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CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

THE ROAR OF engines filled the lot as the last of the guys rolled in from their patrols, the deep rumble vibrating through the ground, rattling in my bones. The sound vibrated off the clubhouse walls, but it barely registered past the mess in my head.

Devil leaned against the building, arms crossed, shadowed by the dim glow of the porch lamp. I knew that look—the kind that meant shit was about to go sideways.

I killed the engine and swung my leg off my bike, gravel crunching under my boots as I stalked toward him. “What’s up?” I asked, my tone coming out harder than I wanted considering who I was talking to.

Devil didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached into his cut and pulled out a folded piece of paper, his movements slow, deliberate. He handed it over, and before I even opened it, I felt it, the weight of whatever was written on it was important.

I unfolded the note, my stomach twisting as I read the printed handwriting:

Shipment at the docks tonight. Lucy’s alone and in danger.

This wasn’t just some random tip-off, it was personal.

“Where’d this come from?” My voice was low, tight, barely controlled.

“Mailbox,” Devil said flatly. His gaze stayed locked on me, unmoving, like he was reading every flicker of reaction on my face.

I clenched my jaw, my fingers curling around the note, crumpling it slightly. “This about Dragon Fire?” I asked, even though I already fucking knew the answer.

“Who else would it be?” Devil’s expression hardening.

“Shipment of what?” I pressed, scanning the note again, as if the words might shift, offer me more than the bare-bones warning. “And how the hell do they know Lucy’s there?”

“Drugs, probably,” Bolt said as he walked up, his boots scuffing the gravel. “Maybe weapons. Either way, it smells like a setup.”

Chain stepped out of the shadows. “What’s goin’ on?” he asked, his eyes going to the note.

Wordlessly, I handed him the note. His expression didn’t change as he scanned it, but the way he handed it back to Devil—calm, methodical, controlled—told me everything.

“Could be a trap,” Chain said.

“Damn right it’s a trap,” Bolt muttered, crossing his arms. “Who the hell leaves breadcrumbs unless they’re leadin’ you into a slaughter?”

“Or maybe it’s someone who actually gives a shit about Lucy,” I snapped, my voice cutting through the space between us. “She mentioned a friend—someone she trusted. What if they’re tryin’ to help?”

Devil studied me, his gaze steady, weighing, searching. Finally, he gave a short nod. “That’s why we go in smart. Spinner, Mystic, Bolt—you’re on recon. Chain, you lead the strike team if we decide to move.”

“What if things go south?” My pulse pounded, my grip on the note tightening.

“Then we adapt,” Devil said, his gaze unrelenting. “But no one engages until we know what we’re dealing with. Like Chain said, it’s likely a setup. Don’t give them what they’re looking for.”

I nodded, my mind already running through routes, setups, contingencies. But beneath the adrenaline, something gnawed at me—a pull in my chest that I couldn’t shake.

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 DOORS clanged shut behind us, the sound 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.

“It doesn’t matter,” I said, pulling off my gloves and shoving them into my pocket. “We just keep lookin’”

The words came out strong, but they felt like hollow promises.

Inside the clubhouse, the noise hit me like a wall. The energy that usually felt like home now felt stifling, suffocating. A few of the guys were already halfway through their bottles, loud and careless, their laughter vibrating off the walls. The tension from the failed run sat heavy on my shoulders, a weight that wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

Brenda was behind the bar, wiping down glasses, her eyes scanning the room with the sharpness of someone who missed nothing.

I headed straight for the bar, nodding at her as I slid onto a stool.

“Whiskey?” she asked, her tone knowing.

I nodded. “Make it a double.”

She didn’t say another word, just poured and slid the glass across the counter before moving on. I picked it up, staring into the amber liquid like it might give me answers I didn’t have.

But all I saw was her.

Lucy.

Her voice kept ringing in my head, sharp and cutting:

When the truth slaps you in the face.

She was right. I let Fang’s lies crawl under my skin and didn’t fight hard enough to keep her here. Didn’t trust her the way I should’ve. I didn’t go after her when she walked away. If I had, she’d still be here—mad as hell, maybe—but safe. With me.

The whiskey burned on the way down, but it didn’t touch the ache in my chest.

“You look like you could use some company.”

The voice was soft, too sweet, and exactly what I didn’t need.

I glanced to my left and saw Ashlynn sliding onto the stool beside me. Her smile was coy, but her eyes were sparkling—calculating. The top she was wearing barely covered anything, and she leaned in just close enough for her arm to brush mine.

“Don’t start, Ashlynn,” I said flatly, my patience already running on fumes.

She pouted, tilting her head like she thought it made her look cute. “Come on, Spinner. Why sit here and look so sad when you could have a little fun?” Her fingers brushed my arm, testing the waters.

“I said no,” I snapped, jerking my arm away. My tone was angry, but I didn’t care.

Her smile faltered for a second, but then it came back, sharper, meaner. “Still thinkin’ about her, huh?”

My whole body tensed, and my hand tightened around the glass.

“Lucy’s gone,” Ashlynn continued, her voice softer now, almost pitying. “And not comin’ back. Why waste your time?”

“Don’t talk about her,” I said coldly, my jaw clenched tight enough to hurt.

“I’m just sayin’,” she pressed, leaning closer. “You deserve better. And you know it. That night you proved it by choosin’ me.”

I turned to her then, slow and deliberate, my patience hanging by a thread. “Shut. Up. Now. Or I swear, you’re gonna see a side of me you don’t want to.”

Her eyes narrowed, the coy act slipping completely. “Fine,” she said, sliding off the stool with a huff. “Might as well be chasin’ smoke. She’s gone.” Her heels clicked against the floor as she stalked away, her words lingering in the air like a bad smell.

Brenda came back over, arching a brow as she set another glass in front of me. “That girl’s gonna be a problem,” she said, her voice dry.

I let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking my head. “Not tonight, Brenda.”

Her lips twitched into a smirk. “Tomorrow might be too late.” She leaned against the bar, her sharp gaze fixed on me. “Listen, Spinner. We all mess up. But what you did with Ashlynn? That lit a fire under her, and now she’s not hearin’ you or me. She’s got her sights set, and you’re the bullseye.”

“I’ll handle it,” I said, my voice low. “Just not tonight. Right now, I need to focus on Lucy and finding her.”

Brenda’s expression softened slightly, and she nodded. “I figured as much. Hearin’ it makes me feel better, though. I liked Lucy. Girl has guts.”

“Yeah,” I muttered, staring into the glass. “She does.”

Brenda pushed off the bar, giving me one last knowing look. “You’ll find her,” she said with quiet confidence. “But keep an eye on Ashlynn—she’s not just readin’ a different page, she’s in a whole other damn library.”

Her words lingered long after she walked away, settling in my chest alongside the guilt and regret.

Lucy was my only priority.

And I’d never stop looking for her.