Page 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

THE MOON WAS high by the time I found Lucy outside, leaning against the railing of the clubhouse porch. I signaled Jacob to head off. The soft glow cast her in shadows, but even in the muted light, I could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers gripped the wood like it was the only thing keeping her steady.

She didn’t look up as I approached, but I knew she heard me. Lucy was the type who always knew when someone was near, like survival was stitched into her DNA.

I needed her story.

“You good?” I asked, stopping a few feet away.

She let out a dry laugh, low and humorless. “Define good.”

I leaned against the railing beside her, arms crossed. The night was quiet, save for the crickets and the occasional rustle of leaves. She stayed focused on the horizon, avoiding my gaze.

“She’ll heal,” I said, knowing her mood had to do with Zeynep. “Mystic’s seein’ to that.”

“I know.” Her voice softened, losing some of its edge. “It’s just... seeing her like that...” She trailed off, shaking her head. “I didn’t expect it.”

“Dragon Fire doesn’t mess around,” I said grimly. “You know that.”

Her jaw tightened as she turned to me, anger flashing in her eyes. “Yeah, I know. That’s why I was in that shitty clubhouse. To stop them.”

Lucy wasn’t going to let go of what they did to Zeynep. She’d be out for revenge, and while I understood the fire, I knew what it could do. I’d lived it. Vengeance wasn’t something you walked away from unscathed.

“Look,” I said carefully, “I get why you’re pissed. I do. But you’re no match for Dragon Fire. They’ll burn you to fuckin’ ash.”

Her eyebrow shot up, arms crossing as she squared her stance. “I don’t care! I refuse to stand by while they traffic women and kids like livestock. Those bastards deserve to rot.”

I ran a hand through my hair, exhaling sharply. “Trust me, I know. But you can’t take them down alone. Stand back and let us handle it.”

Her lips twitched into a faint smirk. “I’m gonna do what I want to.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” I said dryly. “But you gotta be smart, Lucy. You keep pissin’ off the wrong people, and they’ll kill you. Hell, they might even torture you first and make you beg to die.”

She tilted her head, studying me like she was weighing whether I was worth listening to. “Why do you care?”

The question caught me off guard, but I didn’t flinch. “Because you saved my ass,” I said simply. “And because I know what it’s like to carry that kinda anger. It’ll eat you alive.” I nudged her shoulder lightly and added, “Plus, I kinda like you.”

Her smirk softened into a small smile before she sighed, her shoulders slumping. “I’m not here to stir up trouble for your club, Spinner. I just want to make sure Zeynep’s safe. After that, I’m gone. Your club and I don’t share the same goals.”

The words twisted something in my chest, but I shoved the feeling down. “You think Dragon Fire’s just gonna let you walk away? They’ll hunt you down.”

“I’m not afraid of them,” she said firmly, but her eyes told a different story.

“Maybe you should be,” I said, getting frustrated. “They’re not just thugs, they’re animals. If they get their hands on you, it won’t end quick or easy.”

She stepped closer, her voice steely. “If I can save even one woman or child from those sick fucks, it’s worth it.”

Her fire should’ve pissed me off, but instead, it drew me in. Something about the way she stood her ground, even with the odds stacked against her, made it impossible to look away. I hated and admired it all at once.

“You’re a special kind of trouble, you get that?” I said, my voice dipping into something almost amused.

She smirked, the stiffness in her shoulders loosening. “What can I say? I leave an impression.”

“Lucy,” I said after a moment, “you’ve gotta play this smart. While you’re here, you’re playin’ by Devil’s rules. No sneakin’ off, no startin’ fights, and don’t give anyone a reason to question you.”

Her jaw tightened, but she nodded reluctantly. “Fine. For now.”

It wasn’t much, but it was all I was getting.

As she turned back to the railing, her gaze fixed on the horizon once more, I decided it was the right moment to tell her. “You’ll be bunkin’ with me.”

Her head snapped toward me, surprise clear in her eyes. “What do you mean by bunking with you?”

“You’ll be in my room,” I said, holding up a hand before she could argue, “but I’ll sleep on a cot. Devil’s got me watchin’ over you.”

