The MC President's Forsaken Wife (Zara and Knox) novel Chapter 254

Chapter 128-1

Knox

The air in my house feels like static electricity, thick and heavy enough to choke on.

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I pace back and forth across the hardwood floor of the living room. My jaw is locked so tight my molars ache, a low, constant thrumming ringing in the back of my skull.

Two shipments gone. Two.

Millions of dollars of product, swallowed whole by the shadows, and now Vane is breathing down my neck like a starving wolf. His massive fentanyl order was supposed to be the fix, the big play that secured my leverage and paid off my debts.

Instead, the supply line is completely dead, Vane hasn’t received a single gram of his order, and the bastard is threatening to tear my world apart if I don’t produce either the product, or the cash he invested and fronted by the end of the week.

I run a heavy, restless hand down my face, dragging my fingers over the rough stubble on my jaw. I’m losing my mind. The walls are closing in, every single route out is blocking off, and the clock is ticking down to zero.

“Knox, sweetie, can you please stop pacing?”

Becca’s voice cuts through the quiet like a dull saw, grating against my already frayed nerves.

She’s sitting at the edge of the velvet armchair, meticulously smoothing out the skirt of her designer silk dress.

She spent two hours doing her hair and makeup for dinner, determined to look perfect, her swollen belly subtly framed by the tailored cut of the fabric.

“You’ve been marching around the living room for two hours,” she whines, her painted lips curling into that childish, pathetic pout that used to seem cute when she was just a secret getaway from my real life.

Now, it just makes my stomach churn with sheer irritation.

“You’re making me anxious, and the doctor said I’m not supposed to be stressed right now anyway. It’s bad for the baby.”

I stop dead in my tracks and glare at her. My chest heaves with shallow, ragged breaths. “Then don’t fucking look at me, Becca.”

“I can’t just ignore you!” she huffs, crossing her arms delicately over her chest, careful not to wrinkle her dress. “You come home, you lock the doors, you stare at your phone like it’s going to explode, and you don’t say two words to me. What’s going on? Why are you being so secretive?”

A cold, dark fury flares up in my throat, hot as acid. I step toward her chair, my shadow looming large over

her.

“Shut your mouth,” I growl, my voice dropping into a low, vicious threat.

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“No, I won’t,” she snaps back. “I’m carrying your child, Knox. I deserve to know what’s happening with the Club and why you’re acting like an insane person -”

“You don’t deserve shit bark, stepping right up to the armchair and leaning down, planting my hands on the curved armrests on either side of her head.

She flinches hard, pulling her chin back into her collarbone, her eyes wide and wet, her perfect makeup suddenly framed by pure terror.

“Get one thing through that empty head of yours hiss, my teeth bared, my breath harsh against her skin. “You are not in the MC. You don’t know anything about my business, you don’t ask about my business, and you sure as hell don’t demand answers from me. You aren’t my wife. You’re just a slut who got knocked up, so keep your fucking mouth shut before I give you a real reason to whine.”

A tear spills over her cheek, ruining her foundation, her chest hitching in a pathetic, shuddering breath. She squeezes her eyes shut, nodding hastily, utterly terrified into submission.

Satisfied, I push myself back up, turning my back on her as a knock echoes off the heavy front door.

The sudden sound hits the tense silence like a gunshot.

My head snaps toward the foyer. My hand instinctively drops to the leather holster concealed beneath my jacket, my thumb flicking the safety strap clear. Suspicion and adrenaline spike through my veins like fire. Vane’s men? My own club?

‘Who the fuck is that?” I spit, spinning around to glare back at Becca, my voice laced with lethal edge. “Did I tell you to invite anyone here?”

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