Chapter 31

Chapter 31 Brooklyn

"You want me to do what!?" I all but shriek. Aden is lying flat on his back in the hallway outside my room, gritting his teeth in pain, struggling to get up.

For a second, I feel lost. It's disorienting to see him this way, so helpless. All I've known him as, so far, is the most dominant, powerful criminal I've ever met.

But right now, he is also impatient. Someone is approaching up the stairs, quickly.

"Just get me to your bedroom, NOW," Aden growls, nodding toward the open door of my room, just a few feet away.

I get a hold of myself, moving behind Aden and hooking my hands into his armpits. Then, I heave with all

my might, pulling him towards the open door. Aden is big, and strong, but I am strong, too. He pushes with his feet to speed us along, the best he can offer.

When he's fully in my room, he falls back against the carpet. I shut the door, then slide down the wall, exhausted, staring at him. He's lying on his back, breathing hard.

A few horrible minutes pass when I consider what the hell will happen to me if people discover the Mafia King's dead body in my room.

But, during those minutes, Aden's breath softens. The horrible, crinkled look of pain disappears, and his face takes on its normal lines. He's still sweaty and exhausted, but he was right. It passed.

"Are you...are you okay?" I venture after a few minutes of calm breathing.

closed, like

me what's going on? Because an Alpha like you shouldn't

to a sitting position, his form imposing once again, then

he can tell by my face that I don't buy it. He shakes his head and looks down-embarrassed, I think-and pauses

says, pushing the hair out of his eyes, "something that happens to me sometimes. It's been

head back against the door, putting the

over before

to me, pure annoyance

this extent. We learned, in my program, that when they're really severe they can present with the intensity of a heart attack." It makes sense. Aden still has an

he's terrifying, I know he took me

pain and not want to help them. "You know," I

need to see a doctor." His

my eyes internally, not daring to

see a doctor," I offer, "maybe I could

"How could

lips, frustrated. "I am a trained therapist. I wouldn't

answer my question," he

debilitating mental health

me.

and my desire to help-push back against my instinct to follow his

it for show. "An anxiety disorder? A mental illness? Sissies make those

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