Page 57 of Spinner’s Luck (The Devil’s House MC: South Carolina #2)

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

THE RIDE BACK was a blur.

I didn’t hear the growl of Spinner’s bike. Didn’t register the morning wind biting at my skin.

All I could hear was Fang’s voice.

You really think you can run from me?

Even now, back at the clubhouse, surrounded by leather, steel, and hardened men I should’ve felt safe with, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Fang was right. That he would always be out there.

Watching.

Waiting.

I didn’t realize I was shaking until Spinner slid off his bike and pulled me off with him. His hands were firm, steady, warm, but my knees still wobbled when my feet hit the pavement.

I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to stay upright. I won’t fucking fall.

But Spinner saw it anyway.

His grip on me tightened. “I got you, baby.”

I swallowed hard, hating how weak I felt.

The clubhouse door swung open, slamming against the wall, and Brenda stormed out like a hurricane. Her face was a thundercloud of rage and worry, eyes darting over the bruises, the dried blood, the absolute wreck that was Spinner’s face.

Her gaze landed on me.

And just like that, everything shifted.

The fury melted, replaced by something raw. Something comforting.

“Oh, honey,” she murmured, her voice breaking as she pulled me into a bone-crushing hug.

I let her.

Because for the first time in days, I let myself feel it.

The relief. The exhaustion.

The fear that still hadn’t left.

“You’re home now,” Brenda whispered. “Nobody’s touchin’ you here.”

I nodded, pressing my lips together to keep them from trembling.

But I wasn’t so sure.

Not really.

Not when Fang was still out there.

Not when I could still feel his hands on me, his breath against my ear, his voice slithering through my mind. All a painful reminder of the things he’d done to me, not just in that warehouse, but that night months ago.

And not when Spinner’s grip on my waist never loosened, like he was afraid I’d slip away again.

The low growl of engines pulled me back. Spinner tensed beneath my touch as Devil and the others rolled up behind us, their bikes rumbling to a stop, engines cutting out one by one.

“Church. Now,” Devil ordered, his voice was a cold slash against the heat of the morning.

Spinner didn’t let me go. “Later.”

Devil’s hard gaze burned into him. “Did I ask a fucking question?”

Spinner’s entire body coiled, breathing slow and deep. I felt the angry frustration in him, caged but ready to break free.

“Goddammit,” he growled under his breath.

I reached up, pressing my hand against his chest, his cut, his heart. “Go,” I whispered. “I’ll be inside with Brenda.”

His gaze snapped down to me, wild and dark and full of worry. “I don’t want to leave you alone.”

“You won’t be.” I forced a smirk, weak but real. “Brenda’s scarier than any of you.”

Brenda snorted. “Damn right I am.”

Spinner exhaled hard, jaw flexing, but he nodded. Then he turned and stormed off with the others, shoulders tight, fists clenched, like he was two seconds from losing it completely.

I knew the feeling.

Brenda’s hand landed on my back, guiding me inside, straight into the kitchen. She shoved me into a chair, moving with purpose.

“Sit.” She dropped a bowl in front of me. “Eat. It’s not much, but with Josie on club business, it’ll have to do.”

I stared at it. Some kind of soup. It smelled good.

And I was starving.

I barely lifted the spoon before my hand started shaking.

Brenda saw. Didn’t say a word. Just pulled up a chair and squeezed my hand, letting me breathe.

I tried. Really, I did. But my stomach was a knot of exhaustion and unease.

“I think I’ll just take a shower and sleep,” I muttered, pushing the bowl away as I forced myself to stand. My legs still felt like they weren’t my own.

Brenda hugged me once more. “You’ll feel better with some rest.” She hesitated. “I’ll tell Zeynep you’re back. She’ll be relieved.”

“Thanks.”

I left the kitchen and headed straight to Spinner’s room. I didn’t want to be alone, not really, and I needed to feel him around me.

When I stepped into the shower, the scalding water hit my skin, washing away the dirt, the sweat, the blood.

But not him.

Not Fang.

His touch still lingered in the bruises on my skin, in the shadows behind my eyes.

I swallowed hard, pushing the thoughts away.

The scent of Spinner’s soap filled my senses, grounding me.

And for the first time since it all went to hell, I let myself breathe.

THE WAR ROOM was electric.

Not the kind of electricity that crackled before a storm.

No—this was the kind that came during battle.

Devil sat at the head of the table, his gaze cold, focused. He wasn’t thinking about what had happened at the warehouse. He was already planning the next move.

I should’ve been doing the same.

But all I could think about was Fang. About how close he’d come to taking Lucy away from me permanently. And then—after all that—to fucking escape.

