Page 3 of Savage Protector

I shake my head, a warning to him not to interfere. He’s a headstrong kid, impulsive…

“Did that jog your memory?” Jack enquires.

“I told you, I don’t?—”

Another punch silences me, but at least I remain upright. The metallic tang of blood fills my throat, and I strongly suspect my jaw is broken. I’m struggling to see out of my right eye.

Jack grips me by the chin and angles my face for his inspection. He shrugs. “I don’t think there’s much more he can tell us, boss. He’s barely conscious as it is.”

“Please, please stop,” Shahida begs. “You’ll kill him.”

My worst fear is realised when Bilal darts forward and flings himself on Jack’s back, pummelling him with his fists and screaming at him to leave me alone. I’d be touched if it wasn’t so fucking serious. I never even realised he cared for me overmuch.

Another of the men drags Bilal off, and Jack gets to his feet to regard the boy thoughtfully. “Boss?”

The man in charge of all this brutality shakes his head. “He’s a kid, and he’s scared. Not surprising. Let it go.” He glowers at Bilal. “You, sit with your mother and sister and try not to piss me off anymore.”

Mercifully, Bilal does as he’s told for once.

“Am I to assume you’re planning a trip?” The gang leader nudges one of Shahida’s suitcases with his toe. “Going anywhere nice?”

“To…to visit a friend,” Shahida sobs. “Please, we can’t help you. Let us go.”

“What friend? Where? Does your husband know about this excursion, I wonder?”

“You can’t tell him! Please, just let us leave. I won’t tell anyone you were here.”

“Ah, he doesn’t know, then. Is this something to do with the bruises on your face?” He takes her chin between his fingers and turns her face up to the light. “A couple of weeks old, I’d say.”

Shahida closes her eyes, her lips clamped shut.

The man simply nods, apparently satisfied with his own explanation. “Where were you planning to go?”

“I can’t… Please…”

“On your own? With two children in tow? Or was your toyboy here coming with you?”

“He’s not… He just wanted to help.”

“Ah. Well.” He glances in my direction and winces. “I can’t see that happening now, can you?” He extracts a set of car keys from his jacket pocket and tosses them to one of his men. “Rome. Take Mrs Malik’s luggage down to my car, then come back for her and her children. Drive them to wherever she wants to go.”

“Right, boss.” He picks up both suitcases effortlessly and disappears out of the room.

“I don’t understand. Why are you doing this?” Shahida looks as baffled as I am.

He hesitates, then, “I guess you just caught me on a good day.”

He despatches three men to locate and search Abid Malik’s home office, though I could have told him that would be a fruitless exercise. All his business is conducted from a room at the back of the Shaktishisha house in the centre of Glasgow, one of his few legitimate businesses. I briefly consider sharing this detail with this man but opt to hold that in reserve.

The impromptu chauffeur returns. “Are you ready to go, miss?”

The man in charge offers her his hand, and she takes it, struggles to her feet with Sarah still in her arms.

“Have you got everything? Passport?”

She nods. “It was all packed.”

“Very well. I wish you a safe journey, and…good luck.”

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