The MC President's Forsaken Wife (Zara and Knox) novel Chapter 185

Chapter 99-2

Chapter 99-2

Claim

His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows) exposing the dense, dark ink lining his forearms. His jaw is set like carved granite, his eyes sharp, analytical, and cold as he taps a key on his sleek black laptop, projecting a detailed financial tree onto the wall monitor.

“Knox isn’t funding Route 9 on his own,” Locke says. “A subterranean lab that size costs upwards of twelve million dollars just to break ground. Knox has muscle and he’s got some cash, but he doesn’t have that kind of money.”

“So who paid for it?” Hammer asks, his voice a low, gravelly rumble.

“A coastal syndicate,” Locke replies. “They run drugs through legitimate shipping lines, with freighters, import licenses, tax fronts. The man in charge of their local operation is named Vane.”

I lean a bit so I can better see the monitor, studying the photo that’s up on the screen.

Vane doesn’t look like a typical street dealer or a patched biker with ink up his neck. He wears a flawless charcoal suit, his silvering hair slicked back with razor-sharp precision, his eyes entirely devoid of emotion behind rimless glass frames.

He looks like an investment banker who would sign off on shooting up an entire neighborhood without a second thought.

“Vane doesn’t care about Knox’s personal bullshit,” Locke continues. “He cares about money. He gave Knox ten million dollars in cash to build that lab. In return, Knox promised him a massive, exclusive supply of high-purity synthetic fentanyl, starting next week.”

“And if Knox misses his delivery window?” Mayhem asks, not looking up from his pistol, though the steady motion of his rag pauses for a second.

“Then the interest doubles every forty-eight hours,” Locke says grimly. “And Vane doesn’t send stern collection notices. He sends execution squads to recoup his losses.”

I look down at the tactical blueprints of Route 9 laid out on the table. I study the red marker lines showing guard towers, thermal camera loops, and reinforced steel doors.

A heavy, sickening feeling settles in the pit of my stomach.

“Route 9 is a suicide charge,” I say softly.

Dad turns his heavy gaze to me, his dark eyebrows pulling down. “What do you mean, sweetheart?”

“Look at the layout,” I say. “It’s a kill box. Knox built this place expecting a front-door attack. He has the high ground, the cameras, and narrow paths. If you charge that building, no matter from what side you come, you play right into his hands. Even if you somehow win the fight, you lose half the club doing it.”

“She’s right,” Rook grunts, laying his knife flat on the table. “We can’t charge that lab from the front.”

“So what do we do?” Stitch asks. “Dig a tunnel?”

“No,” I say. “We don’t hit his armor.”

Chapter 99.2

“What are you thinking, Zara?” Mayhem asks, watching me closely.

Claim

“The precursor chemicals,” I say, tracing my finger backward along the map, down toward the blue lines marking the city shipping lanes. “Locke, you said Knox is on a strict production timeline with Vane, right?”

“Brutal,” Locke says. “He needs three chemical shipments delivered from the port to Route 9 by tomorrow night to finish the first batch.”

“Then don’t shoot your way into his compound,” I say, looking around the room at the men. “Instead, bleed his wallet. Use the GPS trackers Locke planted on his trucks and quietly intercept the chemical shipments before they reach the lab. Don’t leave shell casings, and don’t leave bodies. Just make the trucks vanish.”

Bishop lets out a low, slow whistle, a dangerous smirk spreading across his face. “Ghost hijacks. No cuts, no brass on the pavement, no tire marks. Make it look like rival gang theft or a federal dock seizure.”

“And what happens to Knox when the chemical tanks run dry?” Hammer asks. “I mean, he’ll be on the warpath, right?”

I look back at Vane’s face on the monitor screen, then think about Knox. I think about his need for total control, his temper, his massive ego, and his fear of looking weak in front of his men.

“Knox is a paranoid narcissist,” I say. “If his multi-million dollar supply lines start vanishing without a trace, he’ll never believe that he was bested by someone from outside. He’ll think someone inside his own crew is stealing the chemicals to sell on the side. He’ll think he has a mole.”

Dad’s dark eyes flash with sudden, dangerous understanding. He looks at me, a proud grin softening the deep, tired lines around his mouth.

“He’ll start eating his own tail,” Dad says.

“Exactly,” I say. “He’ll turn on his own lieutenants. He’ll beat his dock managers. He’ll threaten his head chemist. His own paranoia will burn down his operation from the inside out. And while he’s tearing his own house apart looking for imaginary traitors…”

“… Vane walks in to collect his non-existent product,” Locke finishes for me. A chilling smile cuts across his face, the smile of a man who knows he has just sealed his enemy’s fate without firing a single bullet. And Vane finds a broke, unhinged lunatic who just wasted his ten million dollars.”

“And then, who knows?” Rook adds. “Maybe Vane takes care of our Knox problem for us.”

The realization settles over the room like heavy smoke. This isn’t a military maneuver, or any kind of visible attack; it’s a psychological execution. The Grinning Skulls are taking Knox’s greatest weakness – his shrieking, violent ego – and turning it into the weapon that will wreck him.

Locke steps close to me, reaching out with his large hand to gently tuck a strand of dark hair behind my ear. His thumb brushes against my cheekbone, lingering there for a sweet, quiet second. The cold steel in his eyes softens into something warm, that thing reserved only for me.

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs.

“All right, change of plans,” Dad says, his voice snapping the room into motion. “We don’t ride for Route 9. We ride for the docks tonight. Mayhem, get the unmarked ghost vans ready in the lower bay. Locke, get the encrypted radios wired up.”

Chapter 99-2.

Claim

Dad steps up to me, his heavy hand coming down to rest on my shoulder, squeezing gently. He looks into Tny eyes, his weathered face solemn, heavy with the weight of leadership, but brighter than it has been in

weeks.

“We bleed him first, Zara,” my father says softly. “Then we stand back and let his own monsters finish him off.”

I look at my family: at my father, my brother, Locke, and the huge terrifying men who have raised me. I feel the heavy fear that gripped my heart last night transform into a cold, quiet strength.

We aren’t just catching up to Knox anymore, or chasing him.

We’re tearing him apart, piece by piece.

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