I forced myself to sit the fuck down. Forced my hands to use my spinner, even though I wanted to put my fist through the table.

Chain leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “The men Patch is sendin’ will be rollin’ in by tomorrow mornin’. We’ll use them to run intel before we make a move.”

Devil nodded, “Good. I want eyes on Dragon Fire’s movements. Drago will be laying low for a while, but don’t mistake that for weakness. This isn’t the last of the bloodshed.”

His fingers steepled, voice smooth as steel. “We’re taking down the whole goddamn club.”

Silence fell over the room.

Not from doubt—no, not that.

From cold, simmering anticipation.

Mystic exhaled sharply. “Drago’s not gonna go down easy.”

“And we can’t forget about the cartel,” Gearhead added.

Devil gave a slow nod. “It’s not gonna be easy. But we never back down.”

A few grim chuckles rumbled through the room. I didn’t laugh.

Drago was a different breed of monster than Fang. Where Fang was a hunter—patient, precise, setting traps—Drago was rabid. Wild. Unpredictable.

Then Devil’s gaze cut to me. “Before we move forward, your mom. She was at the scene.”

A heavy silence dropped over the table.

I didn’t even flinch. Didn’t so much as blink.

“Yeah,” I said, voice flat. “And?”

Devil leaned forward. “And she was dead.”

I exhaled sharply through my nose, like Devil was pointing out something as mundane as the fucking weather.

“She was nothin’ to me.”

Rune shifted in his seat, watching me closely. “She still gave birth to you.”

My jaw flexed. “That don’t mean shit. She was never a mother. She only came back when she needed somethin’. She was ridin’ thick with those bastards, I promise you.” My voice turned razor-sharp. “She should’ve stayed the fuck gone.”

Devil studied me for a long moment, as if weighing whether I meant it. Then his gaze shifted.

“Lucy was there. She’ll know what happened.”

The tension in my shoulders pulled tighter. I wished they’d drop it. “I’ll ask her once she’s rested.”

Devil nodded, satisfied for now.

His gaze cut to Chain. “What’s the situation at the warehouse?”

Chain exhaled, shaking his head. “It’s a mess. We got some of our guys cleanin’ up, but Drago’s crew left bodies behind. They weren’t exactly subtle.”

“Cops sniffin’ around?” Thunder asked.

“Not yet,” Chain said. “But it’s only a matter of time. Gunshots this close to the docks? Someone’s bound to have called it in.”

Devil’s fingers drummed against the table, eyes narrowing. “We need to make sure there’s nothing left for them to find. Nothing that connects it to us.” His gaze cut to Gatsby. “Get on it. Find contacts at the port who can make shit disappear. We don’t need heat on us while we’re in the middle of a war.”

Gatsby nodded. “I’m on it.”

I leaned back in my chair, jaw tight. “Doesn’t change the fact that Drago’s got the upper hand. We went in expecting one thing, and he flipped the damn script. And Fang—” My voice cut off, frustration crackling in the air. “I should’ve put him in the ground when I had the chance.”

I sighed as I ran a hand through my hair. “He’s out there. He’s watching. And until we put him and Drago down, Lucy and Zeynep won’t be safe.”

Thunder leaned forward, gaze flicking toward Mystic. “What about Drago’s ol’ lady? She could lure him out.”

I didn’t think much of the question at first.

Until Mystic went stiff. Barely noticeable, but I caught it. His jaw clenched, fingers tapping against the table, tension rolling off him like a live wire.

Devil noticed too. His eyes sharpened. “You got something to say, brother?”

Mystic was silent for a long beat. Then he ran a hand through his hair, letting out a slow breath. “She’s not bait.” His voice was low. Rough. “If we hit Drago, she’ll get caught in the crossfire.”

Thunder raised a brow. “We can protect her.”

Mystic’s jaw twitched.

I narrowed my eyes, watching him.

Mystic never gave a fuck about anyone outside the club. He was loyal, sure. A ride-or-die brother. But he wasn’t the type to give a shit about a woman.

Except this time.

Devil studied him for another long moment before leaning back.

Thunder smirked. “Drago’s obsessed with that girl. If we use her—”

“We don’t use women.” Mystic cut him off, his voice like iron. “Drop the fucking subject.”

The room stilled.

I leaned forward, resting my arms on the table. “Our job is to protect Lucy and Zeynep. Not take a chance on those sick fucks getting to them.”

Mystic’s eyes met mine. Dark. Guarded. But it was there—the truth he wouldn’t say.

He loved her. Even if he didn’t want to admit it.

