Sweet Hatred
Chapter 178: Shooting Games

Chapter 178: Shooting Games

"Kiddie ride?" I gasped. "That was not a kiddie ride, Kael! That thing was engineered in hell and lubricated with the tears of orphans—"

A loud thump cut me off.

I turned just in time to see a tiny boy, maybe four years old, trip and fall right in front of us. His little cone of ice cream hit the pavement with a tragic splat, and he let out a sharp, wailing cry as he clutched his scraped knees.

"Oh no—" I shot up instantly, drink forgotten, and crouched beside him. "Hey, sweetheart, it’s okay, it’s okay—shhh, it’s just a scrape, I’ve got you, alright?"

Kael was beside me in a heartbeat, looming quietly behind as I gently dusted off the boy’s arms and checked his knees. His face was streaked with tears and strawberry sauce.

"Can you tell me your name, baby? Do you know where your mommy or daddy is?" I asked, brushing his hair back.

"L-Luca," he sobbed.

"Luca," I repeated gently. "Okay, we’re gonna find your mom, alright? You’re safe."

That’s when we heard the hurried footsteps. A woman in her thirties came rushing through the crowd, face pale, panic sharp in her eyes. She dropped to her knees the moment she reached us.

"Oh my God, Luca—! I told you not to run off like that!" she gasped, scooping him into her arms.

I stepped back to give her room, wiping my palms on my pants. She looked up at me with tears brimming. "Thank you so much. I—I was looking everywhere—"

She froze as her gaze slid to Kael.

He stood stiffly, arms crossed, expression unreadable but with just enough hardness to make her blink nervously.

"Thank you," she said again, quieter now, her arms tightening around Luca.

Kael’s voice was calm, but clipped. "You shouldn’t let him wander."

She swallowed, nodded, and picked up her son. "I—I won’t. I’m sorry."

Then she turned and rushed off through the crowd, disappearing among the bodies.

I turned back to Kael, already opening my mouth to say really? But he beat me to it.

"You’re good with kids," he said, as if the woman hadn’t just fled like she’d met the mafia.

I blinked, ignoring his comment. "You could’ve maybe... smiled? I think she thought you were about to call child services."

"She was careless."

I sighed. "You really can’t just be normal, huh?"

"I am being normal," he said, sipping his coffee like nothing had happened. "That was me at my most gentle."

I stared at him.

He stared back. I sighed defeatedly making my way back to the bench.

I leaned back against the wood, swirling the last of my drink with the straw. "Alright," I said, licking a drop off my bottom lip. "What should we do next?"

Kael turned his head slowly, a devilish smirk already pulling at the corners of his mouth.

My stomach dropped. "No," I said immediately.

He raised a brow. "You don’t even know what I was going to say."

"I know that face," I groaned. "That’s the I’m-about-to-make-you-suffer face."

He leaned closer, voice smooth and evil. "Let’s go on the ride again."

I deadass choked on air. "Nope. You’re doing that alone, you devil. Wasn’t seeing me half-dead once enough for you?"

"No," he said, not even trying to pretend.

I scowled. "What is wrong with you?"

He gave an exaggerated sigh and leaned back with a pout that made him look entirely too handsome for someone so heartless. "Well, then it’s no fun."

I rolled my eyes. "Fine. How about something more your speed, Mr. Let’s Traumatize Aria for Fun."

His brow arched again.

"Let’s go to the shooting booths," I said. "Y’know, since that’s your thing and all. Might as well put your trigger-happy hands to use."

He didn’t answer. Just rose silently and gestured for me to lead.

I started walking toward the game stalls, shoving my hands into my pockets. The air was thick with sugar and popcorn and children’s laughter, and it was honestly kind of perfect, if I ignored the six-foot shadow trailing behind me like a silent predator.

Then I felt it.

His hand brushed mine. Lightly. Testing.

I froze for half a second before he slid his fingers into mine fully, palm warm, grip confident, like it was the most casual thing in the world.

My heart pulled a full triple somersault.

He stepped to my side, as if he hadn’t just completely fried my nervous system.

"Is this really necessary?" I asked, trying to sound bored. It came out more breathless than I’d intended.

"Of course it is," he said, utterly calm. "I don’t want you to get lost."

I narrowed my eyes. "You’re only saying that to get on my nerves."

"I’d never," he said, with a teasing lilt that proved he absolutely would and already had.

I huffed and looked straight ahead, trying not to let the weight of his hand in mine mean anything. "You know people might get the wrong idea."

His voice dipped lower, smoother. "What wrong idea?"

"That we’re... that we’re not—" I paused.

The words snagged in my throat.

That we’re not dating. Not lovers. Not anything real.

Not yet.

I swallowed and looked at the ground instead. For once, my mouth didn’t want to run off without permission.

So instead, I tightened my grip on his hand. Laced my fingers deeper into his. And pulled him forward.

"Never mind," I said softly.

He didn’t press.

He just let me lead.

And for a few beautiful steps, we walked like something unspoken was finally starting to bloom between us, dangerous and delicate and terrifying.

And I think, just maybe, I didn’t mind getting lost with him.

The shooting booth was a glowing mess of neon lights, dingy stuffed animals hanging from the ceiling, and the buzz of plastic rifles being slammed down like someone’s pride was at stake.

Which... in our case, it probably was.

Kael gave the row of fake guns a lazy look. "This looks rigged."

"Oh, come on," I said, tugging him forward. "It’s not real war, Commander Killjoy. You scared you’ll lose to a girl?"

His smirk was sharp. "Terrified."

I stepped up to the booth and handed the game attendant a bill with a triumphant flick of my wrist. "Two players, please. And go easy on him. He’s sensitive."

Kael said nothing. Just slowly picked up the rifle and checked its weight like he was calibrating for wind pressure and enemy distance. And suddenly, the air shifted.

Okay. Show-off mode: activated.

We positioned ourselves behind the counter, guns pointed toward the row of moving targets that popped up and disappeared in erratic intervals.

"Best score wins," I said, cocking an eyebrow.

"And the prize?" he murmured.

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