I send another text.
How can I be sure no one will get hurt?
He replies instantly.
No one will.That building’s empty.But you’ll light it up and send me a photo of the ashes.Then we’re even.
Even?I scoff.Right.There’s noevenwith criminals like Reyes.
How do I know you’ll keep your word?
You don’t.But you don’t have any other choice.
The phone screen glares white, too bright, and for a second I see my father’s study instead of my truck.Leather and bourbon and the smell of gunpowder that never quite left the air after that night.I hear all the ways he tried to defend his choice.
I did what I had to do, Hawk.There was no other choice.
That phrase again, circling back after fifteen years to sink its teeth in me.
No other choice.
Back then, I thought Austin Bellamy was the villain and I was the cure.He killed an unarmed man, and I swore I’d spend my life undoing that stain.
But now?I’m not so sure the lines are that clean.
I unlock the glove box and stare at the paperwork tucked inside—registration, insurance, a folded map of the property from when we were kids.I pull the map out, spread it across the console, and trace the boundaries with my finger.There it is, in the north field by the old irrigation ditch.An old, weathered barn that’s barely standing.
That building’s been there since my grandfather’s time.
Why does Reyes care about it?
Unless…he knows something I don’t.
The thought slams into me, hard.
I grab the burner again.
What’s in that building?
Three dots flash.
Doesn’t matter.It will be gone soon.
My throat goes tight.
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter.
I’m tired—bone-deep, soul-rotting tired.But under it is anger.I hate that he’s manipulating me, hate that I’m about to dance to his tune because he’s holding my mistakes in a vial.
I drop my head back against the seat and shut my eyes.
No other choice.
But there’s always a choice.That’s what I’ve always believed.That’s what separated me from my father.
At least I thought it did.
Now?I can’t tell the difference.
