The MC President's Forsaken Wife (Zara and Knox) novel Chapter 184

Chapter 99-1

Claim

By two in the afternoon, the relaxed, domestic vibe of the penthouse is completely gone.

The sharp morning light that flooded the glass hours ago is now swallowed by a dark, steel-tinted storm rolling off the ocean. Heavy gray clouds hang low over the mountains, casting a cold shadow across the polished hardwood floors.

The wooden dining table – where Locke and I shared blueberry pancakes, coffee, and ridiculous 80s pop lyrics only a couple of hours ago – is now buried under a war room setup. Rolled-out maps cover the grain, held down at the corners by heavy brass paperweights, laminated blueprints, and three separate encrypted laptops.

In the world of outlaw motorcycle culture, a room configured like this is practically sacred ground. It’s an altar reserved strictly for patched brothers, blood oaths, and closed-door votes.

Women do not sit at the war table, at any table. It doesn’t matter how long an Old Lady has worn a man’s name on the back of a vest, how much loyalty she’s proven through police raids and prison bids, or how much respect she carries in his name.

Even the President’s daughter is raised to understand the invisible boundary line.

You learn early to step back when the voices drop low, to walk out of the room when the leather cuts come on, and to never ask questions about the money, the runs, or the blood spilled to keep the colors clean. Women are loved and protected, but when it comes to club business, we remain outsiders.

Yet as I stand between Locke and my father, watching the cool blue glow of tactical schematics reflect off the polished wood, those ancient, unwritten rules have completely evaporated.

Nobody tells me to leave the room. Nobody looks at me sideways. Jade is down the hall in the guest room with the door closed, but I’m sitting at the table between Locke and my father.

After all, Knox didn’t just target the Skulls; he targeted me, dragging my name into his dirty manifests and treating my life like collateral. Because of that, the barrier between the brotherhood and me no longer

exists.

Tonight, I’m not an observer or a woman to be hidden in the back room. I’m part of the unit planning his downfall.

Now we just need to figure out how to do that.

Dad stands at the head of the table like a towering monument to old-school authority. His arms are crossed tightly over his chest, his leather cut worn and heavy over a plain black t-shirt. He isn’t speaking, but he doesn’t need to. The quiet, lethal gravity of his presence fills the room, his eyes fixed entirely on the screen setup at the far wall.

To his left, Mayhem sits slouched in a chair, his frame taking up half the table. He’s methodically stripping down a suppressed heavy pistol, cleaning the slide with an oil-soaked rag, the sharp, metallic clack-clack of steel piercing the quiet room every few seconds.

At the table are four other key officers, the heavy hitters who carry the real weight of the charter. These aren’t just guys in leather cuts, this is the core of the club. These are the men who turn Cobra’s orders into

Chapter 994

stecl on the pavement.

Claim

There’s Rook, the Sergeant-at-Arms, a mountain of a man with a braided beard who slowly drags a whetstone down the blade of a heavy combat knife. Beside him sits Bishop, the Road Captain, lean and his shaved head covered in dark ink, his sharp eyes tracking the mountain passes on the Route 9 map to calculate choke points.

Hammer, the Tail Gunner, sits in stoic silence with an unlit cigar clamped in his jaw, his broad hand resting on the short-barreled shotgun held against his knee. And leaning against the far edge of the table is Stitch, the club’s tactical medic, a former corpsman who can close a wound in less than a minute, even while taking gunfire.

Locke is at the center of it all.

Looking at him now, it’s almost impossible to reconcile him with the person who was dancing barefoot in the kitchen. Right now, he isn’t the playful man dropping kisses against my lips. He’s the terrifyingly smart

and rational financial brain of the MC.

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