Page 96 of Spinner's Luck

Photo after photo, different ages, different places. Some he was alone, others with people—friends, maybe? Family?

But then I sawher.

A girl.

She stood beside him in more than one shot, sometimes younger, sometimes older, her features changing slightly with age, but the resemblance was clear.

If you looked close enough, if you reallystudiedthe shape of her face, the curve of her jaw, the shade of her eyes…

She looked anawfullot like Ashlynn.

The blood in my veins turned ice-cold.

Spinner told me he didn’t know her.

Not in any real way.

So why the hell did she have a book full ofhispictures?

Footsteps.

I jerked my head up, heart hammering against my ribs. Spinner was coming straight for me, his face set in a hard, unreadable mask.

My anger boiled over. I shoved the album toward him, my voice sharp and demanding.

“Why didn’t you tell me you and Ashlynn were related? Why lie about it?”

He stopped dead, his brows slamming together in confusion. “What the fuck are you talkin’ about?” he growled. “I’m not related to Ashlynn. Who the hell told you that?”

My pulse kicked harder.

“This fell out of her bag.” I shoved the book into his hands. “Look for yourself.”

Spinner took it, flipping it open with a frown. His eyes moved over the pages, his expression shifting from confusion to something harder, something unreadable.

Then his gaze snapped back to mine, his grip tightening around the album.

“What the fuck is this?” he muttered.

That reaction? That wasn’t guilt.

That was real, raw confusion.

And suddenly, I wasn’t just pissed anymore.

I wasuneasy.

MY EYES MOVEDover the small photo album,flipping through the pages with stiff fingers, my pulse hammering in my ears.

Pictures of me.

Different ages. Different places.

And then I sawher.

Ashlynn.

Younger. Dark brown hair instead of the bleach blonde she had now. But there was no mistaking it—it was her.

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