The MC President's Forsaken Wife (Zara and Knox) novel Chapter 228

Chapter 116-3

Jade looks at me, a stow, resolute nod settling over her features. “We’re not sitting in the corner.”

“No,” I say as the heavy chain-link gate creaks open. “We’re definitely not.

I pull the SUV into the gravel yard behind the garage. The compound is already humming with tense, muted activity. Two prospects in heavy coats are sweeping debris near the back dumpsters, their movements quick and jumpy.

Up on the back porch of the clubhouse, Rook stands under the wooden overhang watching us, a mug of coffee in his hand, his gun on the table within reach.

I park the SUV right beside the garage entrance and cut the engine.

“Ready?” I ask, turning to Jade.

Jade takes a deep breath, smoothing down the lapels of her jacket, her chin lifted high. “Ready. Time to open the bar, do my job, and keep my head up.”

“Atta girl,” I say.

She gives my arm a hard, supportive squeeze before pushing her door open and stepping out into the chill. I watch her walk up the back stairs to the clubhouse, waiting until the heavy oak door clicks safely shut behind her before I unlock the side entrance to the garage and step inside.

The shop is dark, cold, and quiet, smelling of heavy gear, oil, wet concrete, and metal shavings. Three customer bikes sit on hydraulic lifts in the center bay, bathed in the weak sunlight filtering through the high clerestory windows.

I walk over to the breaker box, flipping the heavy switches. The overhead fluorescent tubes buzz to life one by one, flooding the shop a bright, clinical white.

I take a long, deep breath, letting the familiar, comforting smells of my work fill my lungs.

In the penthouse, in the war room, or in Dad’s office, I’m subject to the club’s ancient rules, Locke’s stubborn protectionism, and the rigid boundaries of the patch.

But here, surrounded by tools and iron, I’m in total control. A transmission doesn’t talk down to me. A stripped bolt doesn’t tell me to go sit in the bedroom and let the men handle it.

I walk over to the workbench, hit the power button on the shop stereo, and let a low, heavy blues track fill the empty space of the bay.

I pull off my heavy flannel shirt, tossing it over the back of my desk chair, leaving me in my black tank top and dark jeans. I tie my hair back tighter at the nape of my neck, pull a pair of black nitrile gloves onto my hands, and walk over to the ’74 Shovelhead sitting on blocks.

I pick up a heavy socket wrench, the cold steel heavy and reassuring in my palm.

Locke and my Dad can play their dark, quiet motorcycle club games all day. They can run their convoys and hide their tracks while keeping me on the outside. But I’m not going to spend my day wringing my hands, waiting for a bad phone call.

12

Chapter 116.

Clam

set the socket against the primary drive bolt, set my feet on the concrete, and lean my full weight into the Tron The rusted bolt gives way with a sharp, satisfying crack.

“Yeah,” I whisper to the empty shop, adjusting my grip for the next bolt. “Keep your secrets, Locke. See who fixes your primary drive when it blows. Prick.”

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