The MC President's Forsaken Wife (Zara and Knox) novel Chapter 447

Chapter 220 1

Chapter 220-1

+2= Pota

ride from the hospital to the clubhouse is tense and silent, the city passing by in a blur of gray concrete, damp brick, and streaky windows. The sky looks heavy, bruised with storm clouds that

threaten to break at any moment.

When Locke’s truck pulls into the gated parking lot in front of the clubhouse, the atmosphere is electric with unspoken, deadly tension.

The lot is packed. Custom bikes are lined up in neat, gleaming rows against the brick walls, and full-patch members are moving back and forth in quiet, disciplined sync: hauling ammunition crates, checking sidearms, loading tactical gear into SUVs, and securing the perimeter doors.

There are no loud jokes today, no booming laughter, no music playing from the garage speakers. The entire compound smells of exhaust, high-grade gun oil, and the sharp, coppery edge of impending chaos.

Locke guides me through the heavy steel rear doors, his hand resting flat against the small of my back, Xena walking close at my foot hip like a tiny shadow. We bypass the main bar area, where several prospective members sit in silence cleaning shotguns, and head straight toward the office area at the back of the building.

In the lounge area outside my Dad’s private office, Rook and Byte are already hard at work at their setup. Rook sits with his heavy favorite combat knife, his whetstone rasping steadily down the blade with a harsh, rhythmic scraping sound.

Byte sits surrounded by his multi-monitor rig, streams of server data and encrypted network telemetry flickering across his screens.

“Byte, Rook,” Locke says.

Rook stops mid-stroke, raising his icy blue eyes to give Locke a sharp nod before looking over at me. Byte pauses his typing, sliding his headset down to rest around his neck, the faint tinny buzz of radio chatter bleeding from the earpieces.

“Tanner,” Byte says, nodding at Locke before turning toward me. “Zara. What do you need, hon?”

“I need a favor,” I say, looking between the two men. “And it needs to be completely off the record.”

Rook slowly sets his whetstone down on a rag, his eyes narrowing as he studies the drive.

“Off the record from the club, or off the record from the world?” he asks.

“Off the record from the world,” I reply firmly, setting a drive in front of him. “On that drive, you’ll find the liquid account numbers and private ledger keys for Knox’s offshore holdings.”

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Chapter 220 1

“You have access to the offshore money, huh?”

25 Points

“do. I took legal title to it yesterday. I want you to take a clean fifty percent out of those liquid accounts, Byte.”

Byte’s eyebrows raise slightly, his fingers hovering over his mechanical keyboard. “That’s a heavy chunk of capital, Zara. We’re talking high six figures.”

“I know.”

“Where’s it going? If we move that kind of money without a clear destination, it’s going to ping federal compliance algorithms faster than a stolen credit card.”

“It’s going to Becca,” I tell him directly, without blinking.

Rook lets out a low grunt, his hand tightening around the hilt of his knife, but he doesn’t argue. He

just listens, his face an unreadable mask of hard leather and old scars.

“Becca ran the night Knox died,” I say. “She’s carrying his child. She’s alone, terrified, and floating somewhere out there with no money, no security, and Knox’s old business partners maybe hunting her. That baby didn’t choose its father, and whatever I think about Becca personally, I don’t want

her to suffer.”

“So what do you want me to do?”

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