The MC President's Forsaken Wife (Zara and Knox) novel Chapter 221

Chapter 114-1

Clem

My heart is still hammering against my ribs, not from Dad’s sharp, brutal speech, but from the terrifying phantom echoes of last night… ghosts that the men just don’t seem to comprehend. Not even a little bit.

Two hours.

For two hours, the comms were dark. We sat in that fucking living room surrounded by glowing screens, listening to static, knowing shots were fired, knowing someone was screaming in pain, knowing someone was bleeding out in the dirt on Old County Road.

For two hours, I sat on that sofa beside Jade, staring at the blank infrared feeds, convinced that when the elevator doors finally opened, it would be to the news that my father was dead. Or my brother. Or Locke.

I close my eyes, squeezing them shut against the memory of Stitch’s bloody gloved hands digging a bullet out of Bishop’s torn muscle right on the living room rug. The iron smell of copper. The quiet, deadly panic that had filled the air.

I hear the heavy, slow click of the bedroom door turning.

I don’t look up. I know the rhythm of his boots before he even steps onto the rug.

Locke comes in, stepping quietly into the dark room. He doesn’t close the door all the way, leaving it cracked an inch, allowing a thin sliver of light from the hallway to cut across the dark floorboards.

He stands there for a long moment, broad and imposing in the shadow, his heavy shoulders slightly slouched with physical exhaustion, but his posture carrying that unyielding, iron weight that has belonged to him for as long as I’ve known him.

“Zara,” he says softly. His voice is a low, gravelly rumble. “Hey, baby.”

“Don’t,” I say. “Just… don’t, Locke.”

He walks slowly across the room, stopping right beside the edge of the bed. He pulls off his heavy leather cut, setting it quietly over the back of the desk chair, then sits down on the edge of the mattress. The heavy springs give slightly under his weight.

He reaches out, his large, calloused hand hovering over my shoulder for a fraction of a second before resting lightly against my arm. His skin is warm, rough, and smells faintly of gun oil, coffee, and bleach.

I flinch, pulling my arm away from his touch, drawing my knees to my chest.

“Zara, look at me,” he says quietly.

“I heard him, Locke,” I say, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to hold it steady. I lift my head, looking straight into his tired eyes. “I heard every word Dad said. And I saw you standing right beside him, letting him say it.”

Locke doesn’t blink, and he doesn’t look guilty. He just sits there, his jaw set, his eyes holding mine with a flat, unwavering intensity that makes my throat tighten with fresh, bitter hurt.

“He’s the President,” Locke says simply. “He laid down the line for the club. He had to.”

7/2

Chapter 114

Cham

“He talked to us like we were strangers!” I snap. “Like Jade and I are just two stupid, useless women who wandered off the street and asked too many questions!”

“You’re not a stranger, Locke says, his hand reaching out again, taking my wrist gently but firmly, refusing to let me pull away this time. “And nobody thinks you’re stupid.. you know that.”

“Then why cut us out?” I ask. “Do you have any idea what it was like sitting out there? When the feeds went dead? I sat on that couch thinking you were dead, Locke! I thought my Dad and brother was dead! I thought Byte was going to pull up a police scanner feed and show me your bodies lying in a ditch!”

“And we walked back through the door,” Locke says. “Bishop’s alive. The payload is in the barn. The job is done.”

“And what about the road?” I demand. “What about Knox? We know Knox isn’t going to just sit on his hands while a second chemical truck vanishes into thin air. We know how he operates! If he finds out who took it -”

“Zara,” Locke cuts me off, his voice dropping an octave, heavy and cold as a tombstone. “Stop.”

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