"Sometimes the right thing and the legal thing aren't the same." His eyes hold mine. "I learned that the hard way."
The conviction in his voice makes something awaken inside me. Whatever else he may be, Sam—Knight—believes in what he's doing.
"I'm scared," I admit quietly.
"You should be," he says, not offering false comfort. "But you're also braver than you think. Most people would have fallen apart after what you've been through today. You held it together. Kept moving. Made smart decisions."
His assessment surprises me. I've never thought of myself as brave: quite the opposite. I've spent months hiding, jumping at shadows, trembling at every unexpected sound.
"Two days," I repeat, trying to wrap my mind around it. "How are we going to get to Denver without being caught? They'll be watching the roads, airports..."
"Let me worry about that." He stands, moving to gather our empty plates. "You should get some more rest. Tomorrow will come early, and we have a lot to do."
As if on cue, exhaustion washes over me again. The emotional toll of the revelations, on top of the day's trauma, has drained what little energy I had regained.
"There are clothes in the dresser," Knight says as I rise from the table. "T-shirts, sweatpants. They might be big on you, but they're clean."
I nod. "What about you? Where will you sleep?"
"Couch is fine for me." He gestures to the worn but comfortable-looking sofa near the fireplace. "I've slept in much worse places."
I have no doubt that's true.
At the entrance to the hallway, I pause and look back at him. He's standing by the sink, his back to me, shoulders straight and strong under the black t-shirt.
"Knight?"
He turns. "Yes?"
"I still don't know if I trust you. Or your club. But thank you for telling me the truth. Finally."
His expression softens slightly. "Get some sleep, Beth. I'll keep watch."
As I return to the bedroom and change into borrowed clothes that smell faintly of laundry detergent and pine, I find myself sorting through everything I've learned. The Outlaw Order MC. Knight the prospect. The trial in two days. My betrayed witness protection.
It's too much to process, too overwhelming to face all at once. Yet as I slide back under the quilt, I find a strange sense of clarity emerging from the chaos.
For months, I've been living in a fiction—a bookstore owner in a small town, protected by federal marshals, waiting for justice to take its course. Now that fiction has been shattered, replaced by a harsher but more honest reality.
I'm a target. The system I trusted has failed me. And my best hope for survival is a rule-following Army Ranger turned outlaw biker who calls himself Knight.
As I drift toward sleep, one thought rises above the others: In two days, I'll either be dead or I'll be testifying against the corrupt officials who are trying to kill me.
Either way, this nightmare is almost over.
Chapter 7 - Knight
I stare into the dying embers of the fire, listening to Beth's soft breathing from down the hallway. The cabin is quiet except for the occasional crackle from the fireplace and the steady tick of the old wall clock.
It's 3:42 AM. I should be sleeping. Or at least calling Reaper to update him on the situation. Protocol dictates daily check-ins. No exceptions.
My burner phone sits on the coffee table, accusingly silent. One call, that's all it would take. Reaper would mobilize the club, bring in resources, take control of the operation.
And Beth would become just another club mission.
I reach for the phone, then pull back. Just one more day. One day where it's just the two of us figuring this out together. One day before I bring the chaos of the club into her already shattered world.
Reaper won't be happy. Defying direct orders isn't something I do—ever. It's why they call me Knight. The rule-follower. The honorable one. The prospect who never questions orders.
