The MC President's Forsaken Wife (Zara and Knox) novel Chapter 95

Chapter 61-1

By eight o’clock the next morning, I’ve ordered enough room-service breakfast to feed a small family, showered beneath water hot enough to erase the last traces of sleep, and spent twenty full minutes staring at my phone without turning it on.

The silence had felt necessary last night

But this morning, it feels different, temporary. Like the hotel room itself.

The suite is beautiful in the anonymous way expensive hotel rooms always are, all pale furniture and polished surfaces, without one single object that I can call my own, or Locke’s.

No book left open on the sofá. No coffee mug beside the sink. No motorcycle boots near the door. No quiet man moving through the kitchen while pretending he isn’t checking whether I’ve eaten.

I push that thought away, and remind myself that Locke walked away first.

Clam

I remind myself of that while I spread jam across toast, then again while I eat half an omelette, drink coffee and finish a bowl of strawberries, because everybody in my life has apparently united around the belief that food is the solution to every emotional crisis.

Maybe they’re right.

When I finally turn on my phone, it lights up so aggressively that I almost throw it across the room.

Message after message, starting at about six o’clock this morning.

Dad. Jade. Mayhem. More from Dad… but nothing from Locke after the text from last night.

I hate that some pathetic part of me had expected to find a paragraph waiting. An apology, maybe an explanation. Something that proved he hadn’t spent the night regretting every private, intimate moment between us.

There’s nothing, and actually, maybe that’s fair.

I wanted space, and he gave me space when I didn’t reply to his message. Apparently space is far less satisfying when the person you like isn’t fighting to cross it.

I text Dad before I can lose my nerve:

I’m safe. I’m coming to work. Please don’t turn it into a federal operation.

His reply arrives immediately:

Where are you? Can you tell me now?

I stare at it, then type:

Somewhere secure. I’ll explain later. I’ll be at the clubhouse in thirty minutes.

His reply:

Okay sweetheart. Drive safe.

Chapter 61

No demand, no argument, no order to wait for an escort. I sit very still, looking at those four words until The tension between my shoulders eases slightly.

Maybe they heard me after all.

Feeling slightly grotty, I dress in yesterday’s jeans, t-sweater and boots, and slip into the black bra and panty set that I bought. The lace and silk fit me perfectly, and as I apply a bit of makeup in the bathroom mirror, I see that my breasts are pushed up high and perky, and I give myself a cheeky little wink.

The drive to the clubhouse is uneventful. By the time I pull into the clubhouse lot, the garage doors are already open.

I park near the garage entrance and sit for a moment with both hands resting on the steering wheel, breathing through the sudden tightness in my chest.

Tucker sees me first. He’s standing beside a stripped-down touring bike with a clipboard tucked beneath one arm, reading glasses balanced on the end of his nose, and the expression he gives me when I walk through the garage doors is carefully neutral.

Too carefully.

“Morning,” he says.

“Morning.”

His eyes move over me once, checking for damage in exactly the way Locke does, except Tucker has the decency to pretend he’s assessing my tiredness.

“You look like hell.”

I smile despite myself. “There’s the warmth I missed.”

“Well, I am known for it.”

Diesel appears from behind a tool cabinet with a wrench in one hand and an expression of such obvious relief that he immediately ruins it by trying to look casual.

“If it ain’t Princess Spark Plug.”

“Diesel.”

“You’re alive.”

“I was alive yesterday.”

“Still good to confirm.”

Before I can answer, he wraps one arm around my shoulders in an awkward, oil-scented hug, squeezing once before releasing me so quickly I might have imagined it.

Tucker looks at him. “What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“Looked like affection.”

2/4

Chapter 61.

“Shut up.

Claim

My laugh escapes unexpectedly, and it feels good. I love these guys, their weirdness and awkwardness.

Then Mayhem steps out of the office at the back of the garage. The moment he sees me, he stops, and for half a second, neither of us moves.

My brother looks as though he hasn’t stept. His hair is a mess, his eyes shadowed, and the shirt he’s wearing appears to have been pulled on without any serious consultation with a mirror.

He crosses the garage slowly. “Hey, Zarabug.”

“Hey.”

“Can we talk?”

The old Mayhem would have made it sound like an order, this one asks.

My throat tightens unexpectedly. “Yeah.”

He nods toward the back office. “Coffee?”

“I’ve had three already this morning.”

“So that’s a yes.”

“Yeah,” I laugh. “It’s a yes.”

I follow him into the small garage office while Tucker very deliberately turns up the music and Diesel very deliberately starts banging something that doesn’t need banging, granting us privacy in the least subtle way possible.

Mayhem closes the door. The office contains two battered chairs, a metal desk, several filing cabinets and enough old motorcycle calendars to qualify as an archive. He gestures toward the chair opposite the desk, then stops himself.

“You can sit wherever you want,” he says.

I stare at him with my mouth half-open.

He grimaces. “Too much?”

“A little.”

“I’m trying.”

“I can tell.”

I sit. He chooses the edge of the desk instead of looming over me, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped loosely between them. For a moment, neither of us speaks. Then Mayhem exhales.

“I was an asshole, and I’m sorry.”

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