Page 81 of Spinner's Luck

It was about her. And every other woman, man, girl or boy like her.

Aria was gone. I couldn’t change that.

But I could make damn sure no one else had to suffer the way she did.

I climbed out of bed, dressed and headed for the door.

I needed a good drink.

THE BAR WAStucked away on the edge of nowhere,the kind of place you only stumbled upon if you were lost or looking to disappear. It suited me just fine. The neon "Open" sign buzzed weakly in the window, casting a faint red glow onto the cracked pavement. I hesitated for a moment before pushing the door open, the low hum of conversation and the faint twang of country music spilling out into the night.

Inside, the air was warm and heavy with the smell of stale beer and fried food. A few locals were scattered across the room, hunched over their drinks or murmuring quietly. Nobody paid me any attention as I slid onto a stool at the far end of the bar, as close to the shadows as I could get.

The bartender, a tall guy with a mop of gray hair and an absent smile, wandered over. “What’ll it be?”

“Whiskey,” I replied. “Neat.”

He nodded and poured without comment, sliding the glass across the counter. I wrapped my hands around it, staring into the amber liquid like it held answers. But my thoughts were as cloudy as ever.

I’d been running for weeks now, trying to stay ahead of my past, trying to make sense of everything. And no matter how far I went, Spinner was always there, in the back of my mind. His face. His voice. The way he’d looked at me before everything went to hell.

I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the memories to stay buried. There wasn’t a place for him in my mind anymore.

“Mind if I sit here?”

The voice was soft, feminine, but with an edge that immediately put me on alert. I opened my eyes to see a woman sliding onto the stool beside me, her bright red nails tapping the bar as she settled in. She was in her late forties, maybe early fifties, with dark hair teased into perfect waves and makeup that was just a little too heavy for the lighting in this dump. She didn’t wait for an invitation.

“I guess it’s not up to me,” I muttered, taking a sip of my whiskey.

She smiled, unbothered by my tone. “Name’s Crystal,” she said, extending a hand.

I glanced at it but didn’t shake it. “Lucy,” I said reluctantly, keeping my voice neutral.

“Pretty name,” she said, withdrawing her hand and resting it on the bar instead. “You from around here?”

“No.”

She chuckled, like she was amused by my short answers. “Didn’t think so. You’ve got that look about you.”

“What look?”

She tilted her head, studying me with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Like you’re carryin’ the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

I tensed, my fingers tightening around my glass. “You don’t know me.”

“No, but I’d like to,” she said, her tone light but her gaze sharp. “A woman traveling alone, stopping in a place like this? There’s a story there.”

I didn’t answer, keeping my eyes on the bar. My instincts were screaming at me to get up and leave, but I forced myself to stay put. She wasn’t threatening, exactly, but there was something about her that didn’t sit right.

She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping as if we were sharing a secret. “You know, you remind me of someone.”

I finally turned to look at her, my suspicion flaring. “That so?”

“Yeah,” she said, her smile softening. “Someone I used to know. She had the same fire in her eyes. Same... restless energy.”

I took another sip of whiskey, letting the burn steady me. “I’m not restless,” I said evenly. “Just passing through.”

“Sure,” she said, her tone as smooth as honey. “But if you ever need someone to talk to, I’m a good listener.”

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