The MC President's Forsaken Wife (Zara and Knox) novel Chapter 206

Chapter 107-3

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“You were hanging upside down threatening to divorce me,” Mayhem reminds her. “Chivalry wasn’t really on the table.”

I cover my mouth to hide a giggle, but even the small muscle movement makes my temples throb. I look up at Locke, who’s watching me with that warm, quiet intensity that always makes my pulse jump… even when I’m wearing a shirt three sizes too big and look like a half-dead rat.

“How are you so functional?” I ask him accusingly. “You went to bed long after midnight.”

“I had one beer, baby,” Locke says, leaning in close, his broad chest lightly brushing my shoulder. “Not half a gallon of slushy lime juice and tequila.”

“It was medical,” I insist weakly. >

“Clearly,” Locke says. He reaches out, his large hand wrapping around the back of my neck, his thumb rubbing slow, soothing circles into the tight muscles at the base of my skull. The pressure feels so incredible that I practically melt against him, letting out a soft sigh. “You feel like you’re going to survive?”

“Ask me again in four hours,” I say, taking another small sip of coffee.

Across the island, Mayhem reaches down and grabs his heavy helmet off the stool, tucking it under his arm. “Alright, brother. Cobra’s waiting down at the warehouse. Let’s move.”

“Right behind you,” Locke says.

He turns to me, his expression softening as he reads the quiet lingering exhaustion beneath my posturing. He reaches down, gently taking my coffee mug from my hands and setting it on the island so he can wrap both arms around me. He pulls me up against his chest, tucking my head securely under his chin.

He tilts my chin up, his fingers warm against my jaw, and leans down to press a slow, deep kiss to my lips. It tastes like black coffee and sweet, quiet reassurance. When he pulls back, he taps the bridge of my sunglasses with his knuckle. “Hydrate. Eat something.”

“Yes, sir,” I mutter.

“I know you’re being snarky, but I actually like that.”

“Urgh. No flirting.”

Beside us, Mayhem stands over Jade, who’s still resting her chin on the counter like a deflated balloon. He reaches down, grabs the back of her thermal shirt, and hauls her upright until she’s sitting straight on her stool.

“Hey,” Mayhem says, leaning in until he’s staring right into her dark lenses. “You.”

“What?” Jade grumbles.

He stoops down and plants a quick, hard kiss right on her nose. “Don’t crash into any more vases while I’m gone.”

“It was a cutting-edge dance move gone wrong,” she protests as he turns toward the entryway. “It was

1/2

<Chapter 107.

edgy!”

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Locke gives my waist one final, reassuring squeeze before stepping back. The men head down the hall to the elevator, then they get in, and turn back to look at us one last time.

Their amused, loving gazes lock onto ours before the steel doors slide shut, and they’re gone.

For a long moment, neither Jade nor move. We just sit on our respective barstools, wearing our massive sunglasses indoors, staring at the elevator.

Jade lets out a long, shuddering exhale, her shoulders slumping completely. “Zara?”

“Yeah?”

“I feel as green as my name.”

“Me too,” I admit, leaning my head carefully back against my hands. “I think my stomach is currently attempting a coup.”

“We need a strategy,” Jade says slowly, turning her head with care to look at me. “A recovery protocol.”

“Okay. What are the core parameters?”

Jade holds up one finger. “Step one: more coffee. Black. Hot. Enough to jumpstart a dead horse.”

“Agreed. Step two?”

“Step two,” Jade says, holding up a second finger, her voice taking on a desperate, solemn edge. “An obscene amount of greasy bacon, white toast, and carbohydrates. We need to soak up the sins of last night.”

“And step three?”

“Step three is we move from these stools to that couch, slowly. We do not speak of wrenching, tray-carrying, or motorcycles for the next six hours, and we watch the most trashy, brain-melting, terrible reality television we can possibly find.”

I let out a weak, raspy laugh, reaching over to bump my coffee mug against hers.

“Deal,” I say. “To survival.”

“To survival,” Jade echoes, taking a long drink. “And to never, ever drinking anything made in a blender again.”

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