As soon as the guy is unconscious, my entire attention is on Kyle.

"Hey," I say, crouching down in front of him.

Him makes an unintelligible gargling noise, but other than that, I get no response. His ankles are bound to the chair in front of me with fairly thin rope, so I set to work untying the knots in the rope.

"Talk to me, Kyle," I say.

"It hurts," he says, before coughing a couple of times and letting out a groan.

Yeah, I bet it does. His face is covered in so much blood it's hard to tell where it's coming from. My heart is pounding in my chest faster than I'd think possible.

"I know. I'm getting you out of here. Just hold on," I tell him in what I'm hoping is a comforting voice.

When I get his feet untied, I move around to his back, and I start untying his arms. Once they're free, he folds almost entirely in half, and he nearly crumples out of the chair. I have to catch him to keep him from falling.

"Can you stand?" I ask what I'm fairly certain is a stupid question.

"Hmmm," is his response, and I'm not sure what it means.

"Hey," I say, pulling his body against mine.

This situation is urgent. We need to get out of here. Anyone could show up here at any second, or one of the guys I knocked out could come to. That said, something goes a little wrong in my stomach when I think about moving Kyle when he's in this much pain.

I rest his head against my stomach because that's the easiest way to keep him upright. He doesn't resist at all, which is a testament to how much pain he's in. In any other situation, there's no way he'd let me hold him like this. I tilt his head up, so that I can get a better look at his face. He looks at me through pained eyes, and I find myself wishing I could take back every mean thing I've ever said to him.

"We have to get you out of here," I mumble, more to myself than to him.

It surprises me when he responds, but when he talks, it sounds like he has rocks in his throat and every word is causing him pain.

"I might be able to walk if you help," he tells me, and they're the sweetest words I've ever heard.

I bend down, and I wrap an arm around his waist. I pull him to his feet, and he immediately collapses into my arms. Shit. There's no way he's walking.

"Here, sit back down, I'll figure something else out," I tell him even though I have no idea what it is.

He puts his hand on my hip, and I feel him press up against it, using it as leverage to pull himself up.

"I can do it," he whispers as he latches onto my waist for support.

We start the slow process of walking him out to Jasper's truck. Every step he takes is a challenge, and he's clearly weak and hurting, but he's managing. When we finally get to the vehicle, Kyle freezes in his spot.

"Why do you have Jasper's truck," he asks me as I guide him around it towards the passenger seat.

"He's the one who told me where you were. I didn't have a vehicle, so I used his," I tell him.

"I thought he was selling for Hartley?" Kyle asks.

I have no interest in this conversation. I respond to him, making sure to keep my voice gentle, but I couldn't even tell you what I say to him. I'm more concerned about getting him into the truck and as far away from here as humanly possible. Getting him into the truck proves to be more challenging than I thought it would be, but we manage.

"Tell me what they did to you. Do you need to go to the hospital?" I ask him.

"No," he tells me emphatically, "I'm alright. I think they drugged me after I was unconscious. That's why I'm so weak, but I'm okay. Most of the blood is from my head wound, but I don't think it's bleeding anymore. It stopped running into my eyes a while ago."

"Head wound?" I ask him, horrified.

"They hit me with something to transfer me to the garage. Honestly, they didn't do much damage before you got there. Thanks by the way," he mumbles.

"Because you're not in this mess because of me?" I ask him, feeling like a piece of shit for putting him in this situation.

"Whether you were selling for him or not, the situation would be the same. He'd find someone else to do it," he tells me, closing his eyes like he's really fighting to stay awake right now.

It's probably for the best. I'm still not convinced he doesn't need to see a doctor.

"So, hear me out before you respond to what I'm about to say, yeah?" I ask.

He's cuter than hell right now. I rarely see him this vulnerable because of the relationship we have. He's tired and groggy and he's acting dopey because of it. His left cheek is against the seat in Jasper's truck, and he's looking up and over at me. I smile at him, despite the situation when he nods his head against the seat in the car without lifting it.

"I don't want to go home. I don't know how Hartley will react when he wakes up, and even if he doesn't have as many people working for him as your dad does, he has a lot of people working with him. He could send them to the house, and your dads not going to be home until late, and even then, I don't think the guy has your back. If something were to happen—I just think we should stay somewhere else tonight," I ramble, and Kyle gives me a dopey smile.

"As long as it's not the hospital, I don't care where I sleep," he tells me.

I cringe slightly. That was the next thing I was going to try to sell him on. I'd feel better if he at least got seen by a doctor. He sees my expression change because his smile slides off his face.

"I'm okay," he promises, "he only hit me a couple of times. I'm telling you, as soon as I get cleaned up, you'll believe me. It's mostly dried blood."

"Your dried blood. You've clearly lost a lot. That can't be good. And you weren't conscious when they supposedly drugged you, right? For all you know, you could be groggy because of the blood loss," I argue.

He smiles at me again, and my chest pinches. He's adorable, and it physically pains me.

"I said I'm fine. I never thought I'd see you so worried about my well-being," he says.

"You were fucking attacked," I snap at him, hating that I made him think I'm the kind of guy who'd leave him like this.

Even in the past, I wouldn't have left him alone after this. This conversation wouldn't have been different a month ago. I'd still be trying to get him to go to the hospital back then too.

"I'm aware. You hit harder than he does," Kyle jokes.

"Kyle," I say, impatient, trying to get him to be serious.

He chuckles, and then he groans and touches his lip.

"I'm actually not kidding," he tell me.

"I've never hit you so hard you've bled before," I argue because when we've had fist fights in the past, I've always only used as much force as was necessary to drive my point home.

"You've split my lip before," he argues, which is fair, but he's covered in blood.

"You're covered in blood," I point it out to him because I've never caused him to be covered in blood.

And I never would.

"I'm not covered in blood because Hartley can throw a punch. I told you, it's from my head wound."

I snort in derision.

"That's supposed to convince me you don't need a doctor?" I ask him.

"It doesn't even feel that deep," he says touching his fingers to it.

Again, his words do not make me feel better.

"I'll make a deal with you," he offers, but he doesn't say anything else, and it causes me to smile despite myself.

"I'm listening," I tell him.

"We get a hotel room for the night, and I'll get the blood cleaned off of me. Then you can look at the cut, and I'll let you make the final call on the doctors," he offers, which is far more reasonable than I'm expecting.

I don't know why I'm always surprised when he compromises with me. It's his nature to be flexible, and the more time I spend with him, the more I realize that's a quality of his I like.

"Alright, deal," I agree.

He seems surprised.