Page 81 of Hate Mates

Fluorescent lights flicker overhead, but Blaze’s hand is warm in mine, steadying, his calloused fingers interlaced with my own.

Muted voices of the night-shift nurses echo from the station around the corner, so I tug Blaze into an empty hospital room. The door clicks softly shut behind us.

I reach up and tug the blond wig lower over my forehead, ensuring it conceals my raven hair. Then I zip the oversized hoodie up to my chin. Between the wig and shapeless layers, I’m unrecognizable as Nyx’s daughter.

Blaze eyes me skeptically. “This is a dumbass idea, Vina. Too risky.”

“Fine. Go back to the bike.” I meet his gaze, unflinching. “I need to know my father’s okay.”

His knuckles brush my face, and there’s a sadness in his eyes. “I get it. Wish I had it in me to worry about my dad that way.”

I scowl, waiting for him to go on about that.

But he schools his features. “I’ll wait here.”

Before letting me slip out, he pulls me back for a heart-stopping kiss, plundering my mouth until we’re both gasping.

“Shit,” I hiss when he’s done.

“Go,” he says. “Be quick.”

I slip out of the room, trying to ignore the heat of Blaze’s lips on mine. With ginger steps, I creep down the hallway. The antiseptic scent burns my nostrils, and I have to fight the urge to gag. I hate hospitals. They remind me of all the ways a body can break.

At the third door on the left, I pause. There’s a small window, and I stand on tiptoes to peer through. My breath catches when I see him, tubes snaking out of his nose and arms. He’s small, frail. Nothing like the fierce, larger-than-life father I know.

Rage simmers and my fingers curl into fists. Someone’s going to pay, but first, I need to know Dad’s going to pull through.

Mom is there too, her hand holding his and her forehead resting on the bed.

I open the door. Like moving through molasses, each step is sluggish. The room is dimly lit, and there are no sounds aside from a ragged sob. Mom’s head snaps up. Her eyes are red and puffy, mascara streaking her face.

“Vina?” she whispers, thankfully recognizing me in disguise. “What are you doing here? It’s not safe.”

I ignore her warning, moving to the other side of the bed. Up close, Dad looks even worse. His skin is gray, his chest still.

“What the hell happened?” I ask, my voice shaking.

Mom swallows, fresh tears spilling over, but before she can say anything else, footsteps echo in the hallway

“Stella. Shit,” Mom says and pushes me toward the second door. “You’ve gotta hide.”

I dart into the tiny bathroom, pulling the door shut behind me with a soft click. My heart thunders as I lean against the cold tile wall, straining to hear.

The room door squeaks open.

“Oh, Mama Nyx.” Stella, one of the BTMC girls says. Her voice is usually so bold, but not now. “I came as soon as I heard.”

Mom lets out a choked sob. “He’s gone, Stella. I don’t know what to do.”

Fabric rustles and I imagine Stella wrapping her arms around Mom in a fierce hug. “I’m so sorry.”

I press my fist against my mouth, fighting back the anguish clawing at my throat. Silent tears stream down my face. I should be out there with Mom, holding her hand. But instead I’m hiding in a fucking bathroom like a coward.

Mom sniffles. “Thank you for coming, sweetheart. I know Dom…he always had a soft spot for you girls.”

“The club will stand behind you, Mona. Anything you need, we got you,” Stella says.

A pause, followed by Mom’s voice, strained but steady, says, “Actually, could you go grab me a soda from the machine? I’m parched.”

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