Chapter 10 - Beth
Knight opens the door, and I get my first look at the men who will help keep me alive for the next two days. My stomach knots with anxiety, my fingers fidgeting with the hem of the borrowed t-shirt.
The young man at the front… Dice, I presume, practically bounces into the cabin. He's lean and wiry, with shaggy brown hair and an energy that fills the room instantly. His face breaks into a wide grin when he spots Knight.
"Finally! What, were you in the shower or something?" His gaze shifts to me, my wet hair, then back to Knight’s, his grin turning mischievous. "Oh. Guess you were."
Behind him, two more imposing figures enter. One is tall and broad-shouldered with close-cropped black hair and a face that seems permanently set in a scowl. The other is leaner but no less intimidating, with tattoos visible at his neckline and sharp, assessing eyes that miss nothing.
"Blade, Viper," Knight acknowledges them with a nod. "You made good time."
"Reaper's orders," one replies. His gaze sweeps over me. "This the witness?"
Knight steps to my side, a subtle but clear gesture of protection. "This is Beth Carter. Beth, this is Dice, Blade, and Viper."
I manage a small nod. "Thank you for coming."
Blade, the scowling one, merely grunts in response. Viper gives me a curt nod. Dice, however, approaches with his hand extended.
"Nice to meet you, Beth! Don't mind these two. They're actually teddy bears once you get past all the..." he waves vaguely at their imposing presence, "...you know."
"Dice," Knight warns, but there's no real heat in it.
"What? Just being friendly." Dice turns to Knight. "So, what's the plan? Reaper said we need to get to Denver."
"We leave in ten minutes," Knight confirms. "Beth and I will take the Jeep. You three follow on bikes. We'll use different routes, rendezvous in Denver."
Blade speaks for the first time, his voice deep and gravelly. "Security protocols for the journey?"
"Standard convoy formation. Dice leads as scout, you and Viper flank. Maintain visual but keep distance. Comms check every thirty minutes. If we lose contact, rally at the backup point."
I listen to them discuss routes, checkpoints, and contingency plans, realizing this isn't just a motorcycle club. It's a military operation with Knight clearly in command despite being only a prospect. The others defer to him, even the full members.
Viper notices my expression. "Former Ranger," he explains quietly. "We know when to recognize expertise."
Soon we're loading our bags into vehicles. Knight does a final sweep of the cabin while Blade hands out burner phones pre-programmed with each other's numbers. Dice entertains me with a story about his first motorcycle that seems designed to distract me from my nerves. It works, somewhat.
"Time to move," Knight announces, emerging from the cabin with our remaining supplies.
I climb into the passenger seat of the Jeep, watching as the three bikers mount their motorcycles. Knight starts the engine, his face settling into the focused expression I've come to recognize as his operational mode.
"Ready?" he asks me.
"As I'll ever be."
He reaches across to squeeze my hand briefly. "We'll get you there safely. Trust me."
The convoy pulls out, Dice's Sportster taking point, Blade and Viper falling in behind us as we leave the secluded cabin behind. I watch the mountains recede in the side mirror, wondering if I'll ever see them again.
We drive in comfortable silence for the first hour, Knight's eyes constantly checking mirrors, scanning the road ahead. Occasionally he speaks into the burner phone, terse check-ins with the others.
"How far to Denver?" I ask during a lull.
"About four hours," Knight replies. "We're taking an indirect route to avoid main highways. Harder to set up roadblocks or intercepts that way."
I nod, watching the landscape change as we wind through less-traveled roads. "They seem competent," I observe. "Your brothers."
A smirk touches his lips. "They are.”
"And you trust them completely?"
He glances at me. "With my life. With yours."
The certainty in his voice is reassuring. After what we shared this morning, after learning about his background and principles, I find myself trusting his judgment more than I probably should given how little time we've known each other.
"Tell me about the trial," Knight says. "What exactly will happen when we get there?"
I gather my thoughts, organizing the information as I would for a court transcript.
"I'll meet with the federal prosecutor, review my testimony.
The trial is in its second week. I'm not the only witness, just the one with the recording that proves conspiracy.
I'll testify, they'll enter the recording as evidence, and I'll be cross-examined by the defense. "
"How long will you be on the stand?"
"A day, maybe two with cross-examination. After that..." I shrug. "I don't know. Normally witness protection would relocate me permanently, but given what happened..."
"We'll figure that out," Knight promises. "One step at a time."
The miles pass beneath us, every hour bringing me closer to the moment of truth. We stop once for gas and a quick meal at a roadside diner, timing our breaks to avoid creating patterns. The bikers remain vigilant, one always watching while the others eat or use the restroom.
It's mid-afternoon when the Denver skyline appears on the horizon. Knight makes another call, confirming our approach with the others. I feel my anxiety rising with each mile, my fingers drumming nervously on my thigh.
