Page 20 of Reckless

It isn’t really a question.

Marcus is a week old.

Nobody is taking chances.

“Until I say otherwise,” Sin says.

Bear nods once. “Done.”

Deek loses a fight with a yawn he’d been trying to hide for the last minute. He rubs a hand over his mouth afterward and scans the room, waiting for the inevitable smart remark.

It never comes.

Bear is sitting two seats away.

That’s usually enough to improve Deek’s odds of making better decisions.

Somewhere around the forty-minute mark, Sin wraps it up, with his gavel on the table. Meeting closed.

The brothers push back from their chairs, the room filling with the usual noise of a Church that’s done its job and is now releasing everyone back to the day. Koa says something to Mace as they head for the door, both of them already halfway into another conversation.

Bear catches Anchor with a hand on his shoulder before he gets that far. Not to stop him, just enough to let him know they need a word.

Nitro catches my eye on the way past. He looks tired in a different way than Sin, not depleted but full, carrying something too large for his chest to contain. He gives me the nod, which with Nitro means he’s satisfied, and I give it back, which with me means the same.

Then the room empties and I stay, pouring the last of the old coffee into my mug and don’t drink it. I set it on the table and look at the screen still running the mine figures, and then I close it and pull up my own.

I have a system for the mornings after Church. It’s not a ritual—I don’t have rituals—it’s a process. The first pass is always the news cycle, the political pages, the financial reporting that runs alongside the Vegas landscape. Not for intelligence, I am listening for the change. The point where everything still looks normal, but my instincts stop buying it. Vegas has a way of looking calm on the surface while the current underneath runs hard, fast, and invisible to everyone who isn’t looking at the right layer.

I’m always looking at the right layer.

I work my way through the usual feeds—nothing.

Campaign season is winding up, which means politicians are busy shaking hands, making promises, and finding creative ways to explain where the money came from.

Same game.

Different week.

I pull up Unsilenced, where Sage works. The organization has three pending grant applications. I pulled the submission history two days ago out of routine, because Sage mentioned the funding pressure in a conversation she wasn’t quite directing at me. But when it comes to Sage, I retain things whether they were intended for me or not.

Three applications in fourteen months.

Three rejections.

The pattern is there if you know what you’re looking for, and I always know what to look for.

The first rejection came from a state arts and culture fund. Standard language, competitive pool, limited resources. Plausible. The second from a private foundation with documented ties to several Nevada political offices. Less plausible. The third, rejected last month, from a community development grant that has funded organizations with significantly weaker applications than Unsilenced’s documented record.

Three rejections. Not a coincidence. Coincidence doesn’t repeat with this kind of structural consistency.

I pull up the third foundation’s board membership. Cross-reference, then cross-reference again.

The name comes up on the third pass.

Senator Edward Calloway - Advisory Board.

Not front and center, but buried a few layers down where most people wouldn’t bother looking. That’s usually where the people with the real pull like to sit.