CHAPTER TEN
The smelling sorts brought him round. His head felt like it was being squeezed inside a cider press.
‘ARGH,’ Martin flinched. The sharp slap across the face was the final jolt into reality. His blurred vision began to focus on his surroundings. There was a bare light bulb above. It reflected off some grimy broken windows and a puddled floor. The discarded steel drums with the strong smell of cellulose and various coloured stains on the concrete chipped walls indicated a derelict spray shop or paint warehouse.
‘Shit.’ Another sharp slap made him focus intensely now at his tormentor. Sammy Abdullah, disguised wearing a balaclava with a slit for the mouth, leaned into him. Three other men dressed the same stood around.
Fear was creeping over Martin fast. What had happened? Whe