“More like spying and guarding,” she snapped. “And don’t think I’m some easy lay, ‘cause you’d be dead wrong. Dead is what you’ll be if you try anything.”

I raised both hands in mock surrender. “I enjoy breathin’, so no worries. I don’t force myself on women.”

“I know,” she said, her tone softer now. “But I figured it needed saying. Felt appropriate.”

Her chuckle eased the tension between us, her eyes softening as she added, “Let me grab my bag from the car. Then you can show me these fancy accommodations.”

I FOLLOWED SPINNER down the narrow hallway, curiosity buzzing in the back of my mind. I wasn’t sure what to expect from his room, probably the usual biker aesthetic: dark, messy, and overdue for a deep clean. My time at Dragon Fire’s clubhouse had left me with a permanent association between bikers and the smell of rotting food and the pieces of shit that inhabited the place.

But when Spinner opened the door and I stepped inside, I froze.

The soft glow of a desk lamp cast long shadows across the walls, but what caught my eye first was the art. It was everywhere. Framed sketches, old tattoo flash sheets, and intricate drawings covered the walls, some faded with age, others vibrant and alive with detail. The room carried a sense of history, like every piece had a story Spinner had chosen to preserve.

“Wow,” I breathed, stepping further inside. My eyes moved slowly across the swirling patterns of ink and paper, several signed with the name Hayden Elwood. His real name, I guessed. “This is... not what I expected.”

Spinner leaned against the doorframe, watching me with that quiet intensity that seemed to be his default. “What did you expect?”

“Messy,” I said with a smirk, running my fingers lightly along the edge of one of the frames. “Dark, dirty, smelly, maybe a poster of a naked woman on a Harley.”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm, like the rumble of his bike. “Gotcha. Look, Lucy, even bikers got standards, and a healthy fear of catching somethin’ that soap won’t fix.”

I turned to him, arching a brow. “Clearly. These are incredible. Did you draw any of them?” Suddenly, all his tattoos made sense, his skin was as much a canvas as these walls.

“Some,” he admitted, stepping fully into the room and closing the door behind him. “But most of ’em are pieces I’ve collected over the years. Old tattoo flash, stuff from artists who’ve passed or stopped workin’. It’s... somethin’ I enjoy. A hobby.”

“Hobby?” I repeated, tilting my head as I studied him. “This feels like more than a hobby, Spinner. This is... passion.”

He shrugged, but the flicker of pride in his eyes gave him away. “Maybe. My interest in the art’s why I got into tattooing in the first place.”

My gaze drifted to the far side of the room, where a small table sat under the window. It was covered in tiny, colorful bricks—Lego pieces scattered like a rainbow explosion. At the center of the mess was a half-built city, its tiny plastic parts coming together with surprising precision.

“Is that... Legos?” I asked, unable to keep the surprise out of my voice.

Spinner rubbed the back of his neck, his ears turning faintly red. “Yeah.”

I walked over to the table, picking up one of the pieces and holding it to the light. “Did not peg you for a Lego guy.”

“It keeps my hands busy,” he said, his voice quieter now. “And my mind.”

I glanced at him, setting the piece back down. “From what?”

His jaw tightened, and he leaned against the wall, his eyes distant. “The past.”

The weight of his words settled in the air between us, heavy and unspoken. I didn’t push. Instead, I turned back to the table, letting my fingers trace the edges of the tiny bricks. “You’re good at this,” I said, gesturing to the half-built city.

“Helps to have somethin’ to focus on,” he said, his voice steady again. “Legos are simple. You follow the instructions, piece by piece, and eventually, you build somethin’ solid.”

I nodded, my fingers lingering on the table before turning back to him. “You’ve got layers, Spinner. You know that?”

He smirked, crossing his arms. “That a compliment?”

“Take it however you want,” I said, leaning back against the desk. “But I’ll admit, I didn’t expect this. The art, the Legos... It’s a side of you I wouldn’t have guessed.”

“Yeah, well,” he said, his gaze meeting mine. “There’s a lot people don’t know about me.”

