Page 53 of Spinner's Luck

I swung off my bike, boots grinding against the gravel as I scanned the darkness. My pulse thudded in time with the approaching engines, the anticipation settling deep in my bones.

“They’re close,” Chain muttered, his expression hard. He stood next to Bolt, his fingers curled around the grip of his pistol, ready for shit to go sideways.

Devil stepped forward, solid as iron, his presence cutting through the anticipation like a whip. He raised a hand, a silent order to hold steady as the rival crew rolled in. Their bikes came to a stop in a crooked line across the road, a battered pickup parked behind them like a goddamn barricade.

Engines cut, but silence didn’t bring relief, it just made the air tighter, stretched thin with unspoken threats.

A stocky bastard with a scar carving down his jaw swung off his bike, his crew fanning out behind him like a pack of wolves. He took a slow step forward, the smirk on his face cocky, knowing.

“You boys lost?” His tone was laced with mockery, testing.

Devil didn’t blink. “Nope. You’re the ones in the wrong damn place. This road belongs to us.”

The man let out a slow chuckle, glancing back at his crew like we were a fucking joke. “That so? ‘Cause from where I’m standing, we’re here. And you’re outnumbered.”

“Outnumbered doesn’t mean outgunned,” Bolt said, his voice a low growl, dark with promise.

Devil’s eyes gleamed under the weak moonlight, a predator’s stare. “Here’s the deal. Leave the truck, turn your asses around, and ride the fuck out of here. That’s your one and only chance.”

The scarred man snorted, shaking his head like we were some dumbasses asking for a favor. “Not happenin’. You want the shipment? Gonna have to take it.”

Devil’s lips curved into something that wasn’t a smile. “That can be arranged.”

His hand lifted, a subtle signal, Thunder and Rune shifted, moving into position.

The smirk on Scarface’s lips wavered for half a second before he recovered, squaring his shoulders. “You think you scare me?” He spread his arms wide, taunting. “Bring it.”

It happened fast. One of his guys swung first, his fist connecting with Rune’s jaw, and all hell broke loose.

The night exploded with the sound of fists, grunts, and the scrape of knives and guns being drawn. I ducked as one of them came at me with a fucking wrench, his swing wild and unsteady. My knife was in my hand in an instant, and I drove the hilt into his ribs, sending him stumbling back with a wheeze.

Bolt was a blur of motion, slamming one guy into the side of the truck before landing a brutal punch that left him on the ground. Rune grappled with another, his movements precise and unrelenting. We had easily disarmed them of their guns, but they weren’t giving up.

A loud crash drew my attention—one of their bikes toppled as Thunder flipped a guy over the seat, leaving him sprawled and groaning.

The leader charged at Devil, swinging a chain. Devil dodged with ease, his expression cold as ice. He landed a punch that snapped the man’s head back, then grabbed him by the collar.

“This is your last chance,” Devil growled, his voice low and deadly. “Leave the shipment and run. Or stay and bleed. It won’t pain me to put a bullet in you.”

The man spat blood onto the dirt, his chest heaving. His eyes flicked to his crew—what was left of them. Beaten, staggering, barely holding it together.

“Fine!” he barked, rage bleeding into his voice as he raised his hands in surrender. “Take it! But this ain’t over.”

“Get the fuck outta here,” Devil snapped, shoving him back hard.

The bastard stumbled but didn’t push his luck. He turned, barking orders at his crew. They scrambled onto their bikes, engines growling as they hauled ass into the darkness, their battered truck abandoned like a carcass in the road.

We didn’t move, didn’t blink, just stood there, watching their taillights disappear into the night.

Bolt cracked his knuckles, his grin wide with satisfaction. “Fuckin’ cowards.”

“They’ll be back,” Rune muttered, rubbing his jaw where a fresh bruise was forming. “Cartel won’t let this slide.”

“Let ’em come,” Devil said, turning to the truck. His eyes burned with something deadly. “It’s Dragon Fire’s problem now. For us? We torch this shit.”

We moved without hesitation. The tarp ripped back, revealing the cargo we’d come for. I jammed my knife into a crate, prying it open. Bricks of powder stared back at me, pure, uncut poison meant for the streets.

Bolt grabbed the gas can, flipping the cap and soaking everything in sight. The fumes were thick, clinging to the night air. Thunder struck a match, his smirk mean as hell before he flicked it onto the pile.

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