“It was being naked that terrified him. He was stripped of all identifying marks, untraceable, ready for his grave.Terry had been arrested in Chile, seen a woman necklaced in Soweto, stood on the edge of a riot in Port-au-Prince, but here, lying naked in a shuddering car boot, heading into the dark outskirts of Glasgow, he was paralyzed with fear.Whimpering, his knees tight against his chin, he was aware of how hopelessly exposed he was. He couldn’t even cup himself: his hands were bound behind ...his back, his wrists swelling around the tight binding. The plastic sheet beneath him was scalding his skin. A rough sacking hood over his head restricted his breathing and tiny fibers found their way to the moist back of his throat, making him gag.The muscles on his neck hurt from the throttlehold that had made him pass out; his eyes ached where blood vessels had burst.The attack had come from behind as he stood alone and half drunk on his front step.It had been a good night until then: the celebration of a book deal.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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