The MC President's Forsaken Wife (Zara and Knox) novel Chapter 210

Chapter 109-1

The next night

The penthouse living room feels less like a luxury apartment and more like a tactical command bunker. Again.

The only illumination in the room comes from the bank of monitors Byte has set up across the coffee table: three screens casting a harsh, electric blue glow over our faces.

Byte sits at the long dining table, noise-canceling headphones resting around his neck. His hands fly across a mechanical keyboard with dizzying speed, bringing up encrypted satellite feeds, local traffic cameras, and a live audio bridge connected directly to the MC’s hidden comms frequency.

Jade sits beside me on the sofa, her knees pulled tight to her chest, her fingernails digging deep into her legs. She hasn’t touched the tea I made her an hour ago. Her eyes are wide, unblinking, fixed entirely on the leftmost screen showing a dark, grain-filtered infrared view of the Old County Road junction.

“They’re on the move,” Byte says softly, his voice cutting through the heavy quiet. “The convoy just left the docks, with three vehicles. Chemical truck’s in the middle, dark SUV in front, white pickup in the rear. They’re moving right on schedule.”

“And?” I ask, leaning forward, resting my elbows on my knees. My heart is beating a steady, heavy rhythm against my ribs: not fast yet, but deep and insistent.

“Knox’s guys in both chase cars,” Byte confirms, tapping a key to overlay red tracking boxes over the three vehicles creeping up Highway 17. “And our boys are in position. Prospects just parked the logging truck on the shoulder two miles ahead of the junction.”

“How’s the signal?” Jade asks, her voice slightly strained, tight as a drawn wire.

“Clean,” Byte replies. “Jammer is powered up on standby. The second they hit the tree line, Cobra flips the switch, and Knox’s dispatch goes completely dark.”

I glance down at my lap. My hands are quiet, but my jaw is locked tight.

I can still feel the warmth of Locke’s thumb against my skin from last night, the quiet, grounding weight of his voice when he promised me three minutes flat. Smarter, faster, cleaner. That was the plan. Simple math. No wild variables.

But in situations like this, things can go wrong – and when they do, they go south fast.

On the center screen, the three red tracking boxes reach the junction.

“Logging truck is swinging out,” Byte says, his tone dropping into a flat, professional monotone. “Logs dropped. The road is blocked.”

We watch in absolute silence as the lead SUV slows down, its brake lights flashing bright red against the dark road. It pauses for three seconds at the junction before turning its nose toward the dark, unlit entrance of Old County Road. The heavy tanker follows, lumbering into the shadows, with the rear pickup trailing close behind.

“They took the detour,” Jade whispers, holding her breath.

1.2

<Chapter 109+

“Gonvoy is in the trees,” Byte says. “Flipping the Jammer… now.”

Claim

The satellite tracking boxes on the center screen vanish, replaced by a static grid. The digital feed cuts out, going completely black.

“Jammer active,” Byte says. “Knox is blind. Opening the local audio loop.”

A burst of quiet, low-frequency static fills the penthouse speakers. Then, sharp and clean, Dad’s voice breaks through the white noise.

“Position one set. Strips deployed.”

“Position two ready,” Mayhem’s deep rumble follows immediately. “Waiting on the lead car.”

Jade grips my hand. Her fingers are freezing, squeezing mine so tight the bones crack softly. I squeeze back, keeping my gaze locked on the remaining live camera, a hidden, high-angle night-vision lens Rook strapped to a pine tree fifty yards down the cut.

On the screen, the lead SUV surges forward into the darkness.

Pffft-pop-pop-pop!

Even through the compressed audio, the sudden, violent sound of two heavy front tires disintegrating at forty miles an hour is loud enough to make Jade jump. On the monitor, the SUV sways violently, its rims grinding against the asphalt with a shower of green infrared sparks before skidding sideways and slamming into the dirt bank.

The heavy chemical tanker behind it slams on its brakes, the air brakes hissing loudly as fifty feet of steel grinds to a sudden, shuddering halt. The rear pickup truck swerves to avoid the tanker’s rear bumper, its headlights sweeping wildly through the dark timber.

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