“From what?”
His voice dropped again, serious now. “From men who don’t take embarrassment lightly.”
I opened my mouth to argue again, but Hawk suddenly stepped back like he’d forced himself to. He grabbed his cut off the chair and shrugged it on.
“You’re not moving in here,” I said quickly.
His eyes flicked back to me. “Never said I was.”
“Good.”
“But the protection detail stays.”
My jaw clenched. “Hawk—”
“Not up for discussion.”
“I don’t need babysitters.”
“You do.”
“I can handle myself.”
“I know.”
Silence stretched between us before he grabbed his keys.
“You’re just leaving?” I asked, feeling something tighten in my chest.
Hawk paused at the door, his eyes moving to my cast and then back to my face. For a second, it looked like he was debating something.
“I’ll see you around, Trouble.” It wasn’t a question.
“You didn’t even eat,” I said.
He opened the door. “Not hungry.”
And then he was gone.
The door shut quietly behind him, and for a long moment, I just stood there in the kitchen, staring at the empty doorway. Annoyed. Confused. And more frustrated than I wanted to admit that the room suddenly felt a lot quieter without him in it.
Thirteen
Hawk
The clubhouse is loud.
Too damn loud.
Music rattles the speakers in the corner, barely drowning out the roar of laughter and shouting. Bottles slam against the bar. Pool balls crack together across the room. Prospects hustle between tables, grabbing drinks, cleaning spills, trying to stay useful and invisible at the same time.
Club girls circle the room, their laughter too loud, leaning too close to the brothers. A couple hover around the pool table like vultures waiting for attention.
Normally, this is my element.
Chaos.
Noise.
