. “Brothers help brothers. We’ll see you down the road.”

Sin doesn’t waste words. “Ride safe.”

“Always do.”

I tip my head toward Slate and Static in a gesture of thanks. “Been good working with you.”

Static gives a single nod. “Likewise.”

Slate settles his helmet on. “Next time, ya’ll come see Montana.”

Koa grins. “Count on it.”

The Montana bikes pull out, engines rumbling low as they disappear around the corner of the quiet Las Vegas street—two brothers who rode hundreds of miles because another chapter called. One patch. One family. Defiance rides for its own!

Something that settles low in my chest in a way this job rarely does.