The MC President's Forsaken Wife (Zara and Knox) novel Chapter 490

Chapter 240-2

+25 Point

lace my hand over my belly, feeling the gentle stirrings of my unborn baby, acutely aware of the stark contrast between the fragile life blossoming within me and the heavy, solemn weight of

mortality resting on the courtyard floor.

This is the world my child will inherit. A world bound together by fierce, uncompromising loyalty where love is forged in adversity and brothers are honored with hammers and spikes,

As the last blow of the hammer dies away, the heavy iron gates at the rear of the courtyard groan

open.

The mood instantly shifts, the air growing taut, defensive, and uncomfortable as the civilian world collides with the sanctuary of the club.

The families have arrived.

Leading the first group is a tall, broad–shouldered man in his late fifties wearing a dark leather cut featuring a different road crest: the Salt Lake Iron Skeletons. His road name, Bison, is embroidered in thick gold thread across his left breast.

He has the exact same square jaw, icy blue eyes, and thick graying hair as Brick. Bison rode all the way from Utah on his custom chopper to bury his blood.

Bison walks with a heavy, steady stride, his eyes scanning the courtyard until they land on Dad.

The two old–school bikers look at each other for a long, silent moment before Bison steps forward and pulls my father into a fierce, bone–crushing hug, slamming his palm against Dad’s back.

“He died protecting the colors, Bison,” Dad says softly. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know,” Bison replies, his voice gruff. “He wouldn’t have had it any other way, Cobra. My big brother loved this club more than life itself.”

Behind Bison, however, the atmosphere is far more volatile.

Spoon’s family steps through the iron gates, accompanied by two young club associates who escorted them from their hotel.

They look shell–shocked, terrified, and deeply hostile. Spoon’s father is a thin, hard–faced man in an ill–fitting black suit, his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides.

Beside him stands Spoon’s mother, a pale, exhausted woman who looks as though she hasn’t slept in days, clutching a wet tissue to her nose.

Walking slightly behind them is Spoon’s younger sister. She looks to be about sixteen, with sharp,

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Chapter 240-2

+25 Points

intelligent eyes, wearing an oversized black hoodie and combat boots, her face red from crying.

Mr. Gentry stops abruptly at the edge of the courtyard, his furious gaze sweeping over the rain–soaked men in leather cuts, the iron spikes, and the smoldering sage bowl.

Mayhem steps forward to offer a quiet gesture of welcome, but Spoon’s father spins and glares at

“You have every right to hate me, Mr. Gentry,” Dad says. “William was a good young man. He was brave, he was kind, and we failed him. I carry that guilt on my chest, and I’ll carry it to my grave. But William wasn’t forced here… he chose us, and we loved him like a son.”

“Don’t you talk about my first–born like he was yours!” Mr. Gentry hisses, stepping closer, his finger shaking as he sticks it right in my father’s face. “We’re taking William to St. Jude’s Church, and we’re giving him a proper Christian burial. And I don’t want a single one of your filthy motorcycles anywhere near my boy’s grave.”

Daisy looks up at her father, her eyes wide with hurt and disagreement, but she bites her lip, remaining silent as her father turns on his heel, forcing her and Mrs. Gentry back toward the waiting car.

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