Chapter 171

Chapter 171
" Where's yours?"
He revs the engine once, ignoring me entirely. I slap the helmet on, climb on behind him, and wrap my arms around his middle.
He rides like he doesn’t care if we die.
We speed past traffic, break every rule, blow every red. My stomach’s in my throat but I hold on tighter.
Eventually, we pull up in front of a building that looks like it belongs in a magazine. The kind of place you only see from the outside. The kind of place Adam would appear to belong to.
I tear the helmet off and toss it at him, barely watching it bounce off the seat.
I crane my neck to stare up at the top floors. “He better be up there,” I whisper to myself, heart punching against my ribs.
I start running.
But I don’t make it two steps before Jax grabs the back of my hoodie and yanks me back like I’m luggage.
“What the hell?!” I twist around, glaring at him. “Let go!”
He doesn’t. Just releases me and walks past like I’m nothing but a tantrum in sneakers.
“Follow me,” he says, voice clipped. 
Security eyes us hard the moment we step in, two silhouettes that don’t belong in a marble lobby. I expect questions. A stop sign. Something.
But no one says a word. The Jax Effect, I guess.
We take the elevator. It’s glass on one side and crawling slow. My nerves are eating themselves alive. I fidget, bounce on my toes, wrap my arms around myself and then unwrap them again.
“Why are you even coming?” I finally ask. “I can find it on my own.”
He doesn’t answer right away.
He just studies me with those dark eyes. There’s a bruise across his cheekbone. More on his knuckles. I don’t ask.
Then, low and out of nowhere, he says “You’re not a fucking junkie.”
I blink at him, confused.
He goes on, dry as desert sand. “You’re not gonna get better by detoxing him out of your system.”
“What—?”
“This little game you’re playing. Pretending he’s some bad habit you've gotta stop.” He turns to face the elevator doors. “It’s bullshit. You’re both equally fucked up. So just accept and live with it.”
The doors open.
I step out before I can say anything. Before I can process it. The penthouse is huge...walls of glass, soft light spilling onto glossy floors, everything sleek and cold and expensive. But it feels empty. Like it’s just holding its breath.
I scan the space. No sign of him.
Jax walks straight ahead without saying a thing, heading for the stairs like he’s done it a hundred times.
And all I can do is follow.
He’s ahead of me, his strides loose and unaffected, hands buried in the pocket of his hoodie like he’s just out on a casual stroll.
But I feel it. The unease. Like something’s watching.
He glances over his shoulder, just once, and for a moment I swear he looks through me. My stomach knots.
“Where’s Adam?” I ask, stopping. My voice barely makes a sound.
He stops, too. Tilts his head, considering. “If we’re lucky,” he says slowly, “he’s upstairs… breaking apart in his bedroom.”
Something in my chest twists. But then he arches a brow at me, a sharp curl of his lip tugging upward in a smirk that doesn’t reach his eyes. “ Like I said, you two have a lot in common. ”
Then he turns and keeps going, like he didn’t just gut me with those words.
I glance around, half-expecting something to leap out of the dark corners. I don’t know what I’m searching for. A sign? A weapon? A way out?
Instead, I follow him.
At the top of the stairs, we stop at a door cracked just barely open. Jax doesn’t knock. He nudges it with his foot, slow and quiet, then steps inside like he’s done this before.
He finds the switch and flips it.
The light flickers, then floods the room, and there he is. Adam. On the bed, shirt twisted, skin pale. He’s not moving. But it doesn’t look like sleep.
“Adam?” I rush over, the panic choking me already. I’m kneeling beside him, brushing damp hair off his forehead. He’s burning. “He’s hot,” I say, turning to Jax. “Jesus, he’s burning up. Maybe it’s a fever...Adam, hey—” I try shaking him. “Adam, wake up.”
Jax doesn’t move at first. Then, slowly, he walks over. Something changes in his voice. “Move.”
“What?” I blink.
“I said, move.” His tone is flat, but commanding. Not angry, just… firm. That kind of firm that makes you listen even when your instincts are screaming.
I shift aside, uneasy. “What’s wrong with him?”
Jax checks his pulse, his eyes, then starts scanning the bed, the floor, the nightstand. He’s quiet, and it’s somehow worse than yelling. I feel like I’m holding my breath.
“What are you doing?” I ask. “What the hell is going on...”
His gaze lands on the bathroom door.
“ Damn fool,” he mutters, and then strides across the room.
I watch him disappear into the bathroom, too stunned to move. I turn back to Adam. His skin is clammy now. I touch his cheek and whisper his name, just to say it, just so it’s in the air. “I’m here,” I tell him.
He mumbles something. I lean in. “What?”
It’s broken, almost inaudible, but—
“Layla…”
My heart splits. “I’m here,” I repeat, clutching his hand. “Can you hear me?”
He doesn’t respond.
“Jax, please, what’s wrong with him? He’s burning up and—”
Jax steps back into the room, something in his hand. A pill bottle.
He walks to the desk, unscrews the cap, dumps the pills out with a clatter, and starts counting them like he’s solving a damn puzzle.
“What is that?” I scramble up. “Do you think he took those?”
He doesn’t look up. “Only three are missing.”
“Three? That’s not...three isn’t bad, right?” My voice is thin, shaking. “That’s… I mean, that’s not an overdose or anything. And Adam wouldn't–”
He finally looks at me, his expression unreadable. “ He wouldn't, ” he says. “But I’d bet good money he’s been popping these like candy. ”
I grab my phone. “Okay, I’m calling 911!”
“No.”
“What?” I blink. “Are you serious right now?”
“Put the phone down.”
“No! He’s...he’s not okay. What if he—”
“I said wait.”
His calmness isn’t comforting anymore. It’s infuriating. I’m shaking. “Are you even taking this seriously? What is wrong with you?”
He disappears again without answering.
I turn back to Adam. His lips are slightly parted. Sweat clings to his chest. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I’m scared, more scared than I’ve been in a long time. My hands are trembling. I whisper his name again. “Adam, please…”
Footsteps.
Jax returns with a silver pot, sloshing with something.
“What the hell is that—”
He doesn’t answer.
He throws the water straight onto Adam.
I gasp. Cold shocks everywhere. It soaks Adam’s shirt. Some splashes onto me and I jump back, freezing.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” I shout...shivering, furious, soaked.