Sweet Hatred
Chapter 196: Sad Girl, Stray Cat

Chapter 196: Sad Girl, Stray Cat

I stopped walking. "Try what, exactly?"

He shrugged. "To off yourself. Or worse—someone else does. You look like prime serial killer bait standing out here all sad and cold."

I spun around to face him. "I’m not trying to kill myself."

"Sure," he replied casually, pulling something from under his arm. "And that’s exactly what someone suicidal would say."

I clenched my jaw as he held out another helmet. Black. Sleek. And already extended toward me like I had a choice.

"I’m not suicidal," I repeated, slower this time. "And if someone tried to kill me, I’d probably just let them."

"See?" He tilted his head. "You are suicidal."

I wanted to throw the helmet into the water roaring in the distance.

Instead, I just glared at him.

Unmoving. Silent.

He didn’t even blink.

"We can do this all night," he said. "I’ve got gas. And time. Your move, sad girl."

"Ugh, fine," I muttered, snatching the helmet from his hand like it insulted me. A gust of cold wind rushed past us just then, and I shivered violently, instinctively hugging myself.

I brought the helmet to my nose.

It smelled like him.

Of course it did.

Expensive cologne clung to the lining—warm, woodsy, spiced with something heavy and dark. It made my throat tight for some reason I couldn’t name.

I jammed it on before I changed my mind.

Before I could even mount the bike, he was already sliding his leather jacket off his shoulders and holding it out to me.

"The night’s getting colder," he said. "You’ll catch something."

"I already smell like you enough," I muttered, stepping back. "I don’t want to remember this night every time I do laundry."

He looked genuinely offended. "I smell incredible. That’s Maison Francis Kurkdjian, Baccarat Rouge 540. That bottle costs more than your rent."

"Well, good for you," I said, swinging a leg over the bike with a scowl. "It still smells like shit."

He stared at me.

I smiled sweetly under the helmet.

"Let’s get this over with, mystery man," I muttered.

And just like that, the bike roared to life again.

The bike rumbled beneath us as we pulled away from the beach, the city lights stretching out in streaks of gold and red. Wind clawed at the helmet, howling in my ears, and for the first few minutes I just held on in silence—still reeling, still sore, still so done with tonight.

"So..." he called over his shoulder. "Where are we going?"

I blinked.

Where were we going?

I froze slightly.

Because the truth was—I had no idea. I couldn’t go home. That place would swallow me whole tonight. If I went back, I’d either scream until my throat bled or curl up and disappear for a decade.

But where else?

Nowhere felt right. Not in this skin. Not in this pain.

Sarah, I thought. I could go to Sarah’s.

I was just about to say it when he cut in again, that cocky voice somehow slicing clean through my spiraling.

"You don’t have a home or what?"

"Tch. Shut up for a damn second," I snapped, my voice sharp against the night air.

"Ooooh," he drawled. "So rude."

"Says the person who wouldn’t let anyone finish a damn sentence," I retorted, already annoyed all over again.

He didn’t answer, but I heard the amused breath he let out, and it pissed me off more than it should have. The helmet made my head feel heavy, like it was full of thoughts I couldn’t carry anymore.

Just as we merged onto the highway, my phone buzzed from inside my pocket.

My heart lurched.

Was it still him?

Kael.

The name alone made my stomach twist. That tension wrapped around my ribs, squeezing until I could barely breathe. I didn’t even check the screen. I didn’t want to. I couldn’t handle seeing his name again.

Without thinking, I sighed—deep and exhausted—and let myself sink forward, my arms tightening around the stranger’s waist. I leaned into his back, needing something steady, something warm, something other than my own aching head.

And for a few seconds... it helped.

Until his voice broke the spell.

"I thought you didn’t like how I smell," he said, that smirk practically audible through the helmet.

I jerked back instantly—too fast. So fast the bike wobbled slightly beneath us.

"Shit, careful!" he barked, steadying the bike with one hand. "You trying to kill us both now?!"

I didn’t answer. Just clenched the sides of the seat and pretended I didn’t feel the echo of his heartbeat through his back.

Minutes later, we pulled up to the street I’d told him—Sarah’s apartment building glowing dim under a flickering lamplight.

He parked.

I got off without a word.

Helmet off. Hair wild. Emotions worse.

I shoved the helmet back into his hands. "Thanks," I muttered.

He caught it easily, looking up at me from his seat, the visor half up again, eyes unreadable.

"You’re welcome, sad girl," he said, a little softer this time.

I hated how warm it sounded.

He stared in silence again, and those blue eyes... they softened for a second.

Like he was about to say something nice.

Something kind.

I didn’t want it. I was too raw. Too done.

So I turned away.

But his bike didn’t move. The engine didn’t roar back to life. I stopped at the steps, turned halfway, and scowled.

"...Why are you still here?"

He lifted one shoulder, casual. "Making sure you get inside safely."

I stared at him. "What’s your problem?"

He laughed. "You, clearly. You’re like a stray cat that bites even when someone feeds it."

My jaw clenched. "Then stop feeding me."

"I would," he said, putting the helmet I wore on the back of his motorcycle seat, "but I like the bite."

And just like that, the engine growled and he peeled away into the night, smoke in his wake, leaving me standing there with more anger than I knew what to do with.

What the hell was his deal?

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