Page 170 of Hate Mates

I’m not sure if she’s naïve or stupid, but whatever it is makes me fucking laugh, and it’s been years since I’ve laughed. The sound is different, cold and hollow, and so alien from my happy memories. “No. Helping you last time ruined my fucking life.”

Lourdez shrinks in her seat, looking smaller than ever. It’s easy to see why the judge took one look at her and another at me and my height and dished out a three-year sentence. I’m only surprised her lies didn’t get me a longer stay in that hellhole.

“Lochlan—”

“Get.Out.”

“Okay.” She sighs and accepts defeat. “Please, tell your brother I tried to get there.”

Her words are like a dagger in my chest. I refuse to look at her, keeping my eyes on the road ahead, on the tracks where her bald tires have disrupted the perfect snowy scene.

The moment she slams my door, I take off. A quick glance in the mirror shows her leaning over that shed on wheels. Her body rocks like she’s crying, and the last words she said to me have guilt tripping me up enough for my foot to tap the brake.

I come to a slow stop, checking the rearview mirror to see if she’s heading my way. She isn’t.

She probably thinks I’ll drive off before her fingers wrap around the door handle.

Trust doesn’t exist between us.

Thoughts swirl in my head—letting her into this car will only mean trouble. More lies. Another jail sentence.

“Fuck.”

Her body faces me now, her image getting covered in snow and shivering.

Shifting gears, I stretch my arm over the passenger seat to get a better view of the road behind me while I drive in reverse.

The last thing I want is to run this woman over because no one in this town would believe it was an accident.

A wave of snow splashes her, sinking down into her little ankle boots, and I can’t help but laugh when she jumps.

“Get in the fucking car,” I say through clenched teeth and a wound-down window.

As instructed, she gets inside, toeing off her wet boots and placing them in line with the footwell heater.

“You’re heading to see your brother? Or taking me home first?”

“Yes, I’m heading to see my brother. You can come, but we don’t need to make chit-chat on the way.”

She nods, looking out the window, avoiding me, as I avoid her by focusing on the road. But it’s fucking hard to do. I have so many questions, and they’re filling my fucking head, and my anger with her is filling the fucking vehicle.

I roll down the window, needing to air some of the tension out.

“Are you serious right now?” Lourdez’s head snaps to me so fast I wouldn’t be surprised if she has a neck injury.

“What did I do or not do this time?”

“You opened a window.”

“Is that a crime?”

“I’m freezing. You splashed snow into my boots.”

“That wasn’t intentional.” Her face softens at my words, then hardens again with the next. “But it was funny.”

“Fuck you.”

“Never again. No quick and boring fumble is worth another three years.”

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