The MC President's Forsaken Wife (Zara and Knox) novel Chapter 215

Chapter 111-1

Clam

I pull back just enough to look up at his face. My fingers reach up, gently touching the dark, swollen bruise blooming along his jawline.

“What happened out there?” I ask, my voice shaking. “The feeds went dark… we heard shots… we heard someone shouting… we knew someone was hurt. I thought…”

Locke’s eyes darken further, a dangerous, cold shadow passing over his features as he looks down at me.

“The tail car,” Locke says quietly. “Knox had a shooter hiding under a canvas tarp in the pickup bed. When Mayhem blew the gas, the guy stayed down until we broke the cab door. He came out blind, firing a short-barrel twelve-gauge from his hip.”

“He hit Bishop,” I say. “Through the smoke and everything. Lucky damn shot.”

“He caught Bishop in the leg from ten feet away,” Locke says, his jaw setting hard. “Cobra put three rounds through the guy’s chest before he could rack a second shell, but the damage was done.”

“And the truck?” I ask. “The chemicals?”

“In the barn,” Locke answers. “That part went perfectly, and thank fuck. The decoy is on the highway right now. Knox thinks his shipment is halfway to the border, but we had to kill the comms and cut the tracking bridge to keep the local police scanners from picking up our position while we hauled Bishop out.”

“It was so quiet,” I say, leaning my forehead against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing. “It was two hours of pure death up here.”

“I know,” Locke says, his lips pressing gently against the top of my head, holding me close. “I’m sorry. We couldn’t risk open comms until we were inside the building.”

Beside us, Stitch drops a bloody piece of metal into a steel tray with a loud clink.

“Found the main cluster,” Stitch grunts, not looking up as he works his needle through the torn muscle. “He’s lost a lot of blood, but the artery is intact. He’s going to keep the leg.”

A collective wave of relief washes through the room, heavy and absolute. Mayhem lets out a long breath, his hands sliding down Jade’s back as she rests her forehead against his chest, her shoulders still trembling with lingering adrenaline.

Dad finally steps away from the window, pulling a bottle of whiskey from the bar, cracking the seal, and taking a long, deep swig directly from the glass before passing it to Mayhem.

Locke doesn’t let go of me. He keeps one heavy arm wrapped firmly around my waist, keeping me anchored to his side as he turns his head to look over at Stitch.

“How long until he wakes up properly?” Locke asks.

“Hours, probably,” Stitch says, pulling a fresh roll of sterile gauze from his kit and wrapping Bishop’s thigh in tight, precise layers. “I need to stitch the outer skin once the bleeding completely settles, but he’s stable. We need to clear the floor before he comes around.”

“Byte, get the cleaning supplies from the utility closet,” Dad orders quietly. “Hammer, help him wipe down

1/2

Chapter 11

the hall. We don’t leave a trace in this building.”

“Got It, boss,” Hammer says.

Claim

Byte returns from the ballway carrying a bucket of warm soapy water, bleach, and a stack of clean shop rags. Hammer takes the bucket without a word, heading down the long foyer corridor to scrub away the dark trail of blood leading from the elevator.

Byte stays behind, methodically wiping down the glass coffee table where Stitch’s instruments are laid out. His hands are still trembling slightly, but his breathing is finally returning to normal as the immediate panic recedes.

Across the room, Mayhem takes Jade to the kitchen counter, sitting her down gently on one of the high barstools. He grabs a clean, wet towel from the sink and carefully wipes the smudges of tear gas residue, grease, and sweat from her face before pressing a quiet kiss to her forehead.

Jade wraps her fingers tight around his wrists, grounding herself in his solid presence, refusing to let him stray more than a few inches away.

Locke guides me over to the heavy leather armchairs set away from the sofa. He sits first, pulling me straight down into his lap. My legs rest over his broad thighs, and I wrap my arms around his neck, burying my face back into the warm, familiar curve where his neck meets his shoulder.

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