“Maybe I’ll stick around long enough to find out,” I said, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

He didn’t respond right away, but the look in his eyes made my heart skip.

“You’re welcome to hang around,” he said finally, his voice almost husky. “For as long as you want.”

I nodded, feeling his words settle deep in my chest. “Thanks, Spinner. Glad to know it’s an option.”

The silence stretched between us, both comfortable and charged. My eyes wandered back to the walls, at the drawings that seemed to whisper stories of pain and resilience. I wondered just how many of those stories belonged to him.

For the first time, Spinner felt like more than just a sexy guy with a bike. He was... something else. Something I wasn’t sure I could walk away from.

I FELT HER eyes on me like a caress as I unfolded the cot, the faint squeak of metal loud in the room. Lucy sat cross-legged on the edge of my bed, watching me with an amused glint in her eye, her duffel bag resting on the floor. She didn’t offer to help, of course, just leaned back on her hands like she was waiting for the next part of the show.

“You always this entertaining before bed?” she asked, smirking.

I shot her a look over my shoulder. “For a pretty guest like you, I could be a lot more entertainin’, but you’ve already warned me.”

Her laugh was soft, almost playful. It was a sound I didn’t hear enough from her, and it made me want to hear it again.

The cot clicked into place, and I grabbed a blanket from the small storage cabinet under the bed. “Ain’t the Ritz, but it’ll do,” I said, tossing the blanket over the cot.

She tilted her head, the smirk fading into something softer. “You really don’t have to sleep on that thing, you know. I can take it.”

I shook my head, standing up and folding my arms. “Not how it works, Lucy. You’re the guest, so you get the bed. Besides, I don’t mind.”

Her brow lifted. “Chivalry? From a biker? Now I’ve seen it all.”

I smirked. “Keep that to yourself, Luck. Can’t have my reputation taking a hit.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t push it further. Instead, she leaned forward, pulling her hair tie loose and shaking her hair out. The sight of it falling around her shoulders made my cock tighten, but I looked away, busying myself with straightening the blanket on the cot. It was bad enough she was only wearing a long t-shirt to sleep in.

One that tended to ride up past her thighs.

And that gave me a glimpse of the intricate tattoo spiraling up her right leg, a twisting mass of figures—men, women, and children—woven together in a haunting dance. The shading gave it depth, making the figures look almost alive, like spirits caught in an endless climb. I didn’t need to ask what it represented.

“Why do you do it?” she asked suddenly, her voice quieter now.

I glanced up at her, unsure what she meant. “Do what?”

“Be... nice to me,” she said, her lips quirking into a faint smile. “You go out of your way to make sure I’m comfortable. It doesn’t add up to the biker life I’ve come to know.”

I shrugged, sitting on the edge of the cot and leaning forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “You’ve been hangin’ out with the wrong bikers. Real men take care of their women.”

Her expression softened, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she stood, pulling the blanket back on the bed and sitting down again, her movements slow and deliberate. I was beginning to think she was trying to tempt me.

“You want to take care of me, huh?” she teased lightly, but her voice carried something deeper, like she was testing the waters.

I didn’t look away, holding her gaze. “Yeah. I do.”

The words hung between us, but I didn’t regret saying them. Lucy held my stare for a moment before breaking it, her fingers picking at the edge of the blanket.

“I’m not used to that,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

“What?”

“People... caring,” she said, glancing at me again. “It’s not something I’ve had a lot of.”

Her honesty surprised me, but I didn’t let it show. Instead, I nodded, leaning back and stretching out on the cot. “Well, get used to it,” I said simply. “Because you’re not on your own anymore.”

She didn’t respond, but the tension in her shoulders seemed to ease as she leaned back against the pillows. I turned off the desk lamp, plunging the room into shadows, the faint light from the window casting silver streaks across the walls.

For a while, the only sound was the soft rustle of the blanket as Lucy shifted, getting comfortable. I lay still, staring at the ceiling, my mind buzzing with thoughts of what I wish we were doing right now.

“Spinner?” she said quietly.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks,” she murmured, her voice softer than I’d ever heard it.

“Anytime,” I replied, my voice just as low.