Page 62 of Spinner's Luck

The walls felt like they were closing in, pressure weighing heavy on my chest. Every set of eyes pinned me down, their doubt hitting like a punch to the gut. I wanted to bark back, tear them apart for even thinking it, but their stares had me cornered.

“I know her,” I finally ground out, voice low but dead sure. “She’s not spyin’ for that bastard.”

Devil didn’t flinch. “You better be right,” he said, words like a final nail in the coffin. “ because if you’re not, it’s not just your ass on the line, it’s all of us. So youdamn wellbetter be sure.”

The silence that followed was deafening, the unspoken doubts hanging heavy in the air. I grabbed the jacket and the crumpled note, shoving it into my pocket before heading for the door.

“I’ll handle it,” I said over my shoulder, my voice filled with determination.

Out in the fresh air, I stopped near the bikes, trying to steady my breathing. The weight of the jacket and the note felt like a stone pressing against me, a reminder of how quickly things could unravel.

As I shifted the jacket in my hands, something slipped out and fell to the ground. I crouched to pick it up, and my heart stopped.

It was a photo.

Lucy and Fang.

She wasn’t struggling. Wasn’t pushing him away.

She was standing beside him.

And she didn’t look like she fucking hated him.

My fists clenched, anger and doubt clawing at my chest. I trusted her—at least, I thought I did. But now? Now I didn’t know. And with the club already watching her, waiting for her to slip, every step she took felt like treading a knife’s edge

I tucked the picture into my pocket, my jaw tightening. I’d confront Lucy first. I needed to hear it from her before I took it to Devil.

But if Fang’s plan was to make me doubt her, he was doing a damn good job of it.

I PROPPED MYSELFagainst the bar, beer in hand,though I wasn’t drinking it, just using it as something to hold while my mind twisted itself in knots. I needed to figure out how to approach Lucy, how to pull the truth from her without pushing too hard. Something about all this gnawed at me, digging under my skin and settling like a bad itch I couldn’t scratch. It wasn’t the warm beer making my stomach churn, it was the feeling that something wasn’t adding up.

“Hey, man.” Bolt’s voice cut through the noise, and I glanced up to see him leaning beside me, his expression unusually serious. “You good?”

“Yeah,” I muttered, avoiding his gaze. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

He shrugged, taking a slow swig of his beer. “You’ve been quiet. Quieter than usual, and that’s sayin’ something.”

I forced a hollow chuckle, the sound barely making it past my chest. “Just thinkin’.”

“About her?” Bolt asked, his tone pointed.

My stomach knotted, but I kept my face neutral. “What about her?”

“You know what I’m talkin’ about,” he said, leaning closer, his voice dropping. “Lucy. None of this adds up, Spinner.”

My grip tightened around the bottle. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“Look, I ain’t sayin’ she’s dirty,” he started, voice edged with concern. “But that jacket? The note? Fang’s been throwin’ her name around for weeks, and now this? You gotta admit—it’s a lot.” He paused, then added, “And I don’t need to remind you about her showin’ up that night on the side of the road. It’s suspicious as fuck.”

“She’s not involved,” I snapped, the words harsh and immediate. But even as they left my mouth, they tasted bitter. The same thought had clawed its way into my head, her showing up that night... and those other nights at the bar. Was she playing me?

“Maybe not,” Bolt said, holding up his hands. “But don’t tell me you ain’t questionin’ it. I know you, Spinner—I can see it.”

I didn’t answer. Because the truth? Iwasquestioning it. Fang’s message, the jacket, the photo—they lingered in my mind like a festering wound I couldn’t ignore.

“She could be holdin’ back,” Bolt continued after a long pause, his tone more cautious now. “And if she is, that makes her a risk. You know it does.”

I turned to him, my voice hard. “You don’t know her like I do.”

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