| BOOK FOUR | THE LONDON CRIME KING | A DARK MAFIA ROMANCE NOVEL |
This book contains adult language and subject matter, including graphic violence, drugs and explicit sex that may be disturbing to some readers.
This series is NOT a typical romance...
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My eyes peeled open. I was not familiar with the stark white surroundings. Strong chemicals wafted into my nose. Wiping irritation from my nostrils, I belatedly noticed the intravenous needle in my arm. Panic-stricken, I bolted upright, the thin, paper-like sheet falling to my waistline. Two hands landed on my shoulders. "Brad," I whispered as he eased my back to the pillow. "What happened? Why am I in the hospital?"
Vincent soared from the visitors' chair.
Josh stood by the window.
Nate opened the room door and mentioned something about a doctor.
I wore yesterday's pencil skirt, but someone had swapped the blouse—which hung messily on the back of Vincent's chair—for a skin-tight vest top. Instinctively, I covered my braless chest. "Can someone talk to me?"
Brad's hands clapped to the back of his head.
"I understand," the male doctor said to Nate as the pair re-entered the room. "Good morning, Miss Warren." He was youngish, his late forties, perhaps. "I trust you slept well."
My glare sharpened.
"Artificial hydration and nutrients." His pen pointed to the intravenous needle. "It'll help with dehydration by pumping nutrients directly into the bloodstream. It is necessary."
"Right." My confusion peaked. "I'm sorry. Can someone tell me what happened?"
"Mr Jones explained that last night was the second time you fainted."
I fainted, I thought. "Okay."
"Fainting is a temporary loss of consciousness, usually caused by low blood pressure and lack of oxygen to the brain." He sat on the foot of the bed, the clipboard and leaflets tucked away from prying eyes. "Shall we talk about that?"
When the men refused to make eye contact, I cleared my throat. "I guess."
He clicked the top of the pen. "Would you like to have this conversation in private?"
"What?" My head began to pound. "No, I want them to stay. They are family."
When the doctor gestured to the spare chairs, the Suits took a seat. "Mrs Warren, when was the last time you ate?"
Embarrassed by the evident concern in his eyes, I breathed through my nose to control breathing. "I had takeout with the men last night."
He penned something down. "How much did you finish?"
I shrugged. "I only left a few mouthfuls."
"She ate one mouthful and toyed with the rest until she put the container aside." Brad was unapologetic when he spoke. "I deliberately watched."
My eyes rounded. "No, I finished—"
"You did not," Brad argued, and heat clung to my cheeks. "Doctor, she barely eats. The woman goes hours without food until forced. Even then, she consumes morsels to get everyone off her back."
