Fuck it. Honesty it is.
"I meant that I like being with you," I tell her, meeting her eyes. "And when this is all over, when you've testified and you're safe, I'd like to take you on a real date. No guns, no danger. Just us."
Her smile is like the sun breaking through clouds. "I'd like that too." Her fingers trace patterns on my chest. "I know we just met, but there's something here, isn't there? Something worth fighting for?"
"Yeah," I agree, pulling her closer. "There is."
In this stolen moment of peace, I find myself wanting to know more about her. Not the witness, not the mission, but the woman.
"Tell me about your family," I ask.
Beth sighs, nestling closer. "Not much to tell. Only child. Dad left when I was eight. Mom raised me alone, worked two jobs most of my life." A small smile touches her lips. "She was amazing,tough but kind. Always made sure I had books, even when money was tight."
"She sounds like a strong woman."
"She was. Cancer took her two years ago." Sadness flickers across her face.
I press a kiss to her forehead, struck by her quiet strength. "I'm sorry about your mom."
"What about you?" she asks. "You mentioned your military family..."
"My grandfather served in Vietnam, my father in Desert Storm. The Davis men serve—that was the family motto." I exhale slowly. "My mother died when I was twelve. Car accident. After that, it was just me and my dad, and the Army became everything."
"Was he hard on you?"
"Strict, but fair in his way. Every aspect of life had rules, protocols. Bed made with hospital corners. Clothes folded precisely. Physical training every morning before school." I find myself telling her things I rarely share. "When I joined the Rangers, he was proud. Only time I ever saw him cry was at my graduation."
"And now?" she asks cautiously. "With you in the MC?"
I laugh without humor. "We don't speak much anymore. He sees it as a betrayal—of the family legacy, of everything he taught me."
"But you were military. You served."
"Eight years. Three deployments. It wasn't enough for him." I stare at the ceiling, memories surfacing. "After what happenedin Afghanistan, when I couldn't follow those orders anymore... he said I was weak."
Beth props herself up on one elbow, looking down at me. "You're not weak. What you did took incredible courage. Recognizing when orders are wrong and having the strength to walk away."
"Yeah. Took me a while to figure that out myself, and that’s how I met the Outlaw Order MC. I was drifting after discharge, couldn't adjust to civilian life. Ended up in a bar fight in Pine Haven."
"A bar fight?" She raises an eyebrow. "You don't seem the type."
"I'm not, usually. Some drunk was harassing a woman, wouldn't take no for an answer. I intervened." I smile at the memory. "Reaper and Ghost showed up just as things were getting heated."
"They helped you?"
"They didn't need to. I had it handled. But afterward, Reaper bought me a drink, started talking. Something about the way he operated—direct, honest, protective of his people—reminded me of the best COs I'd served under."
"So, you joined?"
"Not right away. Took odd security jobs for a few months but kept running into club members around town. They respected boundaries, protected their territory without unnecessary violence, kept Pine Haven safe in ways the law couldn't." I shrug. "Eventually, I asked Reaper about prospecting. Been with them six months now."
Beth's fingers trace the outline of a scar on my shoulder. "And the things you've done with them... are they things you can live with?"
It's a fair question. One I've asked myself many times.
"Yes," I answer honestly. "The club operates outside the law sometimes, but never without a code. We don't hurt innocents. Don't deal with children. Don't force women into anything. The criminal enterprises fund the protection of the town and its people."
She seems to accept this, nodding slowly. "And what happens after a prospect becomes a full member?"
