The MC President's Forsaken Wife (Zara and Knox) novel Chapter 303

Chapter 148-3

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“If you’re dreaming, don’t wake up,” Big Mac grunts, staring at the searing meat with pure reverence. “Zara, I will be your devoted slave forever if you give me the first piece of that crackling.”

“Hands off until four o’clock,” I say as I pour a whole pitcher of dark lager into the pot to deglaze the bottom. The liquid violently bubbles, releasing a fragrant wave of sweet malt and roasted spice. “Not one minute before.”

“I’ll guard the perimeter,” Brick declares, pulling a tall wooden stool right up to the double doors and crossing his massive arms over his cut. “Nobody gets in without Zara’s say-so.”

By three o’clock, the entire clubhouse has transformed. The smell of slow-braising pork, roasted garlic, and caramelizing onions has seeped into the very drywall of the building. It rolls down the carpeted hallway, wraps around the leather couches in the main lounge, and drifts straight out through the open bay doors into the yard.

Jade and I work side-by-side at the center island, whipping up a massive batch of garlic-herb butter, while Stitch and Byte tear through three bags of cabbage for slaw. Spoon and Trench are sweating over a twenty-pound pot of boiling potatoes, taking orders from Stray like recruits in a mess hall.

The sheer volume of life in this room – the clatter of steel, the banter, the heavy boots shuffling over the floor – keeps the dark edges of my mind at bay.

There are no messages that will be coming through on my phone; Locke’s phone is dark, stripped of batteries to prevent tracking. The uncertainty of when he’ll return hangs over the horizon like a storm cloud, but sitting in the penthouse watching the clock tick wouldn’t bring him back any faster.

Tucker moves away from the doorway, stepping up to the side of the island where I’m mixing a double batch of cornbread batter in a huge stainless steel bowl. His weathered face is unreadable, but his eyes are steady and warm.

“You’re doing good, princess,” Tucker says softly, his deep voice dropping below the roar of the exhaust fan. “Locke was restless when he left the clubhouse last night. Doesn’t like leaving you up in that high-rise alone, especially with no timeline on when he’s coming out of the dark zone.”

I pause, my whisk resting in the thick, golden batter. I look up at him, meeting his dark eyes without flinching.

“I know,” I say quietly. “He worries. But I told him I’m okay. I survived on my own before, Tuck. I’m not going to break just because the apartment is big and I don’t know what day he’s riding home.”

“Nobody thinks you’re gonna break,” Tucker says firmly, resting a heavy, calloused hand on the edge of the counter. “It ain’t about that. It’s just… when a man’s gone indefinitely, a place like that penthouse can get mighty quiet. We just wanted to make sure you weren’t sitting up there drowning in the waiting.”

“I’m not drowning,” I smile, pouring the batter into two massive, well-greased cast-iron hotel pans. “I’ve got fifteen giant appetites to keep me busy.”

“Damn straight,” Diesel calls out from the stove, where he’s pretending to monitor the boiling pasta. “And if you ever get sick of waiting around up in that fancy high-rise, you know where the fuck we are. We’ll set up a cot right here in the dry-storage room until Locke gets his ass back.”

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Chapter 14+.

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“For the love of Christ, Diesel,” Jade says, slapping his arm with a dish towel. “She’s not sleeping next to fifty-pound bags of flour.”

“Hey, it’s dry and it smells like spices!” Diesel argues.

I laugh, sliding the heavy cast-iron pans of cornbread into the roaring oven. The heat from the burners washes over my face, warm and grounding.

The ache for Locke is still there, tucked deep in my ribs. It’s a constant, heavy awareness that he’s out there somewhere, completely off the grid, but it isn’t crippling.

It’s just part of loving a man who lives in the shadows.

It’s part of loving Locke.

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