Ivan Ciborek is a detective in the Polish Policja whose addiction is about to cost him everything he believes in.
Richie Morrison is a south London teenager, popular and effortlessly cool he appears to have everything. But he has problems even his best friend Steve can’t help him with, problems that will push him to breaking point, just when he is needed the most.
Ten years later, still haunted by the sins of the past, Ciborek and Richie are both attempting to rebuild their lives. Richie wants his old life back but finds himself on the run for a crime he knows nothing about, while Ciborek just wants to move on but the anonymous photos that arrive on his desk start dragging him back.
As their paths draw closer together, they both realise that they will have a choice, repeat their mistakes of the past or do the right thing, no matter what the cost...
SAMPLES..
Sergei cautiously opened the shutter and peered into the gloom. All was as he remembered and nothing seemed amiss. He looked around the shelves by the doorway but couldn’t see the padlock, he kept it in a drawer in his desk during the day so maybe it was still there. Leaving the shutter open, as was his custom in the mornings, he wandered over to the bank of light switches at the bottom of the wooden stairs. He flicked them all on and one by one the large lights above flickered into life.
He walked up the stairs taking in the whole warehouse floor, all was normal, nothing appeared to be missing or vandalized in any way. He relaxed, he really must be getting absent minded he thought. He opened the door to his office giving the place a last glance, it looked the same as it always did on a Monday.
It was cold in the office at this time of day so he reached down to turn on the heater and as he did so he heard a creak behind him. As he turned to investigate, a searing pain jolted through the back of his neck as he was struck by something solid. He collapsed in a heap on the floor, aware now that there was someone behind him and he tried to look at his attacker but all he could see were stars and patches of black as he fought for consciousness.
He tried to reach the table but couldn’t and his hand flailed pathetically in the air before he was kicked in the stomach, once, twice, three times. He was winded and thought he might throw up, while fighting to get his breath back. He was scared and felt panicky, his chest hurt but his sight returned and with it a horrendous dull pain in the back of his head. He put his hand to the nape of his neck instinctively but he could feel no blood.
His attacker now picked him up by his shirt’s collar and, showing immense strength, perched him on the edge of the desk. He could now see it was Marcin, devoid of emotion, simply looking like a man at work, clinical and unfeeling. He was wearing a smart suit and with his shaved head and piercing eyes the effect was one of pure evil. Sergei sat there swaying, trying to comprehend what was going on, Marcin had not said a word, but placed the monkey wrench he had used to strike him on the table.
“What’s going on Marcin ?” said Sergei between breaths.
Marcin simply stared at him for a second then punched Sergei hard between the eyes, the force sprawling the Russian over the table banging his head on its hard surface and knocking his personal effects onto the floor in a clatter of noise.
Marcin was a short man and easily jumped onto the table, pinning Sergei’s arms with his knees and raining blows onto Sergei’s face, splitting his nose and spreading blood all over the mangled features. Sergei’s vision was now blurred from his eyes watering after the first blow, he couldn’t see anything and felt punch drunk, thinking that any moment now he would pass out.
The beating ceased and Marcin jumped off the table. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and calmly wiped the blood from his hands, while looking over at his victim who was now emitting a dazed groan. He had carried out Jacek’s instructions and now it was time to add an extra touch that was all his own.
Marcin replaced his handkerchief and removed a pair of surgical gloves from his inside pocket and carefully placed them on his hands. He then took out a large black velvet wallet and unrolled it carefully on the table. Several surgical implements gleamed in the sunlight creeping into the room and Marcin paused for a second as he considered what he was going to do. He looked at Sergei’s castrate form and then back down to his tools.
After a moment’s deliberation, he removed a small vial and a syringe and attached the needle with precision. He then pricked the top of the vial with the needle and filled the syringe half way.
Sergei was slipping into unconsciousness, as Marcin directed the syringe towards him and sprayed sulphuric acid in his face, but he screamed as he could feel his flesh burning and raised his hands to cover his features while he rocked back and forward in reaction to the pain. Marcin emptied the syringe, covering Sergei’s hands as well as the face and then deftly removed the needle from the top of the syringe and replaced the vial and the syringe in the wallet like a workman replacing tools in a toolbox.
He picked up the wrench and took a last look at Sergei, who was now crying out in pain as his flesh burnt and he fell from the table onto the floor with a thud. Marcin afforded himself the merest smile before quickly making his way out of the office and down the stairs. He rolled the warehouse shutter down in one quick movement as he passed into the street and jumped into the car that was by now waiting outside.
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She felt the cold of the night gnawing her fingers to the bone. She had pulled the covers right up to her chin and was lying under the pillow to try and keep warm but it wasn’t doing much good. She felt so helpless and alone. How long had she been in this place ? She really couldn’t tell, every day was just as miserable as the last and there was no end in sight, no way to make it better. She felt cold and empty, a hollow shell of her former self, a carcass with no life in it, nothing more left to give. She was sure they were abusing her but she hardly even noticed the pain. They said it was for her own good and who knows maybe it was, but what did she care? It wasn’t as if anything they could do would make any difference to her existence. It all seemed so futile, so pointless, she was legally still just a child and completely, utterly, alone.
The nights were the worst time, lying there, in the cold, with nothing to keep her company but her lonely thoughts. Everything was more intense, more dramatic at night. She could see the moonlight bathing part of her room in a ghostly hue, creating eerie shadows where anything scary could lurk. Was that a mouse? She was sure she saw a mouse run into the shadows. She hated mice, something about them just gave her the creeps. She wished her mother was here, she would make her feel better as she always had, she would come and hug her and reassure her and quietly sing to her as she had when she was younger and make everything right in the world. But her mother wasn’t going to come, not now, not ever. What was she going to do, how would she manage without her ? She felt it coming and tried to stop it, tried to be strong but it was too overwhelming. A tear rolled down her cheek and just like every other night she gently sobbed herself to sleep.
She woke to the sound of footsteps in the corridor. It was barely light outside and still cold in her room. There was no heating, and the nights were chilly even though it was late May. She pulled the thin blanket tight around her neck trying to make herself warm, wondering what the time was. The footsteps stopped outside her door and she heard the jangle of keys. It must be the start of another day she thought, wondering if this was this how it began, she couldn’t remember. She just stared at the wall and blocked it all out. It was easy enough to do.
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