Page 125 of Spinner's Luck

I pulled my gun, aimed it between his eyes.

His bloody mouth twitched into a smirk. “Do it, then.”

I pressed the barrel harder against his skull. My finger tightened.

But then—Lucy. She was watching me.

If I did this—if I pulled this trigger—she’d have that image of me in her head. For some reason I didn’t want that, besides, torturing him in the round barn would be more satisfying.

I let out a slow, ragged breath.

Then I lowered the gun.

Fang let out a weak chuckle. “Guess you ain’t as hard as you think, Sp—”

I kicked him in the face.

Hard enough to knock him the fuck out.

The warehouse went silent.

I turned toward Lucy, ripping my knife from my belt.

Her eyes stayed locked on mine as I crouched down, blade steady in my hand, slicing through the zip ties binding her wrists. The moment they snapped, her body gave out, collapsing forward, but I was already there, arms wrapping around her before she could hit the floor.

I held her close, tighter than I should have, but I couldn’t bring myself to loosen my grip. “Lucy,” I whispered, voice rough with emotion, throat burning.

Her fingers clutched at my cut, digging in with a desperation that twisted something deep inside me. She clung like letting go wasn’t an option—as if I was her lifeline.

“You came,” she breathed, voice cracked and raw, each word barely making it past her lips.

I pulled back just enough to see her face, her features smeared with grime, eyes glassy yet burning with that stubborn fire I knew too well. “You really doubted me?”

Her lip quivered for a heartbeat, then she smacked me in the chest, weak but fierce. “You took too fucking long!”

A laugh tore out of me—an actual laugh—gritty and raw, cutting through the weight crushing my chest. I didn’t waste another second before pulling her back into me, arms banding around her like I could shield her from the world.

Because I had her.

She was alive.

And I’d be damned if I ever let her out of my sight again.

FANG WAS OUTcold.

I stood over his bloodied, broken body, my knuckles still aching from the beating I’d given him. His face was a fucking mess—swollen, cut, barely recognizable. His arms were tied behind his back, zip ties cutting into his wrists.

“Let’s move,” Devil ordered, nodding to the prospect, Jacob, who was tasked with hauling Fang’s sorry ass out of here.

Jacob bent down, grabbing Fang’s arm. I turned to check on Lucy, but my skin was still crawling.

Something wasn’t right.

Fang wastoostill.

My stomach twisted.

Then—it happened.

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