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He cocks his head to the side, sliding his tongue along his bottom lip. “The best things generally are,” he mutters. I literally have no idea what he’s talking about. It doesn’t seem to matter though, because my body seems to be reacting to him of its own free will.
Honestly, when looking at him you wouldn’t immediately assume ‘danger’. He isn’t an obvious threat, and if he smiled, I’m pretty certain he’d be a heartbreaker. But I reckon smiles from him are as rare as a total eclipse of the sun. This guy isn’t built like Bram, he has a wiry kind of physical strength. More like a runner than a heavyweight boxer, and yet I already know he gets into more scraps than the most bloodthirsty fighters I’ve come across on my estate. His nose is a little crooked, and there are a few tiny white scars scattered across his face. One slices through his top lip, another his eyebrow, and the third across his cheekbone. A mop of ash blonde hair hangs over his forehead, partly covering a deep purple bruise blooming there. For some unknown reason, I have the sudden urge to sweep it off his face.Stupid.
“What do you want?” I growl, stepping towards him, rather than away. I never back off. No matter what I might be feeling. No matter that my head is screaming for me to run this time.
The room sucks in a collective breath.
“Bram, Red, and those guys over there,” he says, jerking his thumb over his shoulder, “Aremycrew here at Oceanside. I want you with us,” he adds, his voice lowering as he gazes at me.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mumble under my breath. What is it with me and getting into shit with gang leaders? First Camden, now Ford.
“No, I’m deadly fucking serious.”
“And what if I choose not to join your motley crew ofmisfits,” I sneer, glancing at them all with distaste whilst simultaneously trying not to pay any attention to the fact that I feel a strange pull towards this guy. I’m like a spaceship caught in the gravitational pull of the sun. It’s not a feeling I like or want.
“Then I can’t protect you from them,” he says, dropping his hand away from my cheek. The spot where his knuckles once touched now burns.
“Protect me from who, your crew?” I scoff. “I’ve dealt with worse than that bunch of losers.”
Ford shakes his head. “Notmycrew. The rest ofthem,” he says, his gaze turning towards the mean looking bunch of arseholes in the corner of the room who are now watching our every move. Included in his sweeping statement is Sonny and two lone girls not sitting with anyone. I briefly wonder why they’re not in a gang, and more to the point, why they’re being left alone. Sonny is staring at us both, watching the exchange with a look of both amusement and annoyance.
“The one with the scar slashed across his face is Monk,” Ford says, bringing my attention back to the group of kids in the corner of the dining hall. One of them is pushing a cream cake around on his plate, smiling evilly at me. So it wasthatdouchebag who threw the cake then? Duly noted. I never forget a face.
“What about him?” I ask.
“He’s their leader. He oversees the newly recruited Hackers at Oceanside.”
