The MC President's Forsaken Wife (Zara and Knox) novel Chapter 434

Chapter 212-2

Chapter 212-2

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this supposed to be dipped in the yellow curry or the sweet peanut sauce?” Stray asks, raising

an eyebrow toward Brick.

“Both, if you’re not a coward,” Brick grunts, already slathering a piece of the crispy rice noodles with spiced dip. “And pass the chili skewers down here before Riff eats the whole damn tray.”

“I heard that!” Riff yells from three seats over, his hand mid-air over the last skewer. “I’m sharing!

gave Big Mac two pieces!”

“Two pieces out of eight isn’t sharing, Riff, it’s an insult,” Big Mac says, shaking his head mournfully

“So sad.”

“Shut your mouth, Mac,” Riff barks, leaning over a steaming dish of chili-garlic shrimp. “I’m taking the extra sauce and you can’t stop me. You’ve had three spring rolls already.”

“Touch that bowl and I’ll break your wrist,” Big Mac grunts back, though a grin splits his bearded

face. “With a smile.”

Locke lets out a low, amused chuckle. Huge, steaming platters are already circulating down the length of the teak table: rich yellow coconut curries, charred chili octopus, crispy lemongrass chicken, tamarind beef, fragrant jasmine rice, and golden vegetable spring rolls.

Bear, Diesel, Tucker, and Rook occupy the central section of the table, passing around giant bowls

of coconut soup and platters of grilled satay.

“Zara,” Bear says, his deep voice cutting through the banter as he looks up from down the table.

His weathered eyes soften instantly, a warm, genuine smile showing through his graying beard as

he shoves a platter of crispy vegetable dumplings down the table toward my place setting. “Eat

up, kid. You look like you’re about to inhale the food here.”

“Thanks, Bear,” I say. “I’m starving, actually.”

Bishop shifts in his seat, adjusting his knee under the table with a quiet wince before looking over

at me.

“Glad to see you with us, kid,” Bishop grunts, his harsh features softening into a look of genuine affection. “If Locke didn’t make you sit down, I was gonna use this cane to trip you into a chair myself.”

“I’d like to see you try, Bishop,” I tease gently, reaching over to pat his arm. “Though with that knee, you might miss and hit Mayhem.”

“Hey, leave me out of your physical violence,” Mayhem says, pouring beer into his glass. “I’m a man

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Chapter 212-2

of peace tonight.”

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Down near the end of the table, Trench and Spoon are practically engaged in a tactical maneuver over a platter of glazed pork belly. Trench tries to use his spoon to block Spoon’s fork, leading to a silent, high-stakes duel of cutlery that leaves Byte shaking his head in mild disgust.

“You two are embarrassing us in front of the follage,” Byte mutters, adjusting his glasses.

“It’s glaze protocol, Byte,” Trench argues. “Spoon’s taking more than his fair distribution.”

“There is no distribution limit on pork belly!” Spoon insists, successfully spearing a chunk and

retreating with a victorious grin.

Across the table, I catch Mayhem’s eye again. He gives me another subtle, knowing wink.

Of course he, Dad, Jade and Willow know about the baby, keeping the quiet secret tucked close to their chests while we waited for the twelve-week scan. Now, watching Mayhem practically vibrate in his chair with stored energy, I know he’s dying for the rest of the room to catch up.

Stitch sets his glass down on a coaster, his sharp, observant eyes flicking from me to Locke. The club medic knows us better than most, and the quiet, fierce protective light radiating off Locke tonight isn’t hard to spot. He can probably also look at me and see something that the others

don’t.

“So, Locke,” Stitch says, leaning back in his seat and lacing his fingers together over his cut. “You and Cobra dragged thirty guys out of the clubhouse, made us put on clean shirts, and booked out a high-end restaurant on a Thursday night. You gonna tell us what’s going on, or are we just celebrating Tucker learning how to use a fork?”

A wave of laughter ripples around the neighboring tables. A waiter carrying a tray of iced tea visibly flinches at the sudden noise, almost dropping the pitcher before retreating rapidly behind.

the safety of the bar.

Diesel snorts into his glass, while Stray leans back in his seat, resting his broad elbows on the

teakwood.

“Yeah,” Stray chimes in, his eyes gleaming with humor. “What’s the occasion? Did we finally buy that secondary warehouse in the valley, or did the ladies just get tired of watching us eat gas station pizza?”

Locke doesn’t answer immediately. He reaches out, his large, calloused hand finding mine under

the edge of the table.

Dad looks down the length of the table, offering Locke a brief, approving nod. The President

passes the floor to him, letting Locke take the lead for his own news.

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