Managed:a VIP novel(54)

Fucker. Fuck-faced fucker.

I have no choice but to sit tight, bide my time, and grow more anxious.

I've doodled devil faces on half the models in my magazine when I hear  the elevator ding in the hall. A woman's obnoxious laughter rings out,  followed by the lower tones of Jax's voice. The concert is over, and  he's clearly in the mood to entertain.

Their voices drift off, and I try to lose myself in TV. Unfortunately,  nothing's on, and I find myself watching Alvin and the Chipmunks in  Italian. I have no idea why a kid's show is playing in the middle of the  night, but high-pitched chatter in rapid Italian is definitely a  distraction.

I don't know how much time passes, but a terrified, ear-piercing screech  coming from the hall has me jumping up and running for the door.

A young woman runs toward the elevator in hysterics. Her brown hair is  wild, her makeup smudged. Vomit splatters cover one side of her chest.  That doesn't stop me from hooking her by the arm and yanking her to a  stop. She's running from Jax's room.         

     



 

"What happened?" I snap, my heart pounding. She tries to jerk free, but I hold her tight. "Answer me."

"I don't care if he's famous. He barfed on me. Eww … " She flails her hand. "So fucking gross."

She's an American, and probably no older than nineteen. I tug her along, hurrying down the corridor. "Show me where he is."

"Let me go."

"No. You don't get that luxury right now." And I'm stronger. Worry and fear for Jax has that effect.

"He's with that other dude," she whines. "He'll take care of him."

I don't stop, but my steps stutter. "What dude?"

"I don't know. Some guy. Marty."

I can feel the blood draining from my face. I find myself rushing forward, the girl in tow. "Shit, shit."

The girl wrenches free. I don't try to catch her but run to Jax's room and bang on the door.

My worst fear is realized when Martian opens it with a shit-eating grin.

"Well, this was easier than expected. Hello, pretty Sophie."

I shove him back with all my strength. "What the fuck did you do!"

He stumbles a step but then steadies, laughing. "I didn't do shit. Just followed the trainwreck that is Jax Blackwood."

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.

I have no choice but to follow.







He waits until we're in our room to round on me. "All right, what the hell is going on?"

"Don't snap at me like I'm one of your lackeys."

"Answer the goddamn question," he roars.

My ears ring with his fury. It's so sudden and intense, I flinch. I've  never seen him like this, white about the lips, his eyes burning into  mine. My lip wobbles. I want to cry. But I've never been the type to  cower. I won't now, and I find myself shouting back at him.

"I don't know! I only got there a few minutes before you."

He snorts, the sound loud and obnoxious. "He sent you the first text when we checked into our room."

Shit. "That had nothing to do with Jax."

Gabriel grinds his teeth. "You weren't sick at all, were you? You lied to me."

My stomach lurches. "I was sick. With worry and shame. The mere thought  of that worm being around and wanting to talk made me ill."

If anything, he looks more upset, hot color rising up his neck. "That's  all you had to tell me, if that was the case. Instead, you made me worry  and regret leaving you behind. And all the while you were planning on  meeting up with that little fuck."

He's right, and there's nothing I can do to change my mistakes. "I'm  sorry. I just wanted to handle it myself, get rid of him and get on with  my life. I didn't mean to hurt you, though."

Gabriel waves his hand as if swatting a fly. "Fine."

"You don't sound fine."

His gaze cuts to me. "Because I am. Not. Fine. I am bloody-well pissed."

I finch again at the hardness of his voice and the way he uses it as a  whip. Having never been on the receiving end of his anger, I hadn't  realized the power of it. I'm ashamed that I've earned it. And I'm hurt  that he won't let it go.

He paces over to me, but halts as if he suddenly doesn't want to be too  close. "It's bad enough that I have to walk into what appeared to be a  replay of one of the worst moments in my life, but I get the distinct  privilege of witnessing your supposed ex-boyfriend thanking you for  helping him film the whole fucking thing!"