The MC President's Forsaken Wife (Zara and Knox) novel Chapter 290

Chapter 143-2

“Okay,” I say. “Tomorrow I’ll make us breakfast. Locke leaves for the clubhouse early, so we’ll have the whole place to ourselves.”

Clam

“Perfect,” Jade says, the tight tension in her shoulders relaxing just a fraction. “Alright, my break is almost up.”

She pushes herself off my tool cart, tossing her still-full coffee cup into the metal trash can near the lift.

“Thanks for the latte,” I call out after her as she starts walking toward the side exit.

“Anytime, princess!” Jade winks over her shoulder, her high heeled boots clicking against the concrete as she pushes the heavy door open. “See you tomorrow at ten!”

The door swings shut behind her, leaving me in the dusty sunlight of my bay, holding my coffee while the thrum of classic rock fills the quiet space between us.

I stand there for a long moment, watching the heavy metal door settle into its frame. The pane vibrates slightly from the gust of freezing wind outside, echoing the low rumble of a passing bike out on the road. A strange, prickling silence hangs in the air where Jade was standing just seconds ago,

She held herself together well. But then, she always does, seeing as she married into the club. Jade is used to the careful, guarded dance of living around men who read every shift in posture.

But I’ve known her too long.

The tight set of her knuckles against that plastic coffee cup, the subtle way her eyes darted toward the open office doorway before asking to meet away from club property… none of that was normal.

“Hey, Zara,” Diesel’s voice breaks through my spiral, loud and grating over the sound of an angle grinder whirring down in bay four. “You gonna stare at that door all day, or are you gonna help me line up this secondary belt? Brick’s hands are too big to reach the tension bolt without stripping the threads.”

I blink, shaking off the sudden knot forming in my stomach, and turn back toward the bay. “I’m coming, Diesel. Keep your shirt on.”

He flashes me a huge smile. “You sure about that, sweet thing?”

“Yes. For the love of God, keep your shirt on. I beg of you.”

I toss my empty latte cup into the bin, step over the low oil drain pan, and walk over to Diesel’s lift.

“Get your narrow fingers in there,” Diesel instructs, pointing a blackened thumb toward the tight gap between the inner primary and the transmission case. “Hold the lock plate still while Brick cranks down on the main nut. If it slips, the whole assembly binds up.”

“Alright, give me a second,” I say, snapping on a fresh pair of gloves. I lean in, resting my shoulder against Brick’s broad arm for balance, and slide two fingers into the narrow gap, feeling the cold steel of the lock plate settle firmly under my knuckles. “Got it. Go ahead, Brick.”

Brick slowly applies pressure to the wrench. Click. Click. Click. The heavy mechanical precision of the torque wrench settling into place is grounded and solid, pulling my racing thoughts right back into the

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Chapter 143-

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physical reality of the shop.

“How’s that look?” Brick asks, backing off the wrench and glancing down at me.

“Perfect,” I say, pulling my hands back and inspecting the alignment. “Zero play, clean track. It won’t throw a belt.”

“Good girl,” Brick grunts, warmth softening his rough voice. He wipes his forehead with his sleeve, leaving a smudge of dark grease across his temple. “Your old man would be proud. He was complaining all last week that you were gonna get soft sitting around Locke’s castle all day.”

“Dad complains about everything,” I scoff. “If I stayed at the garage twelve hours a day, he’d complain I was spending too much time working. If I stay at the penthouse, he complains I’m turning into a pampered princess.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Diesel says. “Cobra’s got two modes: protective dad and paranoid President. When you mix ’em together, the man’s insufferable.”

“Amen.”

By one o’clock, the garage begins to wind down for the afternoon lull, and I’m done for the day.

I pack my tools away neatly, sliding each metric socket back into its designated slot in my red rolling chest, and lock the drawers. I peel off my gloves, wash the stubborn black grease off my forearms at the heavy industrial sink in the corner, and grab my denim jacket and SUV keys off the peg by the door.

“I’m out for the day, Diesel,” I call out toward the back bays.

“Take it easy, hon!” Diesel shouts back, his voice buried behind the loud clatter of a tire mounting machine. “Tell Locke to keep you happy for the next couple of days, huh?”

“I’ll will,” I say with a laugh, pushing open the heavy side door and stepping out into the cold air.

The parking lot is filled with the low, idle thrum of three custom glides sitting near the clubhouse entrance, their chrome pipes gleaming in the sun. A couple of prospects are cleaning the oil-spattered concrete around them.

Leaning against a steel support beam with his arms crossed over his chest, is Hammer. Tall, imposing, and broad-shouldered, he’s filling in overseeing lot duty while Bishop recovers at home: Hammer keeps an unblinking, stern eye on the prospects, barking out a harsh direction whenever one of them slacks on the pressure washer.

As I unlock the door to my SUV, Hammer tilts his head toward me, his sharp eyes cutting across the gravel. He gives me a short, respectful nod; it’s a silent, vigilant acknowledgment from a man who takes guarding the chapter’s perimeter dead seriously.

I give him a brief wave back, sliding into the driver’s seat and pulling the heavy door shut. I turn the key, letting the engine rumble to life, and swing out of the lot, leaving the garage behind as I head up the highway, back toward the city.

The drive back to the penthouse is quiet, the traffic light and steady. But as I take the elevator up to the top floor and step into the sunlit expanse of the penthouse, the silence feels almost deafening compared to the noise of the shop.

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Chapter 113

set my keys on the kitchen counter, grab a bottle of water from the fridge, and walk over to the floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over the choppy ocean.

Jade’s face lingers in my mind. The nervous flicker in her eyes, the way her hand trembled around that coffee cup, the quiet urgency in her voice when she asked to meet somewhere off club grounds.

Clam

Tomorrow morning at ten o’clock, Jade will walk off that elevator, and whatever secret she’s holding will finally come to light.

I take a long drink of cold water, staring out at the gathering blizzard, and hope hard that it’s nothing terrible.

Not even anything mildly bad.

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