Knight notices, covering my hand with his. "Almost there. You're doing great."
"I don't feel great," I admit. "I feel like I'm going to throw up."
"That's normal. Fear keeps you sharp."
"Is that what they taught you in the Rangers?"
"That and always know where the exits are." He offers a reassuring smile. "We have a plan, Beth. You're not alone in this."
As we enter the city outskirts, Knight directs us to a motel on the eastern edge of Denver. The kind of place that accepts cash and doesn't ask questions. The bikers arrive minutes after we do, parking their motorcycles in different spots to avoid drawing attention.
Knight checks us in while the others maintain a perimeter watch. When he returns, he has three room keys.
"Rooms 112, 114, and 116," he announces. "Adjoining, back corner of the property. Good sightlines, multiple exit routes."
Blade nods approvingly. "Who's where?"
"You and Viper take 112. Dice in 114. Beth and I will take 116."
This arrangement raises eyebrows. Viper's expression remains neutral, but Blade gives Knight a long, assessing look. Dice lets out a low chuckle but quickly silences it when Knight glares at him.
"I need to be in the same room to provide immediate protection," Knight explains, though no one has directly questioned him. "Any issues with that?"
"Your mission, your call," Blade says finally, taking his key.
We move our vehicles to the back of the motel and unload our bags quickly, minimizing our exposure. The rooms are basic but clean. Two beds, worn carpet, dated furnishings. Once inside, Knight immediately checks every corner, the bathroom, the closet, under the beds.
"Clear," he pronounces, drawing the curtains.
The others file in for a quick briefing.
Blade produces a map of downtown Denver, spreading it on one of the beds.
They discuss approaches to the courthouse, security rotations, potential threats.
It's surreal watching these outlaws plot what amounts to a protective operation for a federal witness.
They continue planning for another hour before Blade stands.
"We'll take first watch. Rotation every four hours. Viper, then me, then Dice. Knight, you stay with her."
Knight nods. "Check-ins every hour. Any sign of trouble, immediate alert."
After they leave, the room feels suddenly quiet. Knight secures the door, double-checking the lock and placing a chair under the handle—an old trick, but effective.
I sit on one of the beds, the reality of tomorrow looming before me. In less than twenty-four hours, I'll be facing the corrupt officials who want me dead, testifying to what I heard that day in the courtroom.
"You should rest," Knight says, noticing my expression.
"I don't think I can."
He sits beside me, not touching, but close enough that I can feel his warmth. "You'll get through this, Beth. You're stronger than you think."
"Am I? Because right now I feel like the scared girl who hid behind the stenographer's desk when she heard something she shouldn't."
"That scared girl still had the courage to report what she heard, knowing it would put her in danger. That takes strength."
His faith in me is both comforting and terrifying. "What if I freeze on the stand? What if I can't remember the details?"
"You will. And the recording will speak for itself."
I lean against him, drawing strength from his solid presence. "Thank you. For everything."
He puts his arm around me, pulling me closer. "Try to get some sleep. Tomorrow will be a long day."
Eventually, I do lie down, though sleep seems impossible. Knight sits in the chair by the window, constantly vigilant, checking his phone periodically for updates from the others.
"You should sleep too," I tell him. "You can't protect me if you're exhausted."
He smiles slightly. "Ranger training. I can function on minimal sleep."
"Knight," I pat the space beside me on the bed. "Please. Just for a little while."
After a moment's hesitation, he moves to the bed, stretching out on top of the covers beside me. I turn toward him, studying his profile in the dim light filtering through the curtains.
"Are you scared?" I ask quietly.
"Not for myself," he answers honestly.
"For me?"
"Yes. And for what this means for the club if something goes wrong." He turns to face me. "But mostly, I'm concerned about what happens after. Where you'll go, how you'll stay safe."
"I've been thinking about that too." I trace patterns on the bedspread between us. "Maybe I could stay in Pine Haven. Start over there, for real this time."
His eyes soften. "You'd want that? Even after everything that's happened?"
"The bookstore was starting to feel like home, before it all fell apart." I hesitate, then add, "And there's someone there I'd like to get to know better."
A smile curves his lips. "I think that could be arranged."
"Even with your club obligations? Your prospect status?"
"We'll figure it out." His hand finds mine on the bedspread. "One step at a time, remember?"
I nod, feeling calmer than I have all day. Whatever happens tomorrow, at least I have this moment. This connection that formed so unexpectedly in the midst of danger.
"One step at a time," I repeat, closing my eyes.
The last thing I feel before drifting into sleep is Knight's hand holding mine, steady and strong—a promise of protection that goes beyond this mission, beyond the trial.
A promise of something that might just be worth fighting for.