The MC President's Forsaken Wife (Zara and Knox) novel Chapter 389

Chapter 190-2

“You don’t look very happy that I’ve tracked you down, Zara,” Knox chuckles. “After all, legally speaking, I’m still your husband. You never managed to get me to sign those divorce papers, did you, darling? Though I suppose you’ve been a little too busy playing house with Locke to care about technicalities.”

“You didn’t track me,” I reply, my tone dangerously casual as I look him dead in the eye. “You hired a couple of hulking stooges to hang out in a van, waiting for me to walk out of a coffee shop alone. Don’t flatter yourself. You’re no fucking hero or bad ass.”

The grin flickers on Knox’s face, a flash of irritation breaking through his smug composure before he forces a loud, boisterous laugh.

“Always had a sharp tongue, didn’t you?” Knox says, taking another step forward. He reaches out, his dirty fingers grabbing my jaw and pinching down hard on the bruising, forcing my face up toward the light. “Let’s see how sharp it stays when your father and Locke realize what this is going to cost them.”

Pain flares along my cheekbone, but I don’t flinch. I just stare straight into his bloodshot eyes with cold, unyielding disgust.

“Do you really think this ends well for you, Knox?” I ask softly. “Do you honestly think pulling me into a filthy abandoned warehouse solves your problems, whatever the hell they are?”

Knox yanks his hand back, wiping his palm on his coat as if my skin burned him. He begins pacing back and forth in front of the yellow light, gesturing wildly.

“It solves everything!” Knox says, his voice rising, echoing off the iron rafters. “This isn’t about territory or some stupid fucking club rivalry anymore. This is simple math, Zara. Vane wants his return on investment, and he wants his cash now.”

I blink slowly, letting a stupidly blank expression settle over my features.

“I need millions to settle up, and I know for a fact that Cobra’s club has a full war chest – and that fucker Locke is sitting on a mountain of cash.”

“Vane?” I ask, tilting my head slightly, making my voice sound entirely unimpressed and confused. “Who the hell is Vane? Have you resorted to working for some street–level loan shark now, Knox? Is that why you’re shaking?”

Knox stops pacing, his face contorting into a dark, paranoid scowl. He takes a sudden step closer, thrusting his finger inches from my nose.

Chapter Lab 2

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“Don’t play cute with me!” Knox barks. “And don’t act like you don’t know what’s going on! Where are my chemical trucks, Zara?”

“Trucks?”

“Yes, trucks, you fucking bitch! Two of my shipments were stolen, and my entire fentanyl operation is stalled out, and Vane is breathing down my neck.”

A surge of satisfaction hums beneath my skin, but I don’t let a single flicker of intelligence show on my face.

I know everything about his missing chemical shipments, more than he does. I know about the drug lab, I know who hit his transport, and I know his entire supply line is currently burning to ash.

“What are you even talking about, Knox? What chemical trucks? I was getting coffee and meeting a friend. I don’t care about your pathetic drug business.”

“I don’t know anything about your trucks, Knox,” I say. “I don’t know who this Vane guy is, and I don’t care. But whatever deal you screwed up, it sounds like your own messy bullshit problem. You couldn’t handle your own business, so now you’re snatching women out of alleys like a pathetic, desperate loser. It’s embarrassing for you, Knox. Truly.”

“Shut your fucking mouth!” Knox growls. “You think you can sit there and mock me? I legally own you, and right now I hold your life in my hands.”

“You don’t hold anything, and sure as hell not me,” I say. “Look at you. You think Locke is going to give you millions of dollars? You don’t know him at all. Locke doesn’t negotiate with desperate men, Knox. He isn’t going to write you a check.”

“Locke is coming for me right now,” I tell him. “He already knows I’m gone, for sure. And while

Chapley 190-2

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you’re standing here sweating and screaming over lost money and lost trucks, Locke is mobilizing every gun he can. He doesn’t get angry, Knox. He doesn’t throw tantrums like a little bitch like you do. He just calculates… and then he destroys.”

Knox stares at me, his chest heaving, but instead of losing his temper again, a slow, sickening smile begins to creep back onto his face. A toxic, filthy realization seems to spark in his eyes.

“You really think you’re untouchable, don’t you?” Knox says, stepping back. “You really think you’re so fucking smart.”

He turns around, grabs a spare metal folding chair leaning against a nearby pillar, drags it across the concrete with a horrible screeching sound, like fingernails on a chalkboard, and sets it down two feet in front of me.

He straddles the chair, sitting on it backwards, folding his arms over the metal backrest, and leaning in until I can smell the stale coffee and tobacco on his breath.

“Let’s talk about untouchable, Zara,” Knox says, his eyes glittering with pure malice. “Let’s talk about how much you really know about the people in your life.”

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