The MC President's Forsaken Wife (Zara and Knox) novel Chapter 317

Chapter 155-2

Clam

The bedroom is drowning in bruised purple shadows, the storm outside lashing the glass with sleet and hail, and for one terrifying second, I don’t know where I am.

I feel horribly exposed, vulnerable, naked under his oversized shirt, my body still thrumming with the hot, lingering ache of the dream, while my traumatized mind screams that an intruder has broken into the high-rise.

Knox? Vale?

I gasp, scrambling backward against the headboard, my legs tangling in the duvet, my hands catching the heavy blanket to pull it up as a useless shield against the dark-

“Hey. Hey, baby, stop. It’s me. It’s just me.”

A massive shadow moves at the edge of the mattress. The heavy bed dips sharply under a sudden, familiar weight, and then two huge, solid arms reach out through the dark, wrapping around my waist before I can pull away or scream.

I let out a sharp, choked cry, flinching violently, my hands striking out blindly against his chest in pure self-defense. My knuckles hit iron-hard muscle that doesn’t yield an inch.

“Shhhh, baby, look at me,” the low, gravelly voice rumbles, thick with bone-deep exhaustion and a raw, terrifying tenderness. “Look at me, Zara. You’re safe. I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

The scent hits me an instant later, crashing over my senses like a tidal wave.

It’s him. It’s really him.

I freeze, my fingers splayed flat against the scuffed front of his coat, my lungs hitching as the realization strikes.

The dark room slowly aligns. The faint, ambient glow from the kitchen light spills through the door, cutting across the broad, dangerous silhouette hovering over me.

Locke is sitting on the edge of the mattress, his long legs planted on the floor, still wearing his full road gear: heavy engineer boots, black jeans, and a scuffed leather jacket pulled tight over his long-sleeved shirt.

His jaw is dark with a rough, heavy growth of stubble, his hair damp and messy from the storm, and deep, bruised shadows sit etched beneath his eyes. He looks terrifying. He looks like a monster that just crawled out of a war zone. He looks like he’s just ridden straight through the gates of hell to get back to this room.

He’s really here. He’s alive. He’s home.

“Locke?” My voice breaks, a tiny, paper-thin whisper that dissolves into the quiet. “I’m awake?”

“Yeah, baby,” he murmurs softly, holding me like something fragile and priceless. “You’re awake. I’m right here.”

The dam inside me doesn’t just crack; it completely shatters into dust.

1/3

Chapter 155

Claim

A-loud, violent sob tears out of my throat, raw, ragged, and helpless. The sheer, crushing terror of the last fourteen days – the quiet nights staring at the ceiling, the sickening knot in my stomach every time a bike roared past on the street, the agonizing, hollow void – collapses all at once.

I throw my arms around his neck, burying my face into the cold, wet leather of his shoulder, shaking so violently my teeth chatter.

“Hey, hey… I’m sorry,” Locke says, his volse cracking with a sudden, fierce emotion that rattles his chest. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He doesn’t hesitate a second longer. He hooks his heavy arms beneath my bare thighs and lower back, hauling my small frame straight up off the mattress and into his lap. He pulls me flush against his massive chest, wrapping his broad arms around me like an iron vault, trapping me against his heart.

I wrap my bare legs tightly around his waist, my knees gripping his jeans, my fingers digging into the heavy leather of his vest as if he might vanish into smoke if I loosen my grip by a fraction of an inch.

He pulls back, his dark eyes fierce, raw, and completely unblinking as he scans my face in the dim light. He traces the hot tear tracks on my cheeks with his thumbs, kissing my forehead, my temple, the bridge of my nose, before pressing his forehead hard against mine.

“I’m here,” he whispers, his hot breath fanning across my lips. “The waiting and not knowing is over.”

“Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” he says, his grip on my waist tightening until it almost hurts, grounding me.

“What happened out there? Where were you? Please, Locke, just tell me something!”

Locke’s jaw sets into an absolute, unyielding line. The soft tenderness in his eyes doesn’t disappear, but a thick, impenetrable steel wall drops down behind his gaze. It’s the wall that separates his brutal life as an MC member from his life here in this bed with me

“Don’t worry about the run, baby,” he says. “The job is done. That’s all you need to know.”

“Locke -”

“It’s handled, Zara,” he says, cutting off my protest before it can even take shape. He reaches up, running his hand through my hair, tilting my head up so I’m forced to look straight into his dark, possessive eyes. “I’m here with you now. Nothing outside this room matters. Only you.”

He looks down at me, taking in the state of me. My face is flushed and wet with tears, my breath is coming in ragged gasps, his oversized t-shirt rides high around my naked body, my bare legs are wrapped tightly around his waist.

He can feel the rapid, erratic beat of my heart against his chest, feel the intense, lingering heat radiating off my skin from the dream that led straight into this moment.

His gray eyes turn completely stormy, a heavy, dangerous hunger flaring deep within them, scorching away the tired shadows beneath his brow.

“Now,” Locke growls low in his throat, his hand sliding down my spine to pin my bare lower back, pulling my hips flush against the hard, unyielding ridge of his lap. “Tell me what you were crying out for when I walked through that bedroom door.”

23