The MC President's Forsaken Wife (Zara and Knox) novel Chapter 436

Chapter 213-2

Chapter 213-2

+25 Point

irty men throw back the shots of SangSom in unison, slamming the empty glass bottoms down onto the teak table with a thundering c***k.

Riff smacks his lips, letting out a satisfied grunt. “Damn, that hits smooth. Hey, kid!” he calls out to the waiter. “Bring three more bottles of this SangSom over here… this stuff is both lethal and delicious.”

“My favorite combination,” Tucker says, winking at me. “In booze and women.”

The server nods rapidly, rushing back to the bar to grab more bottles as the club roars in approval

Mayhem leans across the table, grinning like an absolute lunatic as he slaps Locke’s shoulder. Took you long enough to announce it, brother. I swear I was gonna pop a vein keeping my mouth shut.”

“Congratulations, little sister,” Bear says softly. “Congratulations, Locke. That kid is never going to

know a day without an army at their back.”

“Damn right,” Mayhem says. “I’m teaching ’em how to ride a dirt bike the second they can walk.”

“You’re not teaching them anything until they learn how to wash a bike properly,” Dad interjects,

though his dark eyes are brimming with grandfatherly pride. “And I get first dibs on buying the

mini-leather vest.”

“Over my dead body, Cobra!” Brick calls out from halfway down the long table. “The boys already

started taking up a collection for a custom stroller with chrome rims!”

“And functional shocks!” Diesel adds.

Over near the sound system, Byte pulls his phone from his vest pocket, aiming it down the long

table and snapping quick photos of the chaos, a rare, genuine smile tugging at his thin face. Spoon and Trench are high-fiving near the bar, while Rook steps up to the side of our table, offering a quiet, respectful nod to Locke before leaning down to squeeze my shoulder gently.

“Anything you need, Zara,” Rook says quietly. “Name it. Day or night.”

“Thank you, Rook,” I smile, my heart so full it feels like it might burst right out of my ribs. “I mean it

– and I know it’s true.”

The rest of the night devolves into pure, unadulterated noise, incredible food, and deep family

warmth.

Platters of food – from crispy plant-based curries to massive bowls of garlic-butter shrimp and

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Chapter 213-2

seared beef – are passed back and forth along the single continuous line of brothers.

+25 Pamu

Shots of SangSom flow freely, stories are told, memories of past victories are shared, and the atmosphere feels completely cleansed of the dark shadows that have so recently haunted us.

Pomté

Further down the long table, Big Mac is now struggling valiantly with his chopsticks, attempting to pick up a piece of fried tofu for the sixth time.

“Just use a fork, Mac,” Diesel groans, shaking his head as he watches the giant man sweat over his

plate. “You’re embarrassing the patch.”

“I’m mastering the culture, Diesel, Big Mac growls defensively, squinting at the tofu like it’s a personal enemy. “Locke said fine dining… I’m being fine.”

He makes a desperate, aggressive pinch with the jade sticks. The piece of tofu instantly squirts out from between them, shooting up the table like a projectile and landing with a wet splat right on

top of Dad’s clean linen napkin.

The entire long table goes dead silent for a microsecond.

Big Mac freezes, his hands still holding the chopsticks in mid-air, his eyes wide as he looks at Dad.

Dad slowly lowers his glass of beer. He looks down at the piece of tofu on his napkin, then looks

up at Big Mac with a slow, terrifying glare.

“It was an accident,” Big Mac stammers quickly, holding his hands up defensively. “The sticks are slippery. Zara, tell him… please don’t let your Dad kill me at your party.”

Before I can even reply, Jade reaches into her purse with a wicked, triumphant flourish.

“Good thing I came prepared,” Jade announces, sliding a pair of training chopsticks across the

wooden table. Resting right at the top is a cartoonish, wide-eyed, yellow plastic cat head holding

the two wooden sticks together. “Brought these just in case, big guy.”

The entire room goes dead silent for half a second before exploding into absolute, deafening

chaos. Thirty grown, tattooed men howl with laughter down the entire length of the long table.

Big Mac stares down at the cat-headed chopsticks in pure, unadulterated betrayal.

“I’m an officer of this club,” Big Mac says, though his face burns red as he reluctantly picks up the wooden cat sticks. “This is targeted harassment.”

“Just pick up the tofu, Mac,” Stitch says dryly from next to Willow, his eyes dark with quiet amusement as Willow buries her flushed face in her hands, giggling uncontrollably. “If you can manage it, I mean. Thank Christ you aren’t the one digging out bullets, huh?”

Mac grunts, his massive, tattooed fingers adjusting around the wood with intense, life-or-death

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concentration. He hovers over the platter, carefully clamping the cat’s sticks around a fresh piece

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