“Your neck.”
My hand instantly went to the column of my throat.
“I hope Slash gives that fucker what he deserves,” he said, his voice pitched low.
“So, you know then?”
He nodded. “Boxer called, explained some shit had gone down.” Duke ran a hand through his hair. “This is my fucking fault.”
I raised my brows. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“You came here to talk to me. I told you to go home. If I thought you were going to go to the bakery, I would’ve locked you in Slash’s room.”
“You can’t be held accountable for my actions,” I said quietly. “I went to the bakery because I was upset and not thinking clearly.”
“Don’t for a damn minute blame yourself,” he commanded.
“Then who should I blame? Slash?” I rubbed my forehead. “Look, I really don’t want to talk about this. Any of it. I just—I woke up and didn’t want to go back to sleep. So here I am, trying to figure out a way to keep my hands and mind occupied until Slash gets here.”
He nodded, but his expression was morose.
“Not your fault,” I told him again. “It’s not your job to protect me.”
“You’re family, Brooklyn. Of course, it’s my job.”
With a sigh, I went to him and gave him a hug. “I’ll be okay.”
He gave me a bear hug and then released me.
“What are you doing down here at this hour, anyway?” I demanded as I walked back to the refrigerator. I pulled out a carton of eggs and a few sticks of butter.
“There’s someone sleeping in my bed,” he admitted.
“Oh really,” I teased. I began opening cupboards at random, hoping to find flour or a muffin mix of some sort.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah.”
“Let me guess. You don’t want her to be in your bed, but you’re too nice of a guy to kick her out and make her do the drive of shame home.”
“Something like that,” he agreed. “If it’s cool, you mind if I chill with you and Monk?”
“I don’t mind. One condition.”
“Name it.”
“You stop looking at me like I’m going to fall apart. Old Ladies don’t fall apart.”
He grinned. “Old Ladies, huh?”
“Yeah. Now please tell me there’s a mixing bowl around here…”
Duke and Monk were my companions for the next few hours while I went through the club’s entire stash of flour and muffin mixes.
“You have to stop,” Duke said after I placed a hot biscuit fresh from the oven onto a plate, along with a dollop of apricot preserves I’d found languishing in the refrigerator.
“Why do I have to stop?” I asked as I set the plate in front of him.
“Because if you bake like this on the regular, I’m going to fall madly in love with you, and then I’m going to have to fight Slash.”