The MC President's Forsaken Wife (Zara and Knox) novel Chapter 283

Chapter 140-2

Cram

I nod slowly, understanding all too well. When my brother sees an opening, his instinct is always to charge forward and dominate, no matter the cost. He grew up on those same clubhouse floors that I did, watching our father command respect through unyielding strength.

To Mayhem, hesitating feels like bleeding in front of sharks.

“And Dad?” I say, tracing the tense line of Locke’s shoulder. “What does he say?”

“Cobra didn’t make the call today,” Locke says. “The debate got so loud that he finally slammed his gavel down and cleared the room. He’s sitting in his office at the clubhouse right now, thinking it over tonight. He said he’ll give his final decision tomorrow morning, at eight a.m., at a meeting with his officers.”

“Do you have to be there?”

“No. I’m not the inner inner circle.”

I stare at him, my heart heavy in my chest. “So it all comes down to Dad.”

“It always comes down to the President, baby,” Locke says quietly. “Either way, once he speaks tomorrow, the table is locked, and the club is committed to whatever he decides. If he says we drop it, Mayhem falls in line. If he says we hit the truck… every patched member rides. Including me.”

The words hang between us, heavy and unyielding.

Every patched member rides.

Including me.

It doesn’t matter that Locke thinks it’s a bad move. It doesn’t matter that Vane is directly involved now, or that the risks are astronomical. If Cobra Callahan gives the order, Locke will put on his vest, mount his bike, and ride out beside my brother and the rest of the club.

That’s the code. That’s the life.

I’ve spent my entire existence surrounded by men who live by that rule, but knowing it doesn’t make the knot in my stomach any looser when it’s yet another man that I love stepping onto that razor’s edge.

I lean down, burying my face against the warm column of his neck. I tighten my grip on him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his ribs beneath my palm, refusing to let the fear take over.

“Hey,” Locke mutters softly, his large hands moving up to gently frame my face, tilting my head back. “Stop that. Look at me, Zara.”

I look straight into the depths of his gaze.

“I’m sorry,” he says, a rare, tender vulnerability softening the hard edges of his voice. “I brought the dark from the clubhouse right into our home. I shouldn’t have dumped all of that on you.”

“No,” I say, reaching up to cover his hands with mine. “Don’t apologize for being honest with me, Locke. Eve r. I’d rather know the truth than sit in the dark while you carry it all by yourself.”

7/2

Chapter 140

Claim

Gobra hasn’t made his call yet,” Locke reminds me. “Your Dad knows what he’s doing, baby. He saw what happened to Bishop, and he knows how heavy the playing field is right now. He’s weighing every single variable.”

I take a deep breath, trying to let his steady confidence bleed into me “I know. I just… I hate the waiting.”

“So do I,” he says. “Which is why we aren’t going to spend the rest of the night lying here in the dark letting our minds run in circles.”

“We’re not?”

“Nope,” Locke rumbles, effortlessly shifting his weight and swinging his long legs off the side of the bed.” No way.”

He reaches for his discarded jeans on the floor, pulling them on with smooth, practiced ease. He turns back to look at me over his shoulder, a small, genuine spark gleaming in his eyes.

“We’re getting up and ordering takeout,” he says. “That good sushi place down on the road. Spicy tuna rolls, dragon rolls, salmon maki, tempura… and I’ll open a bottle of that crisp white wine you like.”

A small laugh bubbles up in my throat. “You really know how to take care of me, Locke.”

“Always, baby,” he replies, stepping over to my side of the bed. He leans down, resting his hands on either side of me, dropping a kiss onto my messy hair. “Now wrap yourself in something warm and come help me order.”

“Deal.”

I watch him walk out toward the kitchen, listening to the quiet sound of his bare feet on the hardwood floor and the faint clink of wine glasses being set on the counter.

The ambient glow of the kitchen counter lights spills into the hallway, cutting through the shadows and filling the penthouse with a sense of safety that feels almost sacred.

Tomorrow morning, the sun will rise, Dad will make his call, and the club’s path will be set in stone.

The shadows are gathering on the horizon, heavy, unpredictable, and dangerous.

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