The MC President's Forsaken Wife (Zara and Knox) novel Chapter 302

Chapter 148-2

Clarm

As if summoned by the noise, the swinging double doors to the back hallway push open, and Jade steps through. She’s wearing black leather pants and a clinging black tank top, her hair pulled up, looking like she’s heading out to a hot club.

“Tell me I’m not hallucinating,” Jade says, coming around the counter and leaning her curvy hip against the island. “Tell me someone is actually making real food in this cave.”

“Zara’s making us eat grass,” Diesel says, though he hasn’t moved an inch from the doorway, watching me with the rapt attention of a starved wolf.

“Shut up, Diesel,” Jade says affectionately, reaching into my bag and pulling out a bunch of carrots. “Give me a peeler, babe. I need something to do with my hands.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” I say, sliding a peeler and a wooden cutting board across the stainless steel. “And Diesel, I have another six bags of groceries out in my truck.”

“Argh,” he says, then snaps a salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

Within twenty minutes, the kitchen evolves into a full-scale operation.

Byte wanders in first, his sharp, thin face pale from hours under fluorescent lights, wires and a multimeter still tucked into his vest pocket. Right behind him is Stitch, moving with his usual restless, panther-like tread, his hands shoved deep into his denim pockets as he sniffs the air.

“Is that meat?” Byte asks, his eyes locking onto the pork shoulders. “Real meat? Not reconstituted beef jerky from a foil pouch?”

“It’s real,” I say. “Now grab those bags of potatoes from under the sink and start peeling.”

“I don’t do domestic labor, honey,” Byte smirks, but he’s already pulling a five-gallon bucket out from under the counter to catch the peelings. “Unless it’s you asking.”

Stitch doesn’t say a word; he just grabs a chef’s knife from the magnetic strip on the wall, inspects it with a scowl, sharpens it twice on a steel rod, and starts dicing yellow onions with terrifying, surgical speed.

“I can see who’s the doctor here,” I observe. “Serious knife skills, man.”

Out in the hallway, heavy boots stomp against the linoleum, followed by the sound of someone yelling. Stray walks in, wiping grease off his forearms with a blue paper towel.

Alongside him are two young guys I haven’t seen much around the main floor: Spoon, thin and hyperactive with a faded tattoo of an anchor on his neck, and Trench, a tall, quiet kid built like a brick wall with a shaved head.

“Byte, get your ass out of the way,” Stray rumbles, tossing his grease towel into the bin. “Zara, these two prospects were useless out in the bay. Use them however you want. If they break anythin’, tell me and I’ll make ’em scrub the toilets with a fuckin’ toothbrush.”

“Hey!” Spoon protests instantly. “I was holding the light straight!”

“You were shakin’ like a dog passin’ peach stones,” Stray grunts, looking over at my prep station with a

1/2

Chapter 148

warm nod of approval. “Fuckin”-A, kiddo. Looks amazin’.”

Claim

1 trim the fat off the last massive pork shoulder, scoring the surface in deep diamonds, and massage a heavy rub of sea salt, cracked black pepper, smoked paprika, and dark brown sugar into every crevice.

“Spoon, Trench,” I call out into the busy room. “Grab that fifty-quart pot and get it onto the main burner. Pour three tablespoons of oil in the bottom and turn the gas up high.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Spoon says quickly, snapping to attention while Trench moves in like a human forklift, lifting the massive pot without so much as a grunt.

When the first thirty-pound slab of pork hits the screaming-hot oil, the hiss is deafening. A thick cloud of savory, caramelized steam billows up toward the commercial exhaust hood, filling the air with an aroma so rich, it completely wipes out the lingering smell of engine degreaser and old gasoline.

“Holy shit,” a booming voice echoes from the hallway.

Big Mac and Riff squeeze through the doorway, both of them covered in dark grease up to their elbows.

“Is that… actual food?” Riff asks, his nose twitching. “Tell me I’m not dreaming, Mac.”

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