The MC President's Forsaken Wife (Zara and Knox) novel Chapter 458

Chapter 225-1

Locke

The smell of crushed pine needles hangs thick in the freezing midnight air.

I lie prone on the ridge, my stomach pressed flat against the muddy embankment, staring down

through the night-vision optic of my suppressed rifle.

“Two minutes out, guys,” Byte’s voice crackles flat through my earpiece. “Three heavy box trucks filled with drugs, equipment, and about six Road Howlers members each.”

“Copy,” I growl, not taking my eye off the green-tinted reticle. “All units, stand by. Let the outriders cross the kill mark. We crush the lead transport first, drop the rear truck second, and pin the

middle.”

To my left, buried under a pile of pine boughs and brush, Hammer shifts his weight, the massive steel barrel of his fifty-caliber sniper rifle resting quietly on a sandbag.

Further down the line, tucked into a notch in the rock wall, sit Diesel and Spoon.

I glance over at Spoon for a second. The kid is barely nineteen, a prospect who earned his colors only three months back after holding down the gate during the downtown raid. His tactical vest is pulled tight over his frame, his knuckles white where he grips his short-barreled carbine.

“Stay low, Spoon,” Diesel says softly to him, patting the kid’s shoulder, his eyes scanning the opposite ridge. “Focus on your sector. Don’t look at the fire when the charges go off. Watch the

doors.”

“Got it,” Spoon whispers back, his voice trembling slightly. “I’m locked in.”

“Clear the frequency,” I command, my thumb clicking the selector switch on my rifle from safe to

semi. “Here they come.”

The low, heavy rumble of diesel engines vibrates up through the rock long before the headlights cut through the fog. It starts as a subtle tremor in the mud beneath my chest, growing into a deep, rhythmic thrum that rattles the loose gravel along the cliff edge.

Down in the cut, a cold wind sweeps through the trees, carrying the damp reek of stagnant water from the lower quarry pit.

The lead outrider – a blacked-out SUV – creeps onto the haul road, its high beams slicing through the hanging mist like yellow blades. Behind it comes the first six-ton box truck, its tires groaning under the immense weight of the industrial centrifuges, custom pill presses, and heavy encapsulation units Grit and Vane hauled out of the warehouse lab.

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Chapter 225-1

ལ་དང

+25 Point

Then comes the second truck, loaded to the ceiling with crate after crate of finished fentanyl pills. It’s followed by the second SUV, and the third transport trailing behind, carrying odds and ends.

Ipom the optic in four clicks. Through the emerald glow of the night vision, I can see the lead driver’s face, a Howler named Flag. He’s got one hand high on the steering wheel, a glowing phone tucked between his shoulder and his ear, completely distracted.

Beside him, another MC member in tactical gear is scanning the tree line on the passenger side, but he’s looking up too late… his eyes passing right over Hammer’s sniper hide without stopping.

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