Page 91 of Spinner's Luck

I turned to glare at him, but he didn’t flinch.

“You screwed up, Spinner,” he said bluntly. “We all saw that little scene with Ashlynn. Women don’t forget that shit. And it doesn’t help that Ashlynn is still here, watchin’ you like she owns you.”

I ground my teeth, my eyes flicking to Ashlynn. Fuck, Gearhead was right—she was watching me, her expression smug, like she was just waiting for the right moment to slither back in.

“I know,” I snapped, dragging my eyes away. “I fucked up, and Lucy won’t hear me out.”

Gearhead nodded, his expression softening slightly. “She know you didn’t fuck Ashlynn?”

My gaze drifted back to Lucy. She was sitting in the corner now, her shoulders stiff, her fingers tight around her glass.

“It won’t matter,” I admitted, the words bitter in my mouth. “It wasn’t just Ashlynn. It was the fact that I didn’t trust her. And I don’t know if I can fix that.”

Gearhead clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Then you’d better figure it out. I don’t take Lucy for the type to hang around and wait.”

She wasn’t.

And I knew it was only a matter of time before she disappeared again.

But this time, I wasn’t going to let her slip through my fingers.

Thanks to Oliver, I knew what her mission was. I knew where to start looking.

She wouldn’t turn into a ghost on me again.

I watched as Lucy stood and left the room. I followed at a distance, expecting her to head outside, but instead, she went up the stairs, her shoulders slumped like she was bone tired, disappearing into the room Brenda had made up for her.

I’d give her space.

Tonight.

But come tomorrow, we were going to talk.

Whether she admitted it or not, she needed someone looking out for her.

Someone who understood her. Someone who loved her, flaws and all.

That was me.

And I wasn’t letting her go again.

THE DOOR SHUTbehind me with a heavy thudas I headed for my seat.

This wasn’t just another sit-down.

This was war prep.

Devil sat at the head of the table, his eyes scanning the room with the kind of focus that meant shit was about to get serious. The usual faces were here—me, Chain, Mystic, Thunder, and Gearhead—but tonight, the air was thick, something heavier pressing down on all of us.

This was bigger.

Fang. Drago. The cartel.

Devil leaned forward, rubbing a hand over his jaw before speaking. “Talked to Patch,” he said, his voice even, but carrying that undercurrent of authority that made men listen. “He’s sending some of our own from other chapters—Wrath, Soldier, Snipe, Kickstand, and Jaycee. The first three will be doing recon since their faces aren’t known down here. The other two will be working with Gatsby. Patch is putting together a plan in case this turns into a war.”

A few nods, a couple of muttered approvals. Those men were solid.

Wrath had a reputation as a ladies' man—he’d have no problem getting women to talk, and people always underestimated a pretty face. Soldier had been in the club longer than most, a hard bastard with a military background that made him damn near unshakable. Snipe was a ghost, a sniper who saw things most people missed. Kickstand and his ol’ lady Jaycee? Hacking geniuses—the ace up the sleeve, our wildcards.

---