Page 59 of Spinner's Luck

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

FIONA AND LUCYsprawled across one of the wornleather couches, laughter spilling out between them as Bolt’s latest attempt at humor actually landed for once. Across the room, Gatsby and Thunder were locked in their usual back-and-forth, voices slicing clean through the low murmur of conversation. Amy sat perched on the edge of her chair at a table with Brenda and Horse, her fingers tapping idly against the table, her gaze flicking toward Rune, who was nursing a whiskey at the bar, his expression unreadable.

I leaned back against the pool table, the cool glass of my beer sweating against my palm. Nights like this? This was the kind of shit that kept me tethered, reminded me why I stayed. The brotherhood, the noise, the unspoken bond that turned a group of outlaws into something more. A family, of sorts.

“I’m just saying,” Gatsby said, dragging the words out like he was sick of explaining himself. “If a man pulls a knife on you, you don’t try to talk him down. You end it before he gets the chance.”

Thunder snorted, kicking his boots up on the chair beside him. “That your big philosophy? Stab first, ask questions later? It’s just a fuckin’ knife.”

Gatsby’s eyes darkened, his fingers drumming against the table. “You ever been cut before?”

The conversation shifted. The room didn’t go silent, but the air got heavier, a slow pull of interest stretching between us all. Fiona glanced at Lucy, who had stopped mid-laugh, Lucy’s eyes darting toward me, her expression saying this could get interesting.

Thunder’s smirk didn’t waver, but his tone cooled. “Been shot,” he said, rolling his shoulder like the memory lingered in his bones. “Didn’t make me scared of bullets.”

“Yeah, well, a bullet’s quick,” Gatsby muttered. “A blade? That shit lingers. You feel it twist. You smell your own blood. You get that kinda pain in you, you don’t give second chances anymore.”

Amy’s fingers twitched against the edge of the table. She tugged at the hem of her hoodie, shoulders tight, her body angled just enough like she was ready to leave if she had to. “Maybe not everyone’s looking for a fight,” she said, her voice quiet but steady.

It was unlike her to speak up among the men, and that alone sent a ripple through the group.

Thunder huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Sweetheart, in this world, the fight finds you.”

Amy flinched—just barely, but I saw it. A flash of something raw behind her eyes, something buried deep. She swallowed hard, fingers curling into her sleeves like she could make herself smaller. “I hate that,” she said, her voice softer now. “That fate does that to you.”

For a second, nobody said a word. Even Bolt, who always had some smartass remark, stayed quiet.

Brenda exhaled slowly, flicking her cigarette into the ashtray, shifting the attention before Amy bolted from the room. “Gatsby’s not wrong, though,” she said, her tone edged with something knowing. “A blade’s personal. A gun? That’s just business. I seen men survive a bullet easy. A knife?” She shook her head. “That’s a slow kind of hurt. That’s a lesson.”

Horse nodded in agreement, taking a long sip of his whiskey. “Ain’t about winnin’. It’s about makin’ sure the other guy don’t walk away the same.”

Amy dropped her gaze, breathing shallow, her hands fisted in her lap.

Lucy must’ve felt it too—the way Amy was curling inward, the way the weight of the conversation pressed down on her. She pushed off the couch, crossing the room with easy, measured steps. Her glass thunked against the table as she set it down, claiming a spot between Amy and Brenda.

“I think we can all agree—none of it’s fun,” Lucy said, her voice even as she leaned a hip against the table, scanning the faces around her. “Unless you’re a psycho.”

Thunder grinned, cracking the tension just enough. “Or a prospect trying to prove something.”

A few smirks surfaced, the weight of the conversation lifting by degrees.

“Speaking of prospects,” Rune muttered, finally breaking his silence from the bar, his eyes flicking toward Amy, watching her carefully. He wanted the subject to change too. “You hear about that kid from Iron Kings? Got his ass handed to him outside a dive bar last weekend.”

Bolt chuckled. “Yeah, I heard. Fucker picked a fight with the wrong guy.”

Gatsby smirked. “What idiot starts shit alone outside a place run by another club?”

Thunder shook his head. “One who don’t know the rules.”

I took a slow sip of my beer, watching the conversation shift, the moment settling back into something easier. But I wasn’t fooled. This was how it always was. One second, it was laughs and bullshit. The next, it was knives, guns, scars, and survival.

And Lucy?

She fit in better than she should. And that was the part that got to me.

It wasn’t just the quick wit, the way she worked the room, or how easily she could trade barbs with the men. It was something else, something deeper. Like she knew how this world worked, like she’d seen things most people hadn’t.

She had secrets.

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