Saturday. 11:19 a.m.
Marcin's phone buzzed while he was still in bed.
Unknown number.
Video attachment.
He opened it half-asleep.
The footage started mid-act.
A woman bent over a hotel bed.
Black dress hiked up.
No face shown.
Just her body.
Moaning softly.
A man behind her.
Thrusting deep.
Her ass jiggled with each impact.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
The camera stayed low.
Focused.
The man pulled out.
Came across her cheeks.
Thick white ropes.
Then a finger traced through it.
Wrote slowly.
M-A-R-C-I-N
Clear letters.
The video ended.
Text followed:
"Good ole ass."
Marcin stared at the screen.
Breath caught.
He replayed it.
Zoomed in.
The curve of her hip.
The way she arched.
The small birthmark on her lower back.
He knew that body.
He'd seen it in laundry baskets.
In the bathroom doorway.
His mother.
He threw the phone across the room.
It hit the wall.
Cracked.
He sat up.
Hands shaking.
"Fuck."
He grabbed a hoodie.
Stormed out.
Texted his crew.
