The MC President's Forsaken Wife (Zara and Knox) novel Chapter 304

Chapter 149

Chapter 149-1

By three-thirty, the kitchen is standing room only.

Claim

Bear walks in through the back security entrance, his heavy leather cut dusty from six hours on road patrol. He stops dead in his tracks three feet inside the doorway, his nose lifting into the air like a grizzly picking up a scent across a valley.

“Tell me that’s pork, I swear,” Bear says, his deep voice vibrating through the floorboards. “Zara, please tell me my mind ain’t playing tricks on me.”

“It’s slow-braised pork shoulder, Bear,” I say, pulling a tray of golden, steaming cornbread out of the oven and setting it on a heat-proof trivet. “And if you don’t go wash that highway dirt off your hands right now, you’re not getting a single bite.”

“I’m going! I’m going!” Bear yells, turning on his heel and practically sprinting down the hallway toward the washrooms, nearly trampling Spoon in the process.

“Move it, rookie!” Big Mac says, following right behind him. “Every man for himself!”

I turn back to the counter where Jade, Stitch, and Byte are setting out heavy ceramic platters.

The sheer volume of food is staggering: forty pounds of pulled pork dripping in rich, dark beer sauce, two giant bowls of garlic mashed potatoes, a mountain of creamy jalapeño mac and cheese, tangy coleslaw, and three pans of hot cornbread slathered in honey butter.

Rook walks in through the back doorway, holding a thick stack of manila folders.

He looks exhausted, his sharp jawline set in its usual hard, uncompromising grid, but as he takes in the sight of the transformed kitchen – the steam rising, the men gathered around, the genuine warmth in the air – the harsh lines around his eyes relax just a fraction.

“Zara,” Rook says, stopping by the edge of the island. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

“I wanted to,” I reply, setting down a pair of serving tongs. “It was getting too quiet up at the apartment.”

Rook nods slowly, his dark eyes understanding everything I’m not saying. He knows what it’s like to carry the weight of this life, to watch a brother ride out into a comms blackout without knowing if it’ll be days or weeks before his engine rumbles back into the yard.

“Locke’s a ghost when he wants to be,” Rook says quietly, his voice low enough that only Jade and I can hear. “He knows how to stay invisible when he’s out on a dark run. He’ll make his way back when he can.”

“I know,” I say, holding his gaze steadily. “I know he will.”

“Alright!” Brick shouts from his perch near the door, banging his socket wrench against the steel doorframe with a deafening clang. “Get the bar tables pushed together, and set ’em.”

The kitchen erupts into operational motion. Spoon and Trench push three long, heavy wooden tables in the bar area together, aligning them end-to-end. Chairs are dragged over, scraping loudly against the bar floor.

Within five minutes, seventeen people are crammed shoulder-to-shoulder at the tables. The heavy iron pots and hot platters are set right down the center line, steam billowing up in sweet, savory clouds that

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catch the overhead light.

“Pass the pork!” Big Mac demands, shoving his plate toward Tucker.

Clain

“Hold your horses, fat boy, Tucker rumbles, slapping Big Mac’s reaching hand away with a plastic serving spoon before taking the platter and holding it out to me first. “Zara cooked it, she eats first. Where are your damn manners?”

“Manners don’t exist when food smells like this,” Diesel groans, taking a massive bite of a cornbread square slathered in honey butter. He closes his eyes, letting out a dramatic, soul-deep sigh that makes the entire table burst into laughter. “Sweet Jesus above. Zara, will you marry me? We can run away together. Locke doesn’t have to know.”

“I’ll tell him myself whenever he gets back,” I say, leaning over Jade to grab the hot sauce. “And he’ll use you for target practice.”

“Worth it,” Diesel declares, shoveling a massive forkful of mac and cheese into his mouth. “Totally, one hundred percent worth it.”

“If anyone’s running away with her, it’s me,” Riff chimes in, leaning over the table with a mouth full of mashed potatoes. “I’m prettier than you, Diesel, and I don’t snore.”

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