Page 73 of Fractured Future
Exiting the room, the corridor is a haze all around me. I’m thankful that at least Hyland hasn’t stuck around and can’t interfere. I don’t know if I can lie to him again right now.
Axel keeps a tight hold on my hand, pulling me alongside him. We pass several offices and wind around the corner before coming to a stop outside a door labelledAxel Slaughter — Anaconda Team.
“My office.” He scans the security pass attached to his belt loop. “Follow me.”
Tailing him into the room, I do a double take. Rather than standard office furniture—laptop, desk, perhaps a chair or sofa—the room is dominated by a full-size boxing bag hanging from the ceiling.
“What the fuck?”
Axel shuts the door behind me. “My work doesn’t really require a desk.”
“Is your work beating up a punching bag?”
“Nah. Usually it’s some wanker’s face. Occasionally breaking a leg or two. Maybe an arm or skull. Sometimes dislocating a few joints or a shoulder or perhaps cutting off…”
“Axel!”
With a smirk, he heads towards the red-leather bag, hanging from metal chains. “Too much information again? My bad.”
I walk over to join him by the bag. It’s far enough from the tinted, high-rise window to offer a decent safety zone, though a messily organised bookshelf is in the near vicinity.
“You’re up, dimples. The space is yours.”
“Dimples?” I grunt, touching the supple leather.
“You’ve got a couple that pop out when you smile. I like them.”
Staring into his honey orbs, I try to decide if he’s pulling my leg. “You’re so weird.”
“As advertised.”
The man who just freely admitted that his job role consists of punching people when he isn’t breaking or dislocating their limbs… likes my dimples?
“Show us what you’ve got,” he encourages, clasping the bag in place. “Get all that rage out before it eats you up inside.”
“Why are you helping me?” My heartbeat hammers in my ears.
Axel shrugs, still wearing that curious smirk.
“That’s not an answer.”
“I have my reasons.” He hikes up a shoulder.
“Which are?”
“Truthfully, I’m intrigued by you. I want to see what you can do. Or you can go back to smashing chairs and water glasses, if you’d prefer.”
Looking down at my clenched fists, memories of how I gained each mottled scar across my knuckles fill my mind. Everylast vicious, potentially life-ending fight. All the times I limped back to my room, barely able to walk.
I would do it all again if I could save her.
Hell, I’d take every blow twice over to set Gracie free.
“You need hand wraps?”
Shaking my head, I let my fist fly into the solid mass. The impact enrages my still-tender skin, bearing the marks of my last fight. The final bout of violence that did little to satiate my thirst for more.
Axel absorbs the momentum, stopping the bag from swinging too far. I smash my other fist into it. Then again. Again. Again. Each hit delivering another burst of relief to my soaring adrenaline.
