The MC President's Forsaken Wife (Zara and Knox) novel Chapter 53

Chapter 38-1

Zara

I barely remember leaving the clubhouse. I float out on a wave of dual-post-orgasmic bliss, reflecting that I finally understand what all the fuss is about. My body is so relaxed, it’s almost boneless, and the world feels muted and softened, like it’s been wrapped in cotton.

The drive back to the city goes by fast, and by the time he pulls the motorcycle into the underground parking garage of a gleaming glass tower, I’m half-asleep against his back. We walk over to the elevator, and I watch Locke ignore all the numbered buttons and instead produce a key from his pocket.

“The elevator needs a key to work?” I ask.

“No, not usually,” he replies. “I’m the only one in the building with a key, besides security.”

“Why?”

“Because,” he says. “I own the penthouse.”

“You what?” I gape at him as the elevator moves upward smoothly. “How can you?”

He shrugs those huge shoulders. “I just do.”

There’s a cheerful ping as we reach the 30th floor, and the elevator doors open directly into an entry hallway. I almost fall over backwards, because the word beautiful doesn’t even begin to describe the space in front of me. It’s nothing short of breathtaking.,

For a moment I genuinely wonder whether we’ve entered the wrong home, whether somewhere between the parking garage and the penthouse, I passed out and Locke somehow kidnapped a hedge-fund manager and stole his keys.

Nothing about this place matches the man standing beside me. Nothing.

Floor-to-ceiling glass stretches across an entire wall of the living room, revealing a view that looks more like a postcard than real life. Mountains rise in the distance, blue and silver against the fading sky, while the ocean glitters beneath them, the last light of the day scattering across the water like spilled gold.

The apartment itself is somehow even more shocking, with clean lines, dark wood, and cream stone. My eyes take in a fireplace large enough to roast livestock, furniture that’s sleek and stylish without being cold, and endless shelves of books.

I turn around in a full circle, slowly. Once, then again. Finally, I look at him, at the giant tattooed biker standing in the middle of what appears to be an architectural magazine.

“Locke.”

He glances down at me as he takes off my coat. “What?”

“What the hell?” I sputter. “You live here?”

“I do.”

Chapter 38.

Claim

gesture helplessly at the apartment, at the view, at the artwork that looks expensive enough to make me nervous standing near it.

“Do these sculptures and paintings have their own security detail?”

He laughs, then turns. “Come on.”

The kitchen is even more ridiculous, if that’s actually possible. There’s a massive marble island, custom cabinets, and shiny professional-grade appliances that look like they belong in a Michelin-starred kitchen.

“Who are you?” I stutter. “I mean you ride a motorcycle. You work for my Dad, the President of an MC. You strangled a man against a bar wall because he knocked me over.”

“That’s all accurate,” he says, reaching into a massive wine fridge. “Red or white?”

I blink. “Excuse me?”

“Wine.” He holds up two bottles, both with intimidating French labels. “You’ve had a rough day.”

“Erm.” I clear my throat, try to focus on the simple question. “White, please.”

He nods, then pulls out his phone, starts tapping. “Hungry?”

‘I could definitely eat.”

“Sushi okay with you, baby?”

I stare at him. “Sushi?”

“Yes.”

‘Wine and sushi.”

“You’re making this all sound very strange.”

“I’m making things strange?” I say in utter disbelief. “I’m standing in a penthouse overlooking the ocean. with a man who looks like he should be threatening pimps and drug dealers for information.”

“I only do that on Mondays.”

Despite myself, I laugh, and it occurs to me that I can’t remember the last time laughing felt this easy. A smile tugs briefly at his mouth, then he opens a cabinet and takes out some exquisite wine glasses that are most definitely not second-hand.

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