Managed (VIP 2)

From the bathroom comes a pitiful moan and the sound of retching. I give Martin a death glare as I hurry off. He follows as if he can’t wait to witness this.

The smell hits me first. It’s so foul, I stagger. Jax is on the floor by the toilet, his skin sickly gray and covered in sweat, among other things.

“Jax,” I fall to his side, heedless of the mess. “Honey, what’d you take?”

His head lolls but he blinks, trying to focus on me. “Nothing, babe. Swear. Don’t feel so good.”

He shudders, then blindly reaches for the toilet, knocking me back in the scramble. I hear the distinctive click of a photo being taken. Martin has his cell out and is clicking away with glee.

“Put that fucking phone down or I will cram it up your ass, I swear to God!” I lunge for it, but Jax collapses on the floor.

“Jax! Shit. Give me that phone,” I snarl at Martin. “I need to call a doctor.”

Martin dances back, holding the phone high. “Baby, I knew it would be worth it to follow you, but I didn’t realize you’d make me this lucky. Thanks, Soph. Again.”

The words are barely out of his mouth when Gabriel and Killian appear in the doorway. Relief washes over me. Gabriel will know how to best help Jax. But a few things happen in rapid succession that prevent me from getting a word in.

Killian shouts in fear and rushes over to Jax.

Gabriel’s gaze darts between me and Martin. Before anyone can move, he grabs Martin by the throat with one hand, smashing him into the wall, and plucks the cell away from Martin with the other hand and pockets it.

“Stay,” he snaps at Martin, slamming his head against the wall one more time.

“Get the fuck off me,” Martin says, trying to break free. “I’ll fucking sue.”

Gabriel simply pins him to the wall with the strength of one arm. Already he’s on his phone. “Stern, I need you now. Bring your bag.” He calls another a second after that. “Kip. Up here now.”

Never once does he look at me.

Killian has Jax in his arms. “No fucking way are you doing this again,” he rasps looking panicked.

Jax moans and stirs.

“What did he take?” The harsh question from Gabriel is directed at me.

“I don’t know. He said he didn’t. Just that he feels sick.”

Gabriel’s attention cuts to Martin’s phone as he scrolls through the pictures. Every inch of him seems to vibrate with suppressed rage. His lips are white around the corners, his grip on Martin so tight that the man starts to claw at Gabriel’s fingers.

“You’re choking him.” Personally, I want to beat the shit out Martin, but Gabriel has too much to lose by seriously hurting a photographer.

Gabriel’s eyes meet mine. Rage flares so hot in his expression that I viscerally react, recoiling into myself.

“Good,” he snaps, returning his attention to Martin’s phone. His nostrils flare as he looks over what has to be dozens of pictures, the last one being me hunched over Jax.

With a few moves of his thumb, he deletes them all.

“Hey,” Martin tries to protest and earns another slam of his head.

Dr. Stern and Kip rush in a second later, and everything becomes a blur of helping Jax. I find myself pushed out of the bathroom, and I slump into a chair to shake and sweat. There’s vomit on my knees, which I’m trying very hard not to look at, and I’m afraid for Jax. I’m also worried about Gabriel’s behavior.

I know he’s in emergency mode, but I don’t like the way he refuses to look at me.

Kip marches Martin out of the suite, with the little rat bastard protesting the whole way, and I’m alone.

Gabriel is still with the others in the bathroom. I can hear them talking.

“It isn’t an overdose,” Dr. Stern says. “I believe he has food poisoning. I’ve already had calls from a few of the roadies who are suffering as well.”

Killian’s voice is subdued. “He went out to dinner with Ted and Mike earlier.”

“Those would be the two who I’ve seen,” Dr. Stern says. “I’ll keep him hydrated until it passes through his system.”

Jax moans. “Can everyone get the fuck out? I’ve got more to pass through my fucking system…”

Killian and Gabriel exit the bathroom and close the door behind them. Gabriel is on the phone, giving someone an update. He keeps himself turned from me.

Killian takes one last look at the door and lets out a shuddering breath. Weariness lines his face as he rubs a hand over it. With a pat to Gabriel’s shoulder, he walks out, never once acknowledging me.

The sick, jumpy feeling in my belly intensifies when Gabriel finally heads my way.

“Sunshine—”

“Not here,” he snaps, in a low, tight voice. He turns and heads for the door.