Page 78 of Spinner's Luck

Lucy’s out there. Alone. In danger.

Two weeks. Two goddamn weeks, and every lead had turned to dust. Every dead end had tightened the knot in my gut. But if this note was real—if she was following a trail of her own—

“Spinner.” Devil’s voice snapped me out of it.

I blinked, shaking off the haze. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“Then get moving,” he ordered. “We don’t have much time.”

I straddled my bike, the leather grips biting into my palms.

Mystic climbed onto his own, silent, his focus locked on the road ahead.

“You think we’ll find her?” he asked finally, his voice barely audible over the growl of the engines.

“She’s out there,” I said, the words coming out like gravel, rough and uneven. My knuckles whitened on the handlebars. “And if she’s anywhere near those docks, we’ll find her.”

Mystic nodded, but his expression stayed tight. “Let’s just hope we find her before they do. Or it won’t end well.”

His words sank into my chest, cold and unshakable. Zeynep trusted Lucy. That alone meant something. But Mystic? He never rushed. Never worried. And yet he was impatient now, uneasy.

What had Zeynep confided in him?

I tried to focus, to shove the worry down, let the rage take its place. But worry had teeth, and it sank deep, whispering every thought I didn’t want to hear.

What if we were too late? What if Dragon Fire already had her?

The thought sent a firestorm of fury roaring through me, the rage I buried clawing its way to the surface.

If they touched her—if they hurt her—

They’d fucking pay.

I muttered it under my breath, the words like a promise sealed in blood.

Mystic flicked his gaze at me. “What?”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

My mind was already running ahead, picturing every possible scenario.

And every single one ended the same.

With blood.

It always did.

That was this life.

THE GARAGE DOORSclanged shut behind us, thesound bouncing through the empty lot like a bad joke that no one was laughing at. Mystic killed his engine first, ripping his helmet off and chucking it onto his handlebars. His frustration was plain in every sharp movement.

Bolt wasn’t far behind, muttering curses under his breath as he swung off his bike, the muscles in his jaw ticking. “What a goddamn waste of time,” he spat, kicking a loose rock across the floor.

He wasn’t wrong. We’d followed the tip to the letter, staking out the route, hiding in the shadows, waiting like predators ready to pounce. But there was nothing. No trucks. No ship. No bikes. No Dragon Fire. Just hours of sitting in the dark chasing ghosts.

“Drago got spooked,” Mystic said, his voice low and grim. He leaned back against his bike, arms crossed.

“Or he’s playing us,” Devil growled, dragging a hand through his hair. His eyes burned with the kind of anger that was just looking for a target.

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