Devil drummed his fingers on the table, watching Mystic like he was something interesting. “We won’t be using any women to fight our war. We’re men, not fucking cowards hiding behind a woman.”

Mystic didn’t react, but I saw the way his shoulders eased.

Devil stood, shifting the tension in the room like a switch flipped.

“This war’s gonna stay bloody,” he said. “I want everyone armed, locked, and ready to move at a moment’s notice. We’re done letting Drago and his crew take the first shot.”

A murmur of agreement passed through the room.

“Chain, coordinate with Patch’s boys when they get here. Spinner, you’re on defense—Lucy doesn’t leave the clubhouse unless she’s on the back of your bike, and I want double riders. Nobody rides solo. Mystic, you’ll guard Zeynep.”

I nodded once.

“Everyone else, get some rest while you can.” Devil’s gaze lingered on Mystic. “We’re gonna need clear heads for this one.”

One by one, the guys filed out.

Except me.

And Mystic.

He sat there, fingers still tapping against the table, jaw tight.

I leaned back, watching him. “You got somethin’ to say?” he growled, feeling my eyes on him.

He didn’t look at me as I asked, “You gonna claim Drago’s woman?”

Mystic finally turned, his expression calm. Unreadable. “She ain’t Drago’s woman.”

I raised an eyebrow.

Mystic pushed up from his chair, muttering, “I got shit to do.”

I watched him go, his shoulders stiff.

Something told me Mystic had already made his choice—but was struggling internally with something.

And that was gonna get real fucking interesting.

THE BEDROOM DOOR clicked shut behind him, muffling the clubhouse noise into a distant hum.

The second we were alone, the tension snapped.

Spinner moved toward me, catching my wrists, holding them tight.

“We’ll clear the air about everythin’ later, Lucy,” he murmured, his voice thick, husky. “Right now, I just need to lose myself in you.”

I stared at him, chest rising and falling, my breath coming too fast.

I felt the same goddamn way.

The weight pressing against my ribs cracked open, and I grabbed onto him like he was the only thing keeping me from shattering.

Spinner’s arms wrapped around me instantly, fiercely, desperately.

Like he was afraid to let go.

Like we were both drowning and this— this —was the only thing keeping us afloat.

His lips crashed into mine—hard, hungry, desperate. A fight and a promise all at once.

I kissed him back with everything I had.

Every fear. Every frustration.

Every ounce of love still left inside me.

When we finally pulled apart, our foreheads pressed together, breathing hard, shaking—I whispered, “Let’s get lost.”

His grip tightened like he was holding onto something he refused to lose. “I’m not losin’ you again, Lucy.” His voice was a rough whisper as he drew me toward the bed.

“You never have to.”

Spinner exhaled sharply, then kissed me again—deeper this time—before pushing me onto the mattress, his body covering mine.

I felt it then. That right feeling.

Like I was exactly where I was meant to be.

The fight between us had burned hot, tearing through everything like wildfire, leaving only ashes and raw truth in its wake.

And now?

Now there was only us.

Spinner’s hands were on me—rough but familiar—his lips moving against mine with a desperation that made my head spin.

This kiss wasn’t about anger.

It wasn’t about frustration.

It was about relief. Desperation. Need.

I gasped as his hands slipped beneath my shirt, fingers ghosting over my bruised skin like he was memorizing every inch of me.

His forehead pressed to mine, his breathing ragged.

“ You with me, baby?” His voice was all gravel and heat, his lips brushing against mine.

I slid my hands beneath his cut, gripping his shirt like I’d never let go.

“Always.”

Spinner exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for days.

Then he kissed me again—slower this time, deeper.

His fingers tangled in my hair, tilting my head as his tongue swept into my mouth, taking his time, savoring.

My body melted into him, needing this. Needing him.

Not just his touch.

His presence.

His love.

Because that’s what this was.

Not just possession. Not just lust.

This was everything.

We moved together on the bed, shedding clothes between kisses, hands roaming, exploring, remembering.

Spinner hovered over me, eyes dark, unreadable, something raw bleeding through his expression.

“I almost lost you,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion.

I cupped his face, my thumbs brushing over the rough stubble along his jaw.

“You didn’t.”

His throat worked hard, like he was swallowing something he couldn’t say out loud.

But he didn’t have to.

I knew.

I felt it in the way he touched me.

Like he was claiming me all over again.

Like he was making sure I was still here.

Like he was making a promise.

A promise that this— us —was forever.

And as his lips found mine again, slow and deep, I knew without a doubt—

I wasn’t just his.

He was mine.