The MC President's Forsaken Wife (Zara and Knox) novel Chapter 287

Chapter 142-2

He doesn’t find one.

“Clearance on the rear cylinder intake valve?” he asks gruffly.

Claims

“Four-thousandths,” I answer instantly without looking up, hand-tightening the head bolts. “Exact factory spec. Exhaust is set to five. Main shaft end-play is zero point zero-zero-six.”

Diesel stares at the engine for ten long seconds, trying to maintain his gruff exterior, before letting out a soft sigh and shaking his head. “Kid’s a natural. It’s annoying.

Cobra taught you too well. You can be ruined and in love, and still out-wrench us all.”

“Dad taught me the basics,” I say pertly. “I taught myself the finesse.”

“Don’t let your old man hear you say that,” a voice calls out from the wide-open garage bay door. “No way his ego could handle it.”

I turn around to see Big Mac and Bear strolling through the threshold, both dressed in their cuts, holding steaming paper cups of cheap diner coffee. Big Mac is six-foot-six, built like a goddamn tank with a massive silver-blond beard, while Bear is about half-a-foot shorter, broader, and carries himself with the toughness of a man who’s survived three tours in Afghanistan.

“Hear what?” Bear asks, stepping over the oil drain pan. “Who’s badmouthing Cobra?”

‘Zara says she’s a better mechanic than her dad,” Diesel,grins, stirring the pot instantly.

“I did not!” I protest, laughing as Bear comes over and casually wraps one heavy arm around my shoulders, giving me a quick, bone-crushing squeeze that nearly lifts my feet off the concrete. “I’d never!”

“Hey, kiddo,” Bear says warmly, setting his coffee cup down on my tool cart. “How you feeling today? You look good. Skin looks clear, eyes bright… Locke keeping you fed up in that fancy high-rise?”

“He’s feeding her alright,” Big Mac snickers, leaning against the lift with a massive grin spread across his face. “You see the way she grinned when Bear mentioned his name? That’s the ‘Locke made me breakfast’ face.”

“It was just coffee,” I lie smoothly, my face still burning as I try to focus intently on torquing the head bolts to forty foot-pounds. Click. Click.

“Yeah, right,” Big Mac teases, reaching out to ruffle my hair, ruining my messy bun instantly. “I remember when you were six years old, running around this garage with grease wiped all over your face, screaming because Mayhem stole your favorite pink screwdriver. Now look at you. Living in a luxury penthouse, sleeping with the club’s smartest member, and rebuilding vintage engines like a pro.”

“I still have that pink screwdriver,” I say. “And Mayhem stole it because he couldn’t get the spark plugs out of his dirt bike.”

“And you got ’em out in thirty seconds,” Bear recalls fondly, a soft, genuine smile softening his rugged face. “I remember that. Mayhem was throwing a temper tantrum in the driveway, crying because a six-year-old girl showed him up in front of the whole club.”

Chapter 142

Clam

“He didn’t speak to me for three days, say, the memory bringing a sweet, familiar warmth to my chest. “It was glorious.

“Three days?” Tucker chimes in from his bay. “Hell, he wouldn’t even sit on the same side of the picnic table during the summer blowout. Kept glaring at you over his hot dog like you’d personally sabotaged his entire life’s work.”

Before Big Mac can pile on, the rear door swings open and Riff and Stray swagger in.

Riff is the chapter’s Chaplain, and his appearance is at shocking odds with his unshakeable moral core. He’s covered in tattoos – even on his face – and has a perpetual unlit cigarette tucked behind his ear. He hasn’t smoked in over twenty years, but he loves all the appendages of it.

Stray is one of the younger patched guys, built like an MMA fighter, always cracking his knuckles and looking for a brawl. He hero-worships Mayhem, and I suspect that he’d be one of the younger guys backing my brother’s fierce desire to ambush Knox’s Hird truck.

“What’s the circus about today?” Riff asks, leaning against the doorframe and flipping a brass Zippo lighter between his fingers with hypnotic speed.

“We’re discussing Zara’s romantic glow,” Big Mac announces loudly to the whole garage floor. “And how Locke’s gone soft.”

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