Page 70 of Spinner's Luck

Because whatever secrets she had, one thing was crystal-fuckin’-clear—she wasn’t working with that bastard.

And I’d been a goddamn fool not to see it sooner.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

OLIVER’S APARTMENT SMELLEDlike coffee, stale pizza,and that faint, burnt plastic scent his computers always seemed to give off. The place was a disaster—half-empty takeout containers stacked on the counter, cords snaking across the floor like tripwires, and a mountain of laundry he kept promising to deal with but never did.

It was exactly what I needed.

“You’re quiet,” Oliver said, his fingers flying over the keyboard as he leaned into his desk. His glasses had slid down his nose, and the soft glow of multiple screens lit his face. “Which is weird. Usually, you don’t shut up.”

I smirked, sinking into the worn couch that creaked under my weight. “Sorry to disappoint.”

He didn’t look up, his attention locked on the lines of code scrolling across one of his monitors. “Not disappointed. Just making sure you’re not planning to implode in silence. That’s not really your style.”

“I’m fine,” I lied, grabbing a pillow and hugging it to my chest.

“Liar,” he muttered, clicking on something with a dramatic flourish.

The hum of his machines filled the space between us, broken only by the clatter of his keyboard. It was comforting, in a strange way, being here with Oliver. He never asked questions he didn’t want answers to, and he accepted me as I was—chaos and all.

I’d met Oliver six years ago, purely by accident. He was getting mugged in an alley, and I scared off his attacker. He’d been shaken, so we sat down for coffee. The rest was history.

“You wanna tell me what’s going on, or should I just keep hacking in blissful ignorance?” he asked, finally glancing at me.

I hesitated, my gaze falling to the threadbare carpet beneath my feet. “I let Spinner get too close.”

His brows shot up. “Really?”

“Yeah,” I said, my voice tight. “And he turned on me.”

He adjusted his glasses, studying me like I was a particularly tricky piece of code. “You want to tell me what happened?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know. I’m still trying to process it.”

Oliver leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Come on. Spill, or I’ll start guessing, and you know how bad my guesses can get.”

“It’s complicated,” I said with a sigh. “The club doesn’t trust me. Spinner doesn’t trust me.”

He frowned, his expression confused. “I thought he was, like, your guy or whatever.”

A bitter laugh escaped me. “So did I. But apparently, a couple of notes, a staged picture, and a jacket with my name on it were enough to convince him otherwise.”

Oliver’s frown deepened, and he turned back to his screens. “Sounds like someone’s playing you.”

“Fang,” I said, the name burning like acid on my tongue. “He’s been after me from day one, and now he’s managed to turn the club against me.”

“Classic misdirection,” Oliver muttered. “And let me guess—Spinner took the bait faster than the government collecting taxes?”

I didn’t answer, but the look on my face must’ve been enough.

“What about Zeynep?” he asked, his voice softening. “Does she know you left?”

“I couldn’t risk it,” I replied, my shoulders sagging. “Her guard dog never leaves her side at night. There was no way to tell her without him overhearing. But she’s safe, and that’s all that matters.”

Oliver shook his head, muttering under his breath as his fingers flew over the keyboard. “Well, this should take your mind off things,” he said, shooting me a smug look. “I dug up some dirt on the cartel Dragon Fire’s working with.”

“Really?” I leaned forward. “What’d you find?”

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