I slip the phone into my pocket, meeting Beth's curious gaze.
"What did he say to you?" I ask.
"That the club is committed to getting me to that courtroom safely. That they'll provide whatever protection I need, beforeand after the trial." She tilts her head. "He also said I should trust you with my life. That there's no one more reliable in a crisis."
The endorsement surprises me, especially given Reaper's anger at my insubordination.
"That was... unexpected."
"He's furious with you," she observes. "But he still respects you. That says something."
I shrug, uncomfortable with the analysis. "We should get packed. They'll be here in four hours, and we'll move out immediately after."
Beth nods but doesn't rise from her chair. "Can I ask you something personal?"
The request catches me off guard. "Sure."
"Why did we really go off-grid? The real reason. Reaper said you shouldn’t have done it."
I busy myself gathering our few possessions, avoiding her gaze. "Like I said, I needed to assess—"
"Knight." Her voice is soft but firm. "The truth. You owe me that much."
The simple statement stops me in my tracks. She's right. I do owe her the truth, after everything she's been through.
"I wanted time," I admit finally, meeting her eyes. "Time where it was just us figuring this out. Before the club took over and you became..." I struggle to find the right words.
"Just another mission?" she supplies.
"Something like that."
"Why?" She presses gently. "Why does that matter to you?"
It's a question I've been avoiding asking myself. "I don't know," I say honestly. "It just does."
Beth studies me for a brief moment, her brown eyes thoughtful. "You're not what I expected."
"So, you said."
"No, I mean..." She sets her coffee mug down, leaning forward. "You talk about the club like it's military. Orders, protocols, missions. But then you break those same rules. For me. A stranger."
I run a hand through my short hair, uncomfortable with the direction of this conversation. "It's complicated."
"I've got time," she says with a small smile. "Four hours, apparently."
Despite myself, I return the smile. Then I sit across from her, deciding to give her the honesty she deserves.
"My whole life has been about following rules," I begin. "My father was military, third generation. Structure, discipline, chain of command—those weren't just concepts in our house. They were religion."
Beth listens intently as I continue.
"When I joined the Rangers, it felt right. Clear objectives, clear hierarchy. I was good at it. Following orders, completing missions, protecting my team." My jaw tightens reflexively. "Until Afghanistan. Third deployment."
"What happened?" she asks softly.
"We were escorting a convoy through supposedly secured territory. Intelligence said the area was clear." The familiar bitterness creeps into my voice. "It wasn't. We got hit hard. Three vehicles disabled in the first minute. Men trapped."
I can see it all again. The burning Humvees, hear the gunfire and screams. Beth remains silent, giving me space to continue.
