Chapter 21
Twenty-One
WALKER
Istormed into my house, not bothering to switch on any lights until I reached the back bedroom I’d transformed into a home gym. Beyond the expensive workout machines, hanging from the ceiling in the corner was a boxing bag.
I palmed the light switch, illuminating the room and my destination. Pulling my sweater off, I dumped it on the floor and didn’t bother wrapping my hands before fury exploded out of my fists.
The bag swayed and jolted brutally with my assault as I slammed into it in a flurry of impotent fucking rage. Sweat dripped down my face, my arms ached, and I didn’t know how much time had passed until one particular brutal punch caused a worrying crack above me.
Panting, I looked up at the ceiling. “Fuck.” I’d knocked the fixing loose, and it was tearing at the plasterwork.
Glancing down at my hands, I noted my swelling knuckles.
It was worth it. I felt marginally better.
Striding into the kitchen, I pulled out ice and threw it into a bowl large enough for my hand to fit. Then with one hand in it, I used the other to pull my phone out of my pocket.
I hit the number for my mate Dexter who I worked with back in LA and who didn’t mind doing a bit of dirty work. With the time difference, I wasn’t worried about waking him. I wouldn’t have been, anyway. This couldn’t wait.
“Walk, how you doing, man?” Dex answered, sounding relaxed.
“I need a favor.”
“Tell me.” His tone sharpened.
“Name is Kyle Brixton. I’ll send you what details I have on him when we hang up. I want him found, and I want you to do whatever it fucking takes to get information out of him on the whereabouts of Nathan Andros. Whatever it takes, Dex.”
“Understood.”