The Life Of A Teenage Spy

Oliver Link is a normal teenage guy... But is he?
He is pulled off the streets after a horrid start to life but has now been thrown into the dangerous world of being a teen spy. Can he deal with it ?



Spy book, based on 'cherub' and 'Alex Ryder' :D

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2. My life

You may be wandering how I got to the stage of sleeping on a bench and having only a sleeping bag for warmth. Well my father was a soldier. Until he died in a car bomb accident out in Afghanistan. I personally had not known the man very well, he had nearly always been on tour, and all I know is that he was important in the army and that I had been named after him. My mother, Mary Link, had remarried to a brute. Boris was his name! I mean who calls their child Boris?

 My mum had come home from work one day raving on about how this new amazing man had come to work for them “he is just so nice, he is funny as well!” she went on about him as if he was the savour of the world. So soon enough my mother came home with Boris. He was fattish had a full head of brown hair that was slightly greying and wore tee shirt and jeans. He seemed a normal enough guy and my mum was nuts about him. She laughed at every joke he pulled and flirted care freely. I suppose it was nice to see my mum so happy, but I always felt cautious around him and tried to avoid ever being left alone in a room with him. They were soon married.

At the wedding not a lot of mums friends had turned up they disagreed with the marriage saying it was rushed and would never last. I wanted to not agree but sadly I did as the side I had seen to Boris had not been so nice. Some night he would go to the pub and drink away his supposedly many sorrows that were another trick he pulled on mum he said he had a deprived child hood and hadn’t spoken to his parents in 30 years! When he got home from these drinking sessions he would be out of his mind drunk. The first night my mum had gone out to get some shopping, I was sitting alone in the front room watching some horror film where everyone died. “Oliver!” he shouted as soon as he got through the door “come and gives your old dad a hug!” he boomed. Dad? When had I ever called him dad?  I got up reluctantly out of my chair and went to see him.  He clumsily moved to pull me into a hug I had ducked out the way. His expression darkened “Oliver, be a nice boy.”  He stuttered.

 “Boris your drunk go to bed before mum gets back and sees you like this; you wouldn’t want that would you?” I suppose it must have sounded condescending at the time but I hadn’t realised. “How dare you talk to me like that? You ungrateful brute!” Boris had now gone into a rage and took a terrible shot at my head! I ran up the stairs and bolted the door.

The next morning my mum knocked on my door, I didn’t answer, she tried the handle but I had locked my room. “Oliver why is your door locked?” she asked her voice tinged with worry. “So your brute of a husband doesn’t try and hit me again!” my mother didn’t reply.  I heard footsteps up the hall way. “What did he say?” I head Boris say, he was trying to whisper but it was more of a shout…  “That you hit him!” my mum said her voice full of severances “is this true?”  I wish I could have seen Boris’s face when my mum had said that, it would have been filled with anger and shock. “Course it isn’t! Why would I do that? I love the boy like my own son!” Boris was lying through his teeth. My mother sadly did not see this. “Oliver come out of your room right now and apologise to Boris for making up such a horrid story!” her voice was angry and she obviously was fuming.

 I made my way to the door, unlocked it and stepped out. Boris’s face was red and mums cheeks were red with embarrassment.” Do you have something to say to Boris, Oliver?” she was telling me off like I was a two year old. I shook my head, I refused to say sorry for the rest of the day until my mum gave up and apologised on my behalf.  That night whilst mum made the dinner, Boris came over and whispered “you’re dead”. I, not wanting to find out what he had install for me ,  made a runner. Sadly this did not go smoothly. Boris came in without warning , my brain sent panic signals and my immediate reaction was to kick him in the stomach. The air wooshed out of his mouth and he toppled backwards. With a sickening thud I heard boris land at the bottom of the stairs. I crept out my room and dared to look down. There laying at the bottom of the stairs, a bloody halo round his head, was my horrid beating step father.  I ran down the stairs with my bag, jumped his body and ran out the door. Just before I left I had enough time to hear the scream from my mother. The adrenaline rush made me run faster I pelted round the corner and I was gone. Now I was homeless maybe a murderer and sickeningly the only thing on my mind was how glad I was to finally be away from them.

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