The MC President's Forsaken Wife (Zara and Knox) novel Chapter 476

apter 233-2

+25 Points

“And I was out of line, Mayhem adds, staring down at his glass before lifting his eyes to meet mine. “I let the panic get the better of my mouth. Locke is my brother, but he’s your man. I had no right to throw fire at you while you were bleeding, or make you feel like you were standing on the outside of this club looking in.

He reaches out, his big hand trembling slightly from pure exhaustion. He doesn’t pull his punch; he shows me the raw, bleeding truth of his remorse.

A soft, genuine breath escapes my chest, the cold knot of bitterness I held against them melting away, replaced by a deep, shared exhaustion.

“We were all breaking,” I tell them softly, reaching out to lay one hand over my father’s heavy wrist, and the other over Mayhem’s scarred knuckles. “You love him, I love him, and we can’t do this divided. Not anymore. If we tear each other apart from the inside, Vane doesn’t even have to lift a finger.”

“We stand together,” Dad says, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “From this second on. No secrets, no isolation, no keeping you in the dark to spare your feelings. You’re a Callahan.”

“He’s riot dead, Zara,” Mayhem says, his fingers tightening against mine until the bone aches slightly, a good, clear pain. “We’re tracing every lead, hitting every contact, turning over every rock in this godforsaken territory. We’re going to tear their world apart until we bring him back to you.”

“I know,” I say. “I know we will.”

The air in the room clears, the unspoken wall between the three of us shattering into a quiet, ironclad unity. For the first time in days, I feel supported. We’re a family, and we’re going to fight like one.

Before Mayhem can propose a toast to seal the truce, the heavy front doors of the clubhouse explode open with a loud, violent bang, the steel framing echoing through the cavernous space. The sound cracks through the room like a rifle shot.

Every patched member in the room shifts in unison: boots scraping, chairs rattling backward, hands instinctively dropping toward leather holsters beneath their vests.

vests

The atmosphere turns lethal in a fraction of a second. The warmth in the air vanishes, replaced by the bitter, ozone reek of imminent violence.

Four uniformed patrol officers step through the doorway, holding the heavy doors wide, their hands resting nervously on their utility belts, thumbing their holster snaps as they eye the armed men inside.

They look young, pale, and thoroughly aware that if things go sideways, they won’t make it back to their cruiser.

Behind them walks a tall, stooped man in a rumpled beige trench coat. He looks to be in his late fifties, his silver hair thinned and greasy, slicked back against a narrow skull. A half–eaten toothpick dangles from the corner of his thin, sneering mouth. He smells of stale coffee, cheap cigarettes, and pure, concentrated bitterness.

Detective Sergeant Jameson Miller.

Chapter 233

+25 Points

He stops in the center of the floor, his tired, heavy–lidded eyes sweeping over the leather jackets, the pool Tables, and the armed men staring him down with blatant, unadulterated hatred.

“Put the hardware away boys,” Miller says, his voice sounding like two rusty blades grinding together over grave dirt. “I’m not here to raid your little playground today. Not yet, anyway.”

Dad steps out from behind the bar, moving in front of me, his massive frame filling the space as he locks eyes with the detective. “You’re trespassing, Miller.”

“Oh, save it, Callahan,” Miller says, flicking the damp toothpick onto the hardwood floors with a sharp flick of his tongue. “The whole damn city is turned upside down, and every time ! follow the trail of blood, it leads straight back to this rat’s nest. We got dead MC members all over the damn place… but I think you know that, huh?”

He takes a slow step forward, his worn soles squeaking slightly on the wood. He unbuttons the top button of his coat, giving everyone a deliberate look at the tarnished silver badge clipped to his belt.

Miller turns his head, his sharp, yellowed eyes cutting through the dim room until they land directly on me. A nasty, mocking smile curves his thin, dry lips, pulling the skin tight over his cheekbones.

“And look who we have here,” Miller says, taking two slow, deliberate steps toward the bar, his leather shoes clicking against the wood. “The abandoned bride, the grieving widow. The ex Mrs. Knox.”

He turns, catches Jade’s eye.

“And the Mrs. Mayhem. Delightful.”

Mayhem steps up beside my father, his chest expanded, blocking Miller’s line of sight. “Watch when you address my wife and sister, you asshole.”

your mouth

Miller doesn’t flinch. He just tilts his head, staring at me past Mayhem’s shoulder with a cruel, calculating glint in his eye.

“Your husband’s lying on a cold slab in the city morgue with a couple of bullet holes blown through his chest, little girl. And I think it’s time you and I had a private chat.”

“You too,” he says sharply. “Both of you. Now.”

LUCK DRAW >

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Chapter 234-1

Detective Sergeant Jameson Miller sits behind my father’s heavy oak desk like he owns the place.

He pulls a scuffed, black–bound notebook from his pocket and tosses it onto the wood with a dull, heavy thud that rattles the brass pen holder.

Jade stands leaning against the doorframe behind me, her arms crossed over her chest, watching Miller like a feral cat watching a dog trapped in a box… just waiting for him to stick his snout through the bars.

“Thirty years,” Miller begins. “Thirty years I’ve been dragging my boots through the mud of this city, watching you scum murder each other over turf, drugs, and pride.’ve buried three partners, Mrs. McVale. I’ve watched three generations of your pathetic club rot in prison or end up wrapped in plastic in a ditch.”

“Is there a point to this trip down memory lane, Detective?” I ask, my tone polite. “Or did you just drop by because your pension isn’t keeping you entertained?”

Miller’s eyes narrow, his jaw tightening as he stares at me. “You think you’re clever, don’t you? Living in a thug’s penthouse while your daddy and his pet animals butcher people in the streets.”

I blink at him.

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