Page 34 of Override

“I was born for this moment.” He yells above the crowd.

“You were born because your parents made mistakes.” Sloane snorts so violently into her drink she nearly chokes.

And despite myself—I laugh. A real one too. Small. Brief. Still real.

Rachel’s eyes snap toward me so fast it’s almost aggressive. “Oh my God.”

I narrow mine. “Don’t.”

“You laughed.”

“I do that sometimes.” I try to downplay it but she isn’t having it.

“Not voluntarily.”

“Pretty sure laughter is always voluntary.”

“No,” Bullet says calmly from the end of the booth. “Sometimes it’s fear-based.”

“That’s fair,” Matt agrees.

The table dissolves again while I shake my head and glance back toward the laptop screen automatically.

Maeve’s upstairs reading now. Curled sideways near the library window with one of the estate blankets pulled over her legs while rain streaks softly across the glass behind her. Something strange tightens beneath my ribs. Not lust. Not obsession.

Something worse. Familiarity.

Like my brain recognizes her now in ways I don’t fully understand yet.

“What the hell are you even looking at?” The voice slurs from somewhere too close to my shoulder.

I glance up. Drunk. Mid-thirties maybe. Red-faced. Sweating whiskey fumes and bad decisions while leaning halfway into our booth.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

“Nothing that concerns you,” I tell him evenly.

The guy squints at the laptop screen anyway. And unfortunately—Maeve’s face is still visible in the corner feed.

The drunk’s expression changes. “Well now,” he laughs loudly. “That’s creepy as shit.”

Every muscle in my body stills instantly. Beside me, Matt goes quiet too. Bad sign.

“You spying on girls, man?” the drunk continues, louder now. “Jesus Christ. You some kinda freak?”

“Walk away,” Bullet says calmly from the end of the booth.

The guy ignores him completely. Mistake. He reaches for the edge of my laptop screen with sloppy fingers.

And that was the exact moment the night turned into a bad Quentin Tarantino film.

Everything after that happens fast. The drunk grabs the screen. I grab his wrist. Hard enough to make something pop.

He screams.

Wheels stands so violently the entire table rattles backward while nearby bar patrons start shouting. Somebody swings from somewhere to my left. Matt catches the guy mid-punch and slams him into a wall hard enough to crack drywall while Rachel yells something deeply threatening over the music.

Sloane doesn’t even look surprised. Interesting woman.