Page 88 of Spinner's Luck

“Lookin’ for you,” I said, my voice filled with concern as I stepped closer. “Time to stop runnin'. You’re comin’ back to the clubhouse.”

She huffed out a bitter laugh, shaking her head like I was some kind of fool. “Not a damn chance, Spinner. I’m not your problem anymore.”

“Yeah?” I took another step, jaw tight. “Well, that’s not your call.”

Her grip on the knife tightened, knuckles white. “Back off. I don’t need you, don’t need your club, and sure as hell don’t need you acting like you got a say in my life.”

I ran a hand through my hair, dragging in a deep breath to keep from snapping. “You’re not fine, Lucy. You’re burnin’ yourself out, makin’ reckless moves, and walkin’ right into Fang’s trap.”

Her eyes flashed with fire, shoulders squaring up like she was ready to take me on. “I’ve been handling myself for years without you, Spinner. I don’t need your approval, your guilt-ridden conscience, or your damn white-knight act.”

She was pissing me off, but I wasn’t about to let her push me away. “This isn’t just about you, Lucy,” I said, my voice dropping lower, rougher. “Zeynep’s gettin’ worse. She needs you.”

That stopped her cold. The fire in her eyes flickered, anger giving way to concern. “Worse how?”

I hesitated. Just a second. Just long enough for the guilt to twist in my gut. The lie wasn’t pretty, but it was the only card I had left to play. “She’s not eatin’. She’s pushin’ herself too hard, tryin’ to talk when she’s not ready. Mystic’s worried sick. She keeps askin’ for you.”

Her face crumpled, the ice in her expression melting away like she’d been sucker-punched. “She’s asking for me?”

"Yeah," I said, stepping in closer, pressing my advantage. “You walkin’ out like that messed her up, Lucy. She needs you.”

Her shoulders sagged, eyes darting away like she couldn’t face me. “Damn it,” she muttered, voice cracking just enough to let me know I’d hit the nerve I was aiming for.

I softened my tone, but not too much. “Come back with me. Just for a little while. For her.”

She let out a heavy breath, rubbing a hand over her face like she was trying to rub me out of existence along with whatever war was raging inside her. “Fine,” she bit out. “But only for Zeynep. Not for you.Neverfor you.”

Her words cut deep, but I didn’t let it show. Didn’t even flinch. “Fair enough.”

She didn’t speak as we moved through the shadows, sticking to the dark like ghosts, staying out of sight. Every step felt like walking a tightrope, the tension between us thick and crackling, ready to snap.

At the bike, she stopped and turned, eyes locked onto mine, sharp as a blade. “Let’s get one thing straight, Spinner,” she said, voice hard, edged with warning. “Whatever we had before—whatever you think this is—it’s over. You and me? Done. Don’t try to fix it. Don’t try to fixme.Stay the hell out of my way.”

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. Her words landed like a fist to the gut, but I stood my ground, watching as she swung onto the bike without a second look.

I threw my leg over and fired up the engine, the roar cutting through the heavy silence between us. Whatever the hell we were before? She was wrong. We weren’t done.

But she was coming back to the clubhouse. And for now, that was the only thing that mattered.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

THE CLUBHOUSE HADN’Tchanged. Same noise,same energy, same heavy air thick with leather, cologne, and testosterone. But stepping through the doors again felt like walking straight into enemy territory.

They’d made their positions clear—I wasn’t part of their circle.

Still, even if I wouldn’t admit it out loud, this was the safest place for me right now. Fang had almost caught me tonight, and that thought alone was enough to chill my blood.

The room quieted as heads turned, the sudden silence suffocating. I ignored the stares, brushing past them like I didn’t feel the weight of their eyes.

Then Brenda appeared from behind the bar, her gaze scanning me from head to toe. “Thank heaven they found you,” she said, her voice filled with relief.

I didn’t respond, just shrugged off Spinner’s leather jacket—the one I’d borrowed for the ride—and tossed it onto a nearby chair. “I’m here for Zeynep,” I said, keeping my tone flat. But I still gave Brenda a small smile. It wasn’t her fault men were shit.

Brenda nodded toward one of the back rooms. “She’s restin’, but she’ll want to see you.”

I turned toward the hallway, ready to disappear before anyone else got in my way. But Spinner wasn’t having it.

His fingers wrapped around my wrist, stopping me in my tracks. “Lucy—”

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