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21
Sonny and I head down to the shoreline. Outside the air is cool, crisp, but given it’s so hot inside the Tower, I welcome the sea breeze and the sharp sting of the salt spray. The water’s a little choppier now, reflecting the turmoil I feel.
“Sit down,” I urge Sonny, who’s looking at me with a guarded expression now. He’s normally so expressive. Actually, he’s normally full of innuendo and bravado, but it seems right now that part of him is remaining tight-lipped. Maybe he took note of what I said earlier or maybe the punches to his head have had more of an impact than either of us realise.
“Shit, I’ve got nothing to clean you up with,” I say. It’s not as if I’m carrying a bloody first-aid kit with me. I’m betting the Tower doesn’t have anything useful either.
Sonny strips off his t-shirt, handing it to me. “Use this,” he says, a tiny sparkle lighting his eyes as my gaze roves over the firm muscles of his chest and arms. He’s got a tattoo, a rather large one actually, of an eagle spread out over his chest. The intricate wings are tattooed into his pecs whilst the body and head of the bird are centred between them.
“Nice tattoo,” I say, trying not to trip over my words, or drool as I walk the few steps to the water. That wouldn’t be cool.
“Thanks,” he mutters, a tiny little smirk twitching his lips when I look back up at him. Perhaps the arrogance hasn’t quite been knocked out of him yet. Bunching up his shirt, I dip it into the water making sure it’s nice and soaked before ringing it out a little. Then I return, kneeling between Sonny’s parted legs and lift it to his face. He winces the second it touches his skin.
“Fuck.” He jerks a little, but I cup the back of his head with my free hand, keeping his head still.
“It’s pretty deep. You might need a couple stitches.”
“Fuck that. I’ll stick a plaster on it when I get back.”
“Sonny…”
“If Mr Carmichael finds out I’ve been brawling then I’m out.”
“Monk fucking tried to hit me and ended up punching Pink,he’snot out,” I say, pressing a little firmer against the cut. Sonny sucks in a sharp breath but this time he doesn’t pull away.
“It’s part of my deal, Asia. I can’t brawl, ever. If they get wind of what happened then not only am I putting the Tower in jeopardy, I’m also on a one-way ticket out of here and into some secure unit for kids withangerissues.” He smarts at that, rolling his eyes. “Not to mention Bryce will fucking kill me.”
“What do you mean, part of your shit?”
“I’m not just here because I have light fingers and love the rush of stealing. I’m also here because I get into fights, Asia. A lot of fights. Let’s just say Monk isn’t the first person I’ve fucked up because the rage takes over. And by fuck up, I mean put into hospital.”
“Shit,” I say, not having any other words.
“You’re surprised by that?” He looks at me behind guarded features and I’m pretty sure no one else is aware that’s why he’s here at Oceanside.
“Actually, no. I get it now. It makes perfect sense.” I pull back my hand, turn the t-shirt to a cleaner spot then wipe at the blood caking his face. “There, that’s as good as I can get it,” I say, lowering my hand and dropping the t-shirt onto the pebbles. Sonny stares at me for a bit, then lifts his hand to swipe a stray hair behind my ear. His warm fingers burn a trail across my cool cheek.
“What makes perfect sense?” he asks, tipping his head to the side. He reaches around his back and rubs at his side. I worry a little that Monk has done damage to his kidney.
“Is that hurting?” I ask, frowning. “Let me see.”
Leaning forward, Sonny lets me inspect his side. I run my fingers over the spot he was just touching and gently press against the area. “That hurt?”
“Not now it doesn’t,” he murmurs, catching my fingers in his. “Seriously. It’s fine. I’ve taken knocks like that before, I’ll survive.”
“Okay.” Sitting back on my haunches I draw my lip ring into my mouth. He watches me carefully.
“You didn’t answer my question. Tell me what you meant about it making perfect sense.”
“The humour, the charm, the jokes and the dirty talk. I figured you were hiding something underneath all of that,” I reply with a shrug.
“You did?” he asks, a little surprised given the look on his face.
“I did,” I retort, not elaborating further. Not explaining how he’s been infiltrating my thoughts these past few days or that I’ve sensed that anger rumbling beneath his skin. “How are you going to explain this away?” I ask, pointing to his cut and the bruise blooming on his cheek.
He shrugs. “I’ll say I had an accident in the gym. Ford will back me up.”
“And they’ll believe you given Monk’s face is black and blue?”
