The MC President's Forsaken Wife (Zara and Knox) novel Chapter 537

Chapter 264-2

My breath hitches. “Corry? He’s a monster. He was stripped of his patch by the Vipers after

he put two prospects in intensive care just for speaking out of turn. He’s been hiding out in

Ohio.”

“Well, he’s back,” Roxy says sharply, her tone icy. “And he isn’t hiding anymore.”

“He’s making an entrance?”

“I’d f*****g say so.”

“What’d he do?”

“Three nights ago, he walked into an independent dealer’s stash house on 4th Street. Didn’t

even bother to negotiate or ask for a cut. He put three bullets in the guy’s knees, threw a bag

of zip–ties at his crew, and took the entire operation over on the spot”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Nuh–uh.” Roxy exhales, hard. “The street boys are terrified, Zara. Word is, if you don’t take

their oath by midnight, you don’t make it to sunrise.”

“And it’s not just the drug corners,” Flea adds. “I was down near the railyards yesterday, hanging out by the soup kitchen where the runners hang out. Stone–Cold Killeen and Baseline

O’Shea showed up in a brand–new black SUV.”

“Okay,” I say. “And…”

“And they walked into the old dockworkers‘ union hall where the local independent crew has been based for thirty years – and threw the manager out the fourth–story window.

Literally threw him into the alley dumpster. He’s a coma now.”

“Shit.”

“They’re going after established street groups, cracking skulls, and forcing everyone to han

over forty percent or get buried.”

“They’re snapping up property, too,” Roxy says. “I spoke to two girls working the strip near the canal. They said clean–shaven guys in dark jackets are walking into bankrupt dive bars, foreclosed motels, and dockside warehouses with briefcases of clean cash.”

Chapter 264-2

–

“Just cash?”

+25 Points

“Yep. They’re buying out deed holders on the spot. No negotiations, no bank loans. They’re

establishing permanent bases across six different districts.”

“What about the mood on the street?” I ask, my pulse quickening as I scribble down the

locations. “How are the local crews taking it?”

“They’re falling in line out of pure, unadulterated terror,” Flea says. “I spent last night sitting on the fire escape above O’Malley’s tavern. I watched four local corner bosses – guys who used

to fight over single blocks – sit at a table together with one of these new crew guys.”

I sigh.

“The guy didn’t even raise his voice,” Flea says. “He laid a gun on the table, set down a stack of prepaid burn–phones, and gave them five minutes to sign over their supply routes. Three

signed immediately. The fourth argued.”

“And?” I ask softly, holding my breath.

“The guy broke the fourth guy’s jaw with the butt of the gun, dragged him out to the alley, and handed his corner to a nineteen–year–old kid who took the phone without hesitation,” he says. “They’re moving like a machine, Miss Zara. Clean–shaven, wearing civilian clothes, carrying military–grade hardware, and using brutal, calculated violence to make sure nobody dares

speak up.”

I rub my forehead, my knuckles tight against my temple. “Is it Vane? Is he using his corporate payroll to build a new underworld monopoly so his own security team stays clean?”

“We thought so,” Roxy says. “We thought it was some corporate suit giving orders from a high–rise. But my contacts down in the alleys… they say no way. Whoever is orchestrating this street takeover knows way too much about how the underworld actually moves.”

“They know specifics, Miss Zara,” Sly says grimly, holding up his thin fingers to count th off. “They know exactly which city judges are on whose payroll, which money–laund fronts are vulnerable, and how to manipulate local territory disputes without trigge full–scale gang war before they’re ready.”

“Are you serious?”

1. me.

“Someone is handing them the blueprint,” I say. “On a goddamn silver platter.”

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify