Page 67 of Spinner's Luck

“Lucy?” Oliver’s voice came through groggy but instantly alert. “What’s going on?”

“I need you to pick me up,” I said, glancing back toward the clubhouse, half-expecting someone to come barreling after me. “Now.”

“Where are you?” His worry bled through the phone.

“End of the road near the Devil’s House clubhouse,” I whispered, keeping my voice low. “I’ll explain everything later, but I can’t stay here.”

A pause. Then a soft curse. “I’m on my way. Stay hidden until I get there.”

“Always,” I said, ending the call and tucking the phone back into my pocket.

I moved farther down the road until I reached a cluster of trees, crouching low and keeping myself out of sight. The minutes dragged, each rustle of leaves or distant sound making my pulse spike. I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching, that Spinner would come charging down the road, demanding answers.

But no one came.

Eventually, the faint rumble of an engine broke through the quiet, and headlights appeared, dimmed as the vehicle slowed.

Oliver’s car.

I stepped out of the shadows, waving him down. The car stopped, and the passenger door swung open.

“Get in,” he said, his voice clipped with urgency. This wasn’t our first escape act.

Sliding into the seat, I pulled the door shut behind me. The familiar smell of coffee and leather filled the air, grounding me in a way I didn’t expect.

Oliver glanced at me, his brow furrowed. “You okay?”

“No,” I admitted, my voice barely a whisper. I didn’t need to say more. He didn’t ask.

He shifted the car into gear, and the tires crunched over gravel as we left the clubhouse behind.

The silence between us was heavy, but I welcomed it. I needed the quiet to process everything.

It wasn’t until we neared Charleston that Oliver spoke again, his tone gentle. “Want to tell me what happened?”

Staring out the window, I watched the city lights blur against the night sky. “I thought I could trust them,” I said finally. “Spinner, the club... I thought they’d protect me.”

“And now?”

“Now I know better,” I said, my voice hardening. “They’re no different from anyone else. They don’t trust me, so why should I trust them?”

Oliver didn’t respond immediately. His hands tightened on the steering wheel. “You’re safe now,” he said eventually. “We’ll figure out the rest later.”

Safe. The word felt hollow. Fang was working overtime to make sure I’d stay running. But at least he didn’t know about Oliver. I’d made sure of that. Even Zeynep didn’t know. It was easier this way. If Drago caught wind of any secrets, he’d stop at nothing to uncover them. Poor Zeynep didn’t need to go through the torture he’d dish out.

When we reached Oliver’s apartment, I followed him upstairs, each step heavier than the last.

“You can stay here as long as you need,” Oliver said, unlocking the door and gesturing me inside. “Just like always.”

“Thanks,” I murmured, stepping into the small, familiar space.

He shut the door behind me, locking it with a firm click. “Get some rest. We’ll talk in the morning.”

I nodded, dropping my bag onto the couch before sinking down beside it. The weight of the night pressed down on me, but I forced myself to stay upright. Planning was the only thing keeping me from breaking apart.

I wouldn’t go back. Not now. Not after everything.

Spinner was a part of my past, and I’d erase him, piece by piece. Someday, the thought of him wouldn’t feel like my heart being ripped apart.

---