The MC President's Forsaken Wife (Zara and Knox) novel Chapter 32

Chapter 27-2

I groan. “Locke…”

Cum

He turns slightly away from me, takes a couple of steps into the kitchen, but I can still hear my Dad’s tone.

“She’s not okay.”

Pause.

“She’s bruised and cut up.”

Pause.

“Her face, her arm, her lower back. And I suspect that she’s still in pain from the bar fight last night, so really, the girl is a walking fucking disaster zone.”

“Hey!” I say again, indignant. “I am not!”

Longer pause.

“Yep. Got it, Prez. Here she is.”

He hands me the phone, and I stare at it suspiciously, as if I expect my Dad to leap through the damn thing

at me.

“Hello?”

Dad’s voice comes through immediately. “Sweetheart?”

“Hi Dad.”

“You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“That’s not what Locke said.”

I shoot the handsome traitor a glare that should melt steel, but he doesn’t look remotely guilty or abashed. Instead, he grabs the now-melting package of peas off the table, wanders over to my tiny refrigerator, peers at the contents, then opens the minuscular freezer, and starts rooting around inside.

I turn my attention back to my father. “Dad, I’ll be OK. I mean, I’m definitely sore, but nothing that requires a hospital visit. Some more frozen veggies, a couple of aspirin, a glass of wine, I’ll be good.”

“What exactly did that fucker say to you while he was throwing you around and smashing your pretty little face in?”

“Well,” I clear my throat. “That he assumed you’d side with him against me. That you’d be reasonable about the club cooperation and business ties. That you’d – you’d choose him over me.”

The silence on the other end is immediate and loaded. It’s the kind of silence that usually precedes a grisly murder that makes exactly none of the local news, because a body is never found.

1-3

Chapter 21

Clam

“He said that, huh?” Dad’s voice is tensed up, like he’s waiting for a sign to strike, and yet again, I reflect That the name Cobra is perfect for him. “Well, we’ll talk about that tomorrow, for sure.”

“OK, Dad. Goodnight.”

“Nuh-uh,” he barks, and I jump. “Not so fast, Zara.”

“What? What’s wrong?”

“I don’t want you alone over there, now that Knox knows where you are. I’m sending Mayhem to stay with

you.”

“God, no. Please not that – anything but that.”

“Then I’m coming myself.”

“Anything but that too.”

“Then Locke stays.”

I blink. “What?”

“He stays the night, and brings you back over to the clubhouse tomorrow.” Dad sounds entirely too pleased with himself. “That’s the arrangement until we figure out how the fuck to deal with Knox once and for all.”

“Dad, that’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?”

I look around my tiny, one-room apartment. The one where the crappy sofa is also my bed, and is ten feet from the kitchen, which is two feet from the bathroom. Then I look at the very large biker currently sitting at the table, holding a package of frozen blueberries.

“Yes, Dad. It is.”

“Love you, kiddo.”

“You sure about that, old man?”

Dad laughs, then hangs up. I stare at the phone, then at Locke, then at the phone again.

“He hung up on me.”

“Sure looks that way.”

“My own damn father.”

“He’s got balls, for sure.”

I narrow my eyes. “You don’t look nearly upset enough about this.”

One eyebrow rises. “About protecting you?”

About ten different responses occur to me, and none of them feel even remotely safe. The silence

23

Chapt

#retches, and finally I clear my throat and glance around my apartment.

You can’t stay here, Locke.”

He cocks his head at me. Your father disagrees.”

‘My father also thought that mullets were a personality trait in the eighties.

That’s actually fair.”

huff a laugh, then fold my arms. “What I mean is, there’s nowhere for you to sleep.”

Cam

Locke looks around the apartment, and seems to fully take it in for the first time. The sofa bed. The door to the hallway. The dresser. The bathroom.

His gaze returns to mine. “You got a bathtub?”

laugh. “A bathtub?”

One heavily-muscled shoulder lifts. “I’ve slept in worse places.”

That’s somehow both comforting and concerning.”

Yeah. I get that a lot.”

And there it is. That tiny flash of humor that always catches me off guard because it feels strangely private somehow, like discovering a hidden room inside a house you thought you understood.

“Look, Zara.” He walks over to me, hands me the frozen blueberries, watches as I put them on my bruised cheek with a wince. “Let’s just do this for tonight. We’ll get through the next few hours, go to the clubhouse tomorrow, talk to your Dad and find a better solution, OK? I mean – it’s one night. What difference can one night really make?”

I stare at him for a moment, then let out a slow breath.

One night. Just one night. A temporary and uncomfortable situation, nothing more complicated than that.

“OK,” I say finally, nodding, feeling like I’m setting down an enormous weight. “You’re right.”

One night is nothing, really… at least, that’s what I think. What I don’t know yet is that one night with Locke Tanner is more than enough time for everything in my life to change.

Every single thing.

Comments

LUCK DRAW >

299

H