Page 74 of Spinner's Luck

Oliver gave me a skeptical look. “Are those from my snack stash?”

“Where else would I get them?” I asked around a mouthful of chips.

He sighed dramatically but didn’t argue. He could be weirdly territorial over his snacks, but he let it slide this time. “So, what’s the plan after the stakeout? You going solo on this, or bringing in someone else? Maybe that biker club can help?”

The mention of the club made my chest tighten, the ache of missing Spinner impossible to ignore. “I’m not bringing them in,” I said, my voice harsh with the hurt I was still feeling. “They let me down. Right now, I need trust above all else, and I don’t have that with them.”

Oliver’s gaze softened as he looked at me. “You can’t do this alone forever, Lucy. Eventually, you’re going to need backup.”

I shook my head. “I’ll figure it out. For now, it’s just me and you.”

He raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Lucky me.”

“You’re damn right,” I said with a grin, tossing a chip at him.

He caught it midair, popping it into his mouth with a theatrical flourish. “Fine. But if this goes south, I’m running. I’m not cut out to be a prisoner, they’d kill me just to stop my crying.”

I laughed, the sound catching me off guard. It felt good to laugh, even if it was fleeting. “Don’t worry, Oliver. If anyone’s going to be a prisoner, it’ll be me.”

“That’s not comforting,” he muttered, turning back to his screens.

For a moment, I let myself relax, leaning against the wall and watching him work. The weight of everything—Spinner, Fang, Lopez—still sat heavy on my shoulders, but with Oliver giving me something concrete to focus on, it didn’t feel as suffocating.

“So,” he said, breaking the silence. “If you could be anywhere right now, doing anything, what would it be?”

The question threw me. “What kind of question is that?”

“A hypothetical one,” he said, glancing at me with a faint smile. “Come on, humor me.”

I thought about it for a second, my gaze drifting to the window. “I’d be on a beach somewhere, drinking something fruity and pretending predators like Lopez didn’t exist.”

Oliver chuckled. “You? Relaxing? Yeah, I don’t buy it.”

“That’s why it’s a fantasy,” I said with a smirk. “It’ll never happen.”

“Sure it will,” he said, smirking back. “Right after you take down an entire cartel and save the world.”

“If only it were that easy,” I said, smiling despite myself.

Oliver shook his head, his focus returning to the monitor. “Alright, Lucy. Let’s save the world, one rescue at a time.”

And just like that, the weight settled back into place. Those people out there—the ones Lopez and Dragon Fire were preying on—they needed me.

And I wouldn’t let them down.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

ZEYNEP SAT ONthe chair next to Mystic, her shouldershunched and her face pale as a ghost. The deep shadows under her eyes told the story of countless sleepless nights. When she shifted uncomfortably, Mystic silently handed her a glass of water, his movements slow and deliberate, like he was afraid she might shatter. She accepted it with a shaky hand, her throat visibly raw, a testament to whatever hell she'd endured.

Devil sat in the corner, just out of her line of sight, careful not to add to her anxiety.

I sat across from her, the photograph and Fang’s property cut lying on the table between us like a slap in the face. It wasn’t just an image—it was an accusation, a question that I couldn’t stop asking myself. My stomach churned as I stared at the picture of Fang and Lucy grinning like they’d just conquered the damn world together. It burned in my brain. I hated it. Hated what it implied. Hated that I’d even considered it might be true. But part of me still needed answers.

“You sure you’re up for this?” Mystic asked, his voice softer than I’d ever heard it. It was almost unrecognizable coming from him.

Zeynep nodded, her hand trembling as Mystic took the glass from her and set it aside. She opened her mouth, and her first attempt came out as nothing more than a dry croak. She swallowed hard and tried again.

“I need to,” she rasped, her voice raw and strained, like every word was a battle.

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