The MC President's Forsaken Wife (Zara and Knox) novel Chapter 288

Chapter 142-3

“Soft?” Stray snorts, shaking his head in disbelief. “Man, Locke walked past me this morning. Normally he looks at you like he’s trying to calculate how long it takes to break a man’s collarbone with two fingers. Tod ay? He looks at me, nods, and goes, ‘Morning, Stray. I nearly dropped my helmet. Thought I was being ambushed or set up for a surprise drill.”

“I’m tellin’ you, it’s her,” Riff laughs. “She domesticated the beast. Next thing you know, Locke’s gonna be hostin’ Sunday brunch at his place.”

“Try saying that to his face, Riff,” I say, wiping my brow with my forearm and shooting him a sweet smile. “I’m sure he’d love to hear your thoughts on his domestic life and his baking skills.”

“Hey now,” Riff holds up his hands defensively. “I like my teeth right where they are in my jaw, honey cake. I’m just sayin’, the man looks contented. It’s deeply unnatural for Him.”

“You guys are insufferable,” I say, tossing a dirty shop towel straight at Big Mac’s face. He catches it effortlessly with a booming laugh that echoes off the metal rafters. “Get out of my bay before I tell Dad you’re loitering, wasting billable shop hours, and slacking on inventory.”

“Ooh, scary!” Big Mac mocks, throwing his hands up in fake terror as he backs away toward the door. “Come on, Bear, let’s leave the mechanic to her masterpiece before she sags our tire pressures.”

“Catch you later, Zee,” Bear smiles warmly, giving my shoulder one last gentle pat before he, Riff, Stray, and Big Mac filter back out toward the front lot, their booming voices and heavy boots fading down the hallway.

I watch them go, a deep, contented warmth lingering in my chest. These men aren’t just my Dad’s crew or the club’s muscle.

They’re the guys who stood guard at the end of our driveway when things got dangerous, the uncles who bought me ice cream when I scraped my knees and swore me to secrecy so my Dad wouldn’t find out, who showed up to my high school graduation and cheered when I collected my diploma.

They’ve watched me grow from a scrawny, quiet kid hiding behind Cobra’s cut into the woman standing in front of them today.

I turn back to the Shovelhead, picking up my torque wrench to finish the valve adjustments, fully submerged in the rhythmic, hypnotic flow of mechanical work.

Over the next hour, Tucker wanders over every twenty minutes under the guise of grabbing a rag or checking a torque spec, but really he’s just double-checking my progress, grunting in quiet approval each time he sees how clean the assembly is coming along.

At one point, Brick brings over a freshly buffed aluminum primary cover he spent twenty minutes polishing on the wheel, just so my build would shine a little brighter under the bay lights.

By noon, the top end of the engine is fully assembled, the chrome glinting under the garage lights, perfectly timed and torqued to spec. I take a step back, wiping a speck of oil off the casing with a soft

cloth, feeling that familiar, deep pride settle in my bones:

I built this. I know every bolt, every seal, every clearance.

1/2

Clay

I’m just about to start prepping the primary drive chain when the heavy side door swings open once more, bringing in a fresh gust of cool air and the sharp, distinctive sound of high heels clicking briskly against the oil-stained concrete.

I turn around, wiping my face with the back of my gloved wrist, and instantly smile.

Jade is strutting down the main aisle between the lifts, looking like a goddamn supermodel on the runway.

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