"Because there's no time left for half-truths." His expression turns grave. "The trial is in two days, Beth. That's why they tried to kill you today. They're running out of time to silence you."
"Two days?" My heart pounds. "No, that's not possible. It's scheduled for the end of the month."
"It got moved up. Your marshals didn't tell you?"
Cold dread washes through me. "No. They didn't tell me anything."
"Because they never intended for you to make it to that courtroom." His voice is gentle but firm. "They've been playing you all along. They wanted to get rid of you a few days before the trial. The case would be postponed or archived."
The room seems to tilt. All these months in hiding, living in fear, thinking I was doing the right thing, and my own protectors were planning to betray me.
"What now?" I ask, struggling to keep my voice steady.
"Now we figure out how to get you to Denver safely in less than 48 hours."
"We? You mean you and your motorcycle club?" I can't keep the skepticism from my voice.
"The Outlaw Order isn't what you think," he says. "Yes, we operate outside the law sometimes. But we protect our own, and right now, that includes you."
"Because my testimony helps your interests."
"Because it's the right thing to do." He pushes his plate aside, leaning toward me with intensity in his green eyes. "Beth, I know this is a lot to take in. I know you have no reason to trust me or the club. But right now, we're your best chance at staying alive long enough to testify."
The worst part is that he's right. Where else can I go? Who else can I trust? The federal marshals have betrayed me. I have no family I can turn to without putting them in danger. No friends close enough to risk their lives for me.
"Tell me about this club of yours," I say finally. "The one I'm supposed to trust with my life."
He seems relieved at my willingness to listen. "Our president, Reaper, has transformed it from the typical MC stereotype into something different. Still rough around the edges, still outside the law when necessary, but with a code. We protect the town. Keep the peace."
"By whose definition of peace?"
"A fair question." He acknowledges with a slight nod. "Let's just say we handle problems that the law can't or won't touch. Like corrupt officials trying to force good people off their land."
"And you? How does an Army Ranger end up prospecting for an outlaw MC?"
"I lost faith in the system. In following orders from people who don't have to face the consequences. The club... they're straightforward. No bureaucracy, no politics. Just a clear mission and brothers who have your back."
"These men who tried to kill me today," I say. "Who were they?"
"Hired guns, most likely. Working for the same corrupt officials you're testifying against." He takes a sip of his coffee. "Which means they know you're alive and escaped. They'll be looking for you."
"And they know what I look like." A terrifying thought occurs to me. "They could be waiting at the courthouse."
"Probably," he agrees. "Which is why we need to be smarter than they are."
"Two days," I murmur, the reality of the timeline sinking in. "It's not enough time."
"It has to be." His voice is resolute. "I promised to get you to that courtroom safely, and I will. Knight's word means something."
The use of his road name reminds me of the strange dual identity of this man. Samuel Davis, the rule-following ex-Ranger, and Knight, the outlaw biker prospect.
"Why 'Knight'?" I ask, curious despite myself.
A small smile touches his lips. "Ironic, isn't it? They call me Knight because I'm the one who always follows the rules. The honor code. Even in an outlaw club, I'm the straight arrow."
This makes a strange kind of sense. The precision, the discipline, the clear moral boundaries I've sensed in him.
"And now you're breaking all kinds of federal laws to help me," I observe.
