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.
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.
Until now.
Is it because she looked at me with those warm brown eyes and thanked me for finally telling her the truth?
Is it because she's braver than she gives herself credit for, holding herself together when most would break?
Is it because there's something about her that calls to the protector in me? Not the club soldier, but the man?
I don't examine these questions too closely. Can't afford to.
I'll call Reaper tomorrow. Explain the accelerated timeline. Ask for his help getting her to Denver. Accept whatever consequences come with my delayed report.
For now, I just want one day where Beth looks at me—Knight, Samuel, whoever I am—as a person she might be able to trust. Not as an Outlaw Order prospect carrying out a club mission.
It's selfish. It's against protocol. It's not what a good soldier does.
But she's worth it.
I stretch out on the couch, gun within easy reach, and close my eyes. The last thought before sleep claims me is that I've never broken the rules for anyone before.
Next Day
Morning comes too quickly, sunlight streaming through the cabin windows. I wake instantly, a habit from years of military service and months of club life. Never the luxury of slow awakening, of gradual return to consciousness.
The smell of coffee pulls me fully alert. I sit up to find Beth in the kitchen area, two mugs in hand.
"Thought you might need this," she says, offering one to me.
"Thanks." I accept the coffee, surprised by the gesture. "How long have you been up?"
"About an hour." She's wearing clothes from the dresser—a too-large flannel shirt and sweatpants rolled at the waist and ankles. Despite the ill-fitting clothes, there's a new resolve in her posture. "I've been thinking about what happens next."
I take a sip of coffee—strong, exactly how I like it. "And?"
"And I need to testify." She sits in the armchair across from me. "Not just for my own safety anymore, but because it's the right thing to do. These people… They're hurting entire communities. They need to be stopped."
Pride wells up. This woman has every reason to run, to hide, to save herself. Instead, she's choosing to stand and fight.
"Two days isn't much time," I warn her.
"It's all we have." Her eyes meet mine steadily. "So, tell me the plan, Knight."
The name sounds different coming from her lips. Not a road name bestowed by brothers, but something more personal. I'm not sure how I feel about it.
I take another sip of coffee, then set the mug down. "First, I need to call my president. Reaper. Let him know what's happening."
Her eyes widen slightly. "I thought we were doing this alone."
"I'm sorry, but that was never a realistic option," I admit. "Not against the resources these people have. We need backup."
"Your motorcycle club," she says, her tone skeptical.
I nod. "Outlaw Order has resources, contacts, and men who know how to handle situations like this. Going to Denver alone would be suicide."
She absorbs this information, fingers tapping nervously against her mug. "Will they... what will they want in return?"
"Nothing from you," I assure her. "Your testimony helps the club's interests, remember? Stopping the land grab that would push us out of Pine Haven."
"Make your call, then. Let's see what your president has to say."
I pull out the burner phone, dreading what comes next. Reaper doesn't tolerate disobedience, especially from prospects.
He answers on the second ring. "Knight?"
"Yes, sir."
"Where the fuck have you been?" The controlled fury in his voice is more intimidating than yelling would be.
"Securing the witness," I reply, keeping my tone neutral. "There's been a development."
"No shit. Your check-ins stopped, the bookstore was shot up, and Pine Haven's crawling with feds and hired guns. You were supposed to report daily."
"I know. I'm sorry." The apology feels insufficient. "We had to run"
Silence on the other end, then: "And you're just telling me this now?"
"I needed to get her somewhere safe first. Assess the situation."
"That's bullshit and you know it." Reaper's voice drops dangerously. "You went off-grid deliberately. That's not how this works, Knight. Not how the club works. Not how *you* work."
He's right, and we both know it.
"I made a call," I say finally.
"A bad one." He exhales heavily. "Where are you?"
"North cabin."
Beth watches me intently, clearly able to hear enough of the conversation to know it's not going well.
