Page 85 of Hate Mates

Grit holds up a hand, stopping him. “We need her.”

Elias’s brow furrows. “For what?”

A slow, sick smile spreads across Grit’s face. “She has the keys to BTMC’s kingdom.”

Horror dawns, cold and leaden in my gut. They’ll use me to destroy everything my father built; everyone I love.

I’m still screaming Blaze’s name as they drag me away into the darkness, his blood warm and sticky on my hands. The last thing I see is his face, pale and still in the fading light.

Chapter Eight

My head jerks to the side with the force of the blow, the metallic tang flooding my mouth. Crimson drool covers the bib of my shirt. Slowly, I fix Grit with a defiant glare through the tangle of my hair.

“Fuck you,” I rasp, tongue probing my cut lip. “I’m not telling you shit.”

Grit leans in close. “Oh, you will, sweetheart. By the time I’m done, you’ll be begging to spill all of BTMC’s secrets.”

This room in the hangar is dim, lit only by a single bare bulb. Shadows lurk in corners, sinister and looming. The air reeks stale cigarettes.

My wrists chafe, skin rubbed raw and bleeding where they’re tied to the chair. I’ve been here for hours, or maybe days. Time blurs, meaningless in the face of the relentless onslaught.

Grit cracks his knuckles. “Let’s try again. The safe codes. The account numbers. I want it all.”

I clench my jaw, waiting. The next blow comes hard and fast, snapping my head back. Pain explodes behind my eyes, blinding. I taste blood trickling over my lips and down my chin.

“I can do this all night,” Grit says conversationally. He grabs a fistful of my hair, wrenching my head back. “But I don’t think you can. Everyone has a breaking point, Vina. Even Nyx’s tough little girl.”

How dare he speak my father’s name. I gather the blood in my mouth and spit, aiming for his face. It splatters across his cheek, vivid red against sallow skin.

Grit’s grip on my hair tightens. “You’ll pay for that, bitch.”

He backhands me, the heavy ring on his finger splitting my cheek. Black spots dance at the edge of my vision, but I cling to consciousness. Anger burns in my veins, the only thing keeping me going.

I think of the way Blaze looked at me in those final moments. The love, the regret. The apology. He died for me, and I’ll take a bullet myself before I let it be in vain. I’ll endure, and I’ll burn Grit and Elias’s twisted empire to the ground. For Blaze, my father, and BTMC.

Grit draws back his fist again, but a deafening crash reverberates through the hangar. The doors burst open, metal screeching. Light floods in, blinding after so long in the dimness, and I squint against it.

Silhouetted in the doorway, is a figure I never thought I’d see again.

Blaze.

He’s battered and bloody, shirt stained crimson, but he’s standing tall, eyes blazing. And behind him, a sea of leather and chrome. I recognize a blue patch—BTMC has come for their rogue VP, ready for war.

Grit’s face twists with rage. “What the fuck? You were dead!”

Blaze stalks forward, and shadows cling to him, wreathing him in an aura of danger and power. “Guess I’m harder to kill than you or my dad thought.”

BTMC members fan out behind him. Faces I know, men who watched me grow up, who swore loyalty to my father. They nod to me, grim determination in every line of their faces.

“For this or any club, Grit, Prez comes at a price,” Blaze grinds out. “You’ve gotta earn it. We do it old-school. Blades and fists. Mono a mono.”

No one moves, no one breathes. Grit’s eyes dart from Blaze to the assembled BTMC, calculating his odds.

He laughs. “You’re insane, kid, if you think you can beat me. You can’t even stand.”

Blaze reaches behind himself and draws a wicked-looking blade from his waistband. It gleams in the stark light, razor-sharp and hungry for blood.

“Afraid?” Blaze taunts, a feral smile playing on his lips.

---