The MC President's Forsaken Wife (Zara and Knox) novel Chapter 248

Chapter 125-1

Locke

The steady, dull hum of my bike engine is the only sound I hear as I tear down the industrial bypass, cutting south toward the river.

My mind isn’t on the road, though, or even where I’m going. It’s back in the dark, warm bedroom of the penthouse, twelve miles behind me.

Clan

I can still feel the hollow, trembling weight of Zara’s frame pressed against my chest. I can still taste the salt of her sweat on my lips, still hear the broken, breathy gasps tearing out of her throat every time her body buckled over that plastic basin.

It’s a silent, tearing agony to turn your back on the woman you love when she’s shattered like that, to step out the door and let it shut between you.

I take a deep, slow breath through my nose, forcing my shoulders to drop art inch.

She’s safe. Jade is with her.

As much as I hate leaving Zara’s side for even a fraction of a second, I know that Jade is an absolute iron wall when it comes to looking after her. Jade might act bossy and cover her worry with jokes, but she loves Zara like a sister.

She’ll sit on that hardwood floor until her ass goes numb, wiping Zara’s forehead, feeding her ice chips, and holding the bucket without missing a single beat. Zara is in the best possible hands.

My grip relaxes just a fraction, my eyes tracking the sweep of the mountain range in front of me.

Four weeks.

Dr. Mercer’s words from this morning echo in my mind, ringing clear through the mental noise. Four weeks from now, we get the scans. Four weeks until we find out if the poison we’ve been pouring into her blood for fucking months actually did its job.

I pray to whatever god is still on speaking terms with me that it worked. I pray that when those test results hit Mercer’s desk, the scans are clean.

I take a sharp right, pulling off the main road and cutting down a bumpy dirt access path hidden by overgrown trees and rusted fencing.

The abandoned meatpacking plant sits like a dark graveyard against the grey sky. Rusted meat hooks hanging from overhead rails, overturned industrial smokers, and massive steel shipping crates loom in the drizzle.

To anyone driving past on the highway, it looks like a dead, forgotten processing facility.

They don’t know what sits beneath it.

I pull my bike into the main garage bay of the central brick office, rolling over the concrete floor until the heavy steel door shuts behind me, cutting off the sound of distant traffic.

12

Chapter 125+

Claim

At the back of the bay, I press my thumb against the scanner on the thick steel door. It beeps softly, and The heavy lock opens with a deep, echoing clunk.

I push the door operand step into the stairwell.

The control centre of the MC’s warehouse sits fifty feet beneath the surface. It used to be a cold-war era meatpacking vault, built deep into the bedrock with ten-inch-thick concrete walls, independent air filters, and zero heat signature from the surface

Down here, you could detonate dynamite and the abandoned plant above wouldn’t feel a thing.

I walk down the stairs. When I reach the bottom floor, the heavy vault door stands wide open, casting a bright square of halogen light across the wet concrete floor of the main cell.

I step through the doorway and stop.

Cobra is standing near the middle of the room, leaning back against a steel worktable with his arms crossed over his leather cut. Mayhem stands a few feet away, leaning his shoulder against the damp wall, his face dark and calm.

In the middle of the room, sitting on a folding metal chair, is Miller, the driver we intercepted during the chemical truck robbery last week.

Miller doesn’t look like an MC member or a hardened criminal, but that’s because he isn’t either. He’s a middle-aged guy with thin hair, tired eyes, and shaking hands, dressed in a plain grey jacket.

On the table beside Cobra sits a thick, manila envelope and a fresh, clean passport with a new driver’s

license.

Comments

LUCK DRAW >

H