Knight’s Duty (Outlaw Order MC #7)

Chapter 1 - Knight

The clubhouse is quiet this morning, unusual for a Saturday when most of the brothers are catching up on drinking they couldn't do during the week.

I'm wiping down the bar, keeping my hands busy like I always do. Idle hands make for idle thoughts, and my thoughts aren't places I like to visit much these days.

"Knight."

Reaper's voice cuts through the silence, and I straighten immediately. Military habits die hard. Seven years out, and I still respond to authority like I'm expecting inspection.

"Yes, sir," I answer, turning to face our president.

Reaper leans against the doorframe to his office, arms crossed over his chest. The man has an intensity about him that commands respect without him having to ask for it. His dark eyes assess me for a moment before he jerks his head toward his office.

"Got a minute?"

It's not really a question. When Reaper asks for a minute, you give him however long he needs.

"Of course."

I follow him into his office, closing the door behind me. The room smells like leather and whiskey, with a hint of gun oil. Reaper takes his seat behind the desk, and I remain standing until he gestures to the chair across from him.

"How long you been prospecting now, Knight?" he asks, leaning back.

"Seven months, three weeks, sir."

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "You always this precise with everything?"

"Yes, sir. Habit."

"Military precision. That's what I need right now." He leans forward, forearms on the desk. "You've been solid since day one. Always following protocol, always where you're supposed to be."

I nod once, not sure where this is going but feeling the familiar weight of expectation settling on my shoulders.

"Got a job for you. Special assignment. Club business, but also... personal."

My spine stiffens slightly. Personal usually means important. Important usually means dangerous.

"Whatever you need, sir."

"This town's been quiet since we handled the Vultures six months ago. But there's trouble brewing from outside. Feds moved someone into town. A witness."

Federal witness. That's complicated territory for an MC.

"They've set her up at that new bookstore on Main," he continues. "She's testifying against some heavy hitters. Corrupt judges, cops, politicians from the city. People with reach."

"And they think Pine Haven is safe?" I can't keep the disbelief from my voice.

"They thought wrong." Reaper's eyes harden. "Got word that someone leaked her location. The feds assigned to her protection? Two of them are on the payroll of the people she's testifying against."

My jaw clenches. Corruption. The same shit that got my brothers killed overseas. Officials making calls from comfortable chairs while men like me carried out orders that got good people killed.

"What's the mission, sir?"

"I need you to protect her. Keep her alive until the trial. We can't let those corrupt bastards touch Pine Haven." He pauses, watching my reaction. "This town is ours to protect. And what she knows... it could affect everyone here if those people get their way."

"You want me to protect a federal witness?" I clarify, making sure I understand exactly what he's asking. "From federal agents?"

"That's exactly what I'm asking." Reaper's voice is steel. "I trust you. You're methodical. Disciplined. And you haven't patched in yet, which means if this goes south, the club has plausible deniability."

But something doesn't add up.

"Why do you care about a federal witness, sir? Most MCs wouldn't touch this situation."

Reaper leans back in his chair. "Because what she knows goes beyond corrupt officials. Their plan affects Pine Haven directly. They've been orchestrating property seizures, manipulating water rights, setting up for a major land grab that would push out half the town. Our town."

Now it makes sense. Outlaw Order might operate outside the law, but we protect what's ours.

"Her name is Beth Carter. She's working as the new bookstore owner, but she's actually a court stenographer. Recorded conversations she wasn't supposed to hear. Been in protective custody for months."

"When do I start?"

"Now. Today. You're going to need a cover. Can't have you hanging around a bookstore in your prospect cut."

I nod, already planning logistics in my head.

"I've set you up as a contractor. You'll be renovating the apartment above the shop. Gives you reason to be there daily. You'll stay nights too. Ghost got you a truck with a contractor logo, tools in the back. It's parked out front."

Everything thought through. This is why Reaper leads.

"One more thing," he says, his voice dropping lower. "She doesn't know we know who she is. Far as she's concerned, you're just a handyman hired by her landlord. Keep it that way until you're sure she can be trusted."

"Understood."

"The federal marshals check on her daily. Around noon. Be invisible when they come but watch them. I need to know which ones we can trust, if any."

I stand, ready to move out. "I won't let you down, sir."

"Knight." Reaper stops me as I reach for the door. "This goes against everything they taught you in the service. Protecting someone from the feds? Breaking federal laws? You sure you're the man for this?"

The question hits a nerve. My past flashes before my eyes: following orders that got my team killed because some brass sitting miles away made a call without all the information.

"With all due respect, sir, following institutional authority got good men killed under my watch. I won't make that mistake again."

A small smile forms on Reaper's face. "That's why I picked you." He tosses me a key. "Apartment above the bookstore. Back entrance. Go meet your new roommate."

I catch the key and slide it into my pocket.

"And Knight? Leave your cut here. From now until this is over, you're just Samuel Davis, contractor."

I nod, shrugging out of my prospect cut. The weight lifts from my shoulders, but a heavier one settles in its place. As I hang it on the hook by the door, I feel naked, exposed.

"How do you want me to report?"

"Burner phone. Only to me. Daily."

"Yes, sir."

I walk out of his office, stopping at my locker to change into regular clothes. Jeans, work boots, and a plain gray t-shirt. I grab my go-bag—always packed for emergencies, and head for the door.

The contractor's truck sits in the lot, a magnetic logo on the side reading "Davis Renovations." Clean, professional, nothing flashy. Perfect cover.

As I climb in and start the engine, I can't help thinking about Beth Carter.

Some small, frightened woman thrust into the middle of a dangerous game she probably never wanted to play.

I know that feeling. Doing what you think is right, only to find yourself trapped in a situation with no good way out.

I pull onto the road, heading toward Main Street, mentally preparing for the mission ahead. Protect the witness. Watch the feds. Save the town.

Simple objectives. Complex execution.

Just another day in the life of a man caught between worlds.