Sweet Little Lies

Chapter Forty-Six

Griffin noticed something was off quicker than the rest of the crowd. The match had been lively. Normally, Harry had his opponents on the ground within the first three to four rounds. It wasn't necessarily unheard of for someone to last this long in the ring with his boss, but it wasn't common. Griff thought that Harry was purposely making this last longer to get more of his aggression out.

But this was wrong. All wrong.

His opponent was almost enjoying getting the shit beat out of him. The deranged look in his eyes was one that didn't sit well with Griffin. A lot of the fighters at The Hollow had a few screws missing. It came with the territory of fighting in an underground arena.

Too late did he realize just how wrong this was.

It wasn't until Harry was slumping over, using his opponent as a crutch that Griffin was out of his seat. Rounding the corner, he was able to see Harry's front. His blood ran cold, and his vision tunneled as he climbed up onto the ring.

The crowd was in a panic, screaming and pointing, as Harry's limp body fell to the ground. Blood was pouring out of him, a gaping knife wound just below his ribcage. The man responsible had slipped out of the ring, and Griffin didn't have time to track him down. His number one priority was saving his friend.

His hands covered the wound, stopping him from losing anymore blood, but he could feel how Harry struggled to breathe. If he had to guess, the blade had punctured his lung. He fumbled in his back pocket for his phone, covering it in blood as he did so. The first number dialed was Harry's driver.

"Get to the front now!" He demanded, "This is a code red!"

Security began to swarm the ring, so he grabbed one and told them to press down on the wound. He stood, yelling at one of the other security guards to clear a path to outside. They took immediate action, Griffin bending down to help pick up Harry.

Adrenaline was pumping through his body, keeping him focused on the task at hand. Get Harry to a doctor as fast as possible. Griffin knew how bad this was. If he didn't get Harry to someone, and soon, then there was a good chance he would die in his arms. He needed to keep his head. This was what he was trained for, but seeing his boss, his friend, like this was something he hadn't expected.

Maybe it was because Harry Styles seemed untouchable. He was always in the direct line of fire, yet managed to stay so clean. No one touched him.

They were racing through the hallway awkwardly, two of them carrying Harry while one tried to keep his hand on the wound to stop the bleeding. They were moving too slow, but Griffin didn't risk going faster in case it injured Harry more.

Underneath his arms, Griff could feel him breathing. They were short, shuddered breaths, but they were there. He chanced a glance down, and saw Harry's eyes fluttering shut. There was no recognition in his eyes, though. His lips were moving as he tried to speak, but nothing came out.

They rounded the final corner, a few guards waiting at the end with the big bay doors open. Oliver, Harry's driver was waiting at the curb for them. He was pacing, and when he saw them, his eyes widened, and he rushed over to the backseat to open the door.

He didn't bother asking what happened. They both knew what to do in this instance. They had a protocol, even if this was the first time it was implemented. They struggled to get Harry's body into the car, and his wound becoming uncovered, allowing for a rush of blood to pour out of him.

Griffin climbed in after, kneeling on the floor in front of his boss. His hands once again pressed firmly on the laceration, and everything drowned out the moment the door slammed shut. There was just silence. And Harry's harsh, uneven, breathing.