Che (Golden Glades Henchmen MC 2)

"Where are we going?" I asked, teeth knocking together I was shaking so hard. Harmon was similarly affected. We were quite the pair.

"Where we always go when there's trouble. Teddy's," she explained. "Are you okay?"

"No."

"Sounds right," she agreed, nodding.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

"I wasn't the one in an accident."

"You're pregnant. And you hate cars. And this is stressful."

"You start to redefine stressful when you're with these guys for a while," she explained. "I fished a bullet out of Seeley's shoulder once. After that, it all pales in comparison."

We pulled into a parking garage, taking an elevator up to the top floor where Teddy was already waiting at the door, ushering us inside.

"I know you're freaking out," he said, looking at me. "But you need to go get in the shower," he explained. "And you have to throw your clothes out of the door," he added.

I was in absolutely no place to object to anything they wanted from me with what I was putting them all through.

So I walked through his luxurious apartment, into a bathroom, stripping down, and tossing my clothes out, then climbing in the shower and scrubbing my body with shaking hands.

I changed into the clothes Harmon had put on the counter while I scrubbed, then moved out into the attached bedroom, dropping down on the edge of the bed, burying my face in my hands, and just... shattering.

I never wanted to think of myself as breakable.

But in that moment, I was.

I was shards of myself, scattered all across the expensive carpet, the designer duvet.

"Hey," Teddy's voice said a while later, coming to stand in front of me. "It's going to be okay," he assured me, hand patting my knee. "They know what they're doing."

"I got Che hurt."

"Che will be fine."

"I think I, I think I kil—"

"Sh," he cut me off. "I don't know what you're talking about. You went out with Harmon tonight. You came here to crash. That's all that happened," he said, giving me a hard nod, trying to make it clear how important it was that I got this right.

"Yeah," I agreed. "Harmon and I went out tonight," I agreed.

"And you both were too tired to drive home. So you crashed here. No big deal."

"No big deal," I repeated numbly.

"Everything is going to be alright," he told me again, voice firmer. "Why don't you try to rest?" he suggested.

And because I had no other choice, it seemed, I nodded, climbing higher up on the bed. Even though I knew sleep would be impossible.

So I just lay there instead in a foreign room with really nice sheets and a clock that made no noise at all as the hands slid around the face, showing me the hours as they passed.

Two.

Then three.

Finally, four.

It was about half-past four when the door opened again.

I expected Teddy or Harmon checking in on me, like they'd both done every half an hour or so.

But when my gaze slid over, it was Che's tall form in the doorway.

I didn't think.

I didn't hesitate.

I jumped off the bed.

And I flew at him.

My arm went around his back lightly as my other went behind his neck, drawing him down, sealing my lips to his.

It was only supposed to be a quick kiss, something born of stress and fear and relief.

But as soon as my lips pressed to his, something seemed to change.

One of Che's arms raised, his hand sifting up into my hair, holding me still as he deepened the kiss, moving forward, backing me further into the room as he went.

I was vaguely aware of him kicking the door closed as his tongue moved out to claim mine.

All the tension that had been tightly coiled inside of me released, eased, letting me sink into him as his other arm went around my back, holding me against his body.

Need pinged off each nerve ending as Che deepened a kiss, a low, groaning noise escaping him when I whimpered.

I'd fantasized about kissing Che too many times to count.

But nothing came anywhere near close to the reality.

My hand started to wander, moving across his firm lines, until, lost in the moment, I forgot, and ran my fingers over his side.

And he let out a pained grunt.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Shit," I hissed, yanking back, feeling panic replace the desire that had been coursing through me.

"Hey, sh," he demanded, trying to reach for me again, but I pulled back.

"Here I am fucking mauling you, and you've been shot. And probably have a concussion. And your cut. How's the cut?" I asked, reaching up toward his face, snatching it back when I noticed the butterfly sutures holding the wound that likely needed stitches together. "You didn't go to the hospital, did you?"

"Can't have them asking questions," he said, shaking his head.

"But you were shot, Che."

"You were shot too. Did you go to the hospital?"