The burglar swore under his breath when he heard those four words and the two boys entering.
He was already mad – how was it a sixteen-year-old boy from Africa ended up in a luxurious place like this? An old converted house, more like a mansion, bordered by a small lake and a wood. This boy had a swimming pool in his house. The man felt the rage rising inside him now.
It was not fair. All the boy had done in life was kick a ball around in a dusty country, then get a contract at City. But the burglar knew he had to get control of himself. He knew he had to be calm.
He’d already let himself go, slashed the plasma screen, snapping off all the breakable things he could on the stereo system, even pouring bleach on Kofi’s clothes.
He had not done this before. Not broken things on purpose.
He would usually just go in, find valuable things and take them.
But this was different.
This was personal.
And now Kofi was here. Him and that pathetic friend of his.
Now was his chance to get even.