Page 36 of The Mafia Bachelor

“Do you need a doctor?” He reaches for his phone. “I’ll call the medic.”

“No! No, it’s fine. Just… You know.” I make a gesture like, what can you do. I’m not sure what I’m actually alluding to.

“What?” he demands. “An ambulance can be here in a minute.”

“No!” It’s a totally fictional illness to get me away from this situation. “It’s just…” I circle my hand by my stomach and chest, vaguely.

Kill’s brows lower severely. “If you’re ill, I’m not going to sit around⁠—”

“It’s not like that, it’s just…” Uhhh… My brain goes blank. That I accidentally ate a squirrel? I’m allergic to maths jokes? I sat on a Lego and maimed myself permanently? I don’t want a mafia doctor poking me and diagnosing the pathetic truth like “sudden, unexpected heart ache because of inappropriately falling in love with the man who’s technically my boss”. And more to the point, I’m being an idiot. Mistaking a game with reality, and it’s not even a game I’m actually in. I’m a fraud.

“Her period,” Jessa says bluntly.

Ahhh. That’s not what I meant. Heat rises in my cheeks.

“Yeah,” I bleat. Because what am I going to say? If I deny it, someone will probably point out I’m going green.

A glance from Kill and there’s one of his men at his side.

“Take Miss Morgan home, please Brandon. Carefully. She’s not well,” he murmurs.

“Yes, Kill.” Brandon dips his head and steps away to talk into his phone.

“Can I get you some pain killers?” Kill asks me gently, drawing me from the room, towards the front of the hotel.

I fight the urge to laugh. Kill is the one who’s causing my pain, but only to my heart. There’s an ironic joke in there somewhere, but I’m too sad and overwhelmed to make it.

“That’s kind, I’m alright. I only need…” I don’t know. To stop being in this room, with people who are so fun, and so out of my league, and to have Kill all to myself. Alone. The irrational panic bubbles in me again. I’m a fraud, I don’t belong here, but I want to. So badly. “Space.”

That’s a lie.

Kill nods seriously as his gaze sweeps over me. “Until next week then.” And there’s something as bleak as I feel in his expression.

Brandon coughs delicately, and I give Kill a tepid little wave as I follow Brandon outside. Kill’s face is etched stone. The sleek black vehicle waiting seems the size of a tank, and I’ve just sat down in the back seat, and am about to close the door, when Kill’s voice rings out.

“Avery!”

I pause. Then Kill is there, and I’m looking up at him, and every instinct is to throw myself into his arms and cling to him. Instead, I press my lips together.

“You forgot this.” A rose in his hand, and concern still making a line between his brows.

“Oh!” I reach for the rose that means I’m still in the competition, and his black ink covered fingers touch my innocent plain ones.

His gaze sweeps down my body and his expression drops to a frown. Then he leans over and clicks the seat belt into place. His hands brush me at every movement. My neck, my waist. The side of my hip. I’m on fire, and I can’t stop thinking about what it was like to have him touch between my legs.

And how much agony I’ll be in when this finishes, and then… I don’t even know what will happen afterwards.

“Take care of yourself,” he says, low and raspy. “Hope you feel better soon.”

I nod stupidly, and whisper my thanks.

“We just have to get through this competition.”

The door thuds closed before my brain can process the comment, and he steps back and watches as the car pulls away. Get through it, yes, but what then?

I crane my neck around to see him, distress all over my face. I’m such an idiot for revealing so much, my gut punched that he’s cool and expressionless.

Then I remember the blacked-out windows.