"Stay put," Reaper orders. "I'm sending Dice, Blade, and Viper your way. ETA four hours."
The mention of Dice makes me wince. The young prospect is wild, unpredictable—my polar opposite. But Blade and Viper are solid. Good men to have in a fight.
"What's the plan?" I ask.
"Get to Denver. Today. Find a motel, check in, and stay put until the trial. No detours, no heroics, no more going off-grid. Clear?"
"Yes, sir."
"And Knight? When this is over, you and I are gonna have a serious conversation about your future with this club."
The implied threat hangs in the air. I've jeopardized my prospect status, maybe my chance at ever patching in.
"Understood," I reply, keeping my voice steady.
"Put her on the phone," Reaper orders.
I look at Beth. "He wants to speak with you."
She takes the phone hesitantly, her eyes questioning. "Hello?"
I can't hear Reaper's side of the conversation, but Beth's expressions changes from wariness to surprise to something like cautious respect.
"Yes, I understand," she says after listening for some time. "I will. Thank you."
She hands the phone back to me. Reaper's voice comes through immediately.
"Keep her alive, Knight. Whatever it takes."
"I will."
"Four hours. Be ready to move." He hangs up without another word.
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, before and 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.
"I wanted to go back for them. I had a plan to extract the wounded. Command denied the request. Said it was too risky, ordered us to secure the remainder of the convoy and continue the mission."
"You followed orders," she guesses.
"I followed orders," I confirm, the words like ash in my mouth. "Left six men behind. By the time reinforcements arrived, they were gone. Executed."
Beth reaches across the space between us, placing her hand on mine. "I'm so sorry."
"After that, I couldn't do it anymore. Couldn't follow orders from people who'd never had to make those calls in the field. I finished my tour and got out."
"And found the motorcycle club instead."
I nod. "Outlaw Order has rules, structure, a chain of command. All the things I understood. But the decisions are made by men who have skin in the game. Who face the consequences alongside you."
"Until yesterday," she points out gently. "When you broke their rules too."
"Yeah." I turn my hand under hers, our fingers lightly intertwining. "That's the part I don't understand myself."
Beth's eyes soften. "Maybe you're finally realizing that sometimes doing the right thing means breaking the rules. Even your own."
Her insight hits closer to home than I'm comfortable admitting. For all my life, I've defined myself by the rules I follow, the structure I maintain. What am I without that?
"Maybe," I concede.
We sit in silence for a moment, hands still connected, neither of us acknowledging it directly.
"What about you?" I ask finally. "What made you become a court stenographer?"
She smiles slightly. "Nothing as dramatic as your story.
I've always loved words, language. Was going to be an English teacher, but then my mom got sick my senior year.
Needed something with steady income, faster than a teaching degree.
Stenography program was eighteen months, guaranteed job placement. "
"You gave up your dream to take care of her."
Beth shrugs. "It wasn't giving up. Just redirecting. I still got to work with words, just in a different way."
"And now you're in the middle of this." I gesture vaguely, encompassing our current situation.
"All because I showed up to work early one day." She shakes her head. "Life's strange that way."
"Do you regret it? Recording what you heard?"
"No." Her answer is immediate, certain. "Terrified, yes. Wishing I'd been assigned to a different courtroom that day, sometimes. But regret? No. What they were planning was wrong. Someone needed to stop them."
There it is again—that core of steel beneath her gentle exterior. This woman has more courage than she gives herself credit for.
"For what it's worth," I tell her, "I think you're incredibly brave."
A blush colors her cheeks. "I'm really not. I'm scared all the time."
"Courage isn't about not being scared. It's about being scared and doing what's right anyway."
She looks down at our hands. "Is that why you're helping me? Because it's the right thing to do?"
"Yes," I say, then add more softly, "But not just that."
Her eyes lift to meet mine, questioning.
I'm not sure what I'm trying to say, only that there's something about Beth Carter that has gotten under my skin and made me question principles I've lived by my entire life.