Page 52 of BounBound By Scars

I scoffed. “You’re the sarcasm of the operation.”

Zane shrugged. “Still part of the brain.”

We both returned to the table, the room now filled with the soft hum of tools and fan-cooled servers behind the wall.

“She’s gonna love it, you know,” Zane said after a beat.

I didn’t respond right away. My thumb grazed the smooth edge of the stabilizer bracket—the one I’d designed just for her grip calibration.

“I just want her to feel in control again.”

Zane nodded once, solemnly this time.

And then, because he can never shut the hell up—

“But let’s be real—this is also foreplay, right?”

I didn’t dignify that with a response.

I just kept soldering.

But the truth was, if she came back to me after all this—I’d have to ask myself why.

I had told her the truth. About my past. About my hesitations.

But none of that erased the reality that, no matter how much I told myself otherwise, I was still just an option to her.

And not even the first one.

THIRTEEN

Kabir

The Crazon interface for the White House firewall was locked up tighter than… God, I didn’t even have the energy for analogies anymore. I had run every override command, re-coded the access strings, even tried mimicking the original encryption signature from the Bitch Crazon logs.

Still nothing.

Zero. Nada. Zilch. The digital equivalent of a door slammed in your face by someone who knows you’re armed and trying to break in anyway.

So, naturally, after the mission briefing, I was spiraling.

I wasn’t the only one still in the conference room, though. Dylan sat in the corner, arms crossed, brows perpetually knitted like someone permanently stuck in a state of existential crisis. Logan was leaning against the wall, toying with the safety on his sidearm like it was a fidget spinner.

Zane walked in then, brushing crumbs off his shirt like he’d just had a lovely snack while the rest of us were preparing for digital warfare.

“The weapons module’s still calibrating,” he told me discreetly. “Might take a few more days.”

That was it. That was the final straw.

I needed thatonethingfor Amelia’s drone.

“Behenchod!”I snapped.

It was a guttural, tired explosion of frustration—not directed at anyone in particular—but apparently, Dylan didn’t get the memo.

He jerked up from his chair. “That would beyou, asshole!”

I blinked. “What?”

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