Savage Protector (The Caraksay Brotherhood #10)

Prologue

PROLOGUE

G lasgow, 2018

Zayn

“I’ll get the bags. You take the kids downstairs. The car should be here any moment.”

“Are you sure? What if?—”

I reach her in two strides. “He’s away until tomorrow. This is as good a chance as you’re likely to get, but we need to move. Now.”

She gnaws on her lower lip. “It’s such a big step, a big decision. He’ll kill me. Us. If he ever tracks us down.”

“He’ll have to find you first. All you need to do is get to Birmingham. We’ve got it all planned, you get the train at Carlisle, not Glasgow as he might expect. That friend of your cousin’s said she’d meet you at New Street. Lie low at her place for a while, like we planned. Then, if you want to move on, do it.”

“But what about you? He’ll know you helped me.”

“I’ll survive.”

“He’ll kill you.”

Shahida’s right, but Abid Malik will have to find me first. He’ll have his work cut out. I have plans, and they do not include doing that vicious bastard’s wet work for the rest of my life. He, and his grubby friends who like to trade in trafficked kids abducted from the Indian sub-continent, can burn in Hell for all I care.

That’s where he is now. Not burning in Hell, more’s the pity. No, he’s inspecting the latest batch of ‘merchandise’ shipped in from Rotterdam on a container ship. Normally I’d be with him. Hired muscle, or cannon fodder if required, but he needed someone to play nursemaid to his family in his absence.

He knows what Shahida thinks of him and that she’s likely to run. She made that plain last time he swung his fist at her, and she still has the fading bruises to show for it. That final visit to A&E only strengthened her resolve to be free of her brute of a husband. The sympathetic looks from the nurses, doctors asking if she needs help. Social workers asking if she has children and if there’s anything she’d like to discuss with them. In confidence, of course…

Social workers can’t solve her problems, unless they come armed with a decent handgun or blade.

So, I’m supposed to make sure she stays put, but Abid’s going to be disappointed. I do have all the necessary accoutrements to finish Malik, and I’d happily do just that if I thought it would set Shahida and her children free. It wouldn’t. He’s constantly surrounded by a small army of minders, and I’m not quick enough—yet—to do the job efficiently. Shahida doesn’t have time to wait, not since that casualty consultant informed her that she’s pregnant with her third child. Her husband doesn’t know, and I only found out because I was within earshot when the doctor told her the happy news.

She realised I’d heard and begged me not to tell Abid. Naturally, I’d no intention of doing any such thing. Instead, I urged her to leave him and promised to help, when the time was right.

As if she reads my thoughts now, her palm rests protectively on her still-flat abdomen. “I do have to go, don’t I?”

“You do. I’ll take your bags down.”

I leave her to gather her children together, nine-year-old Bilal and the baby, Sarah, just two and a half. Bilal has already been on the receiving end of more than a few punches from his thug of a father, and eventually the vicious git will start on Sarah, too.

I suspect their mother would have made a run for it before now, but we agreed we should wait for an opportunity, just a few hours’ head start would be enough. And this is it.

I grasp the handles of both suitcases ready to carry them down to the hallway. The taxi should be here at any moment. Sure enough, right on cue there’s the sound of a vehicle outside.

“Shahida, the car’s here…”

Suddenly the house seems to shake. There’s a deafening crash from the hallway downstairs as the front door is obliterated, the clattering of boots on stairs, men shouting. I drop the cases and go for my gun, but before I can even unholster it the bedroom door bursts open, and the room is full of men.

I recognise none of them. These are not Abid’s soldiers. What I can see is that they’re all big, all armed, and they mean deadly business. The first one through the door grabs Shahida and puts the muzzle of his gun to her temple.

“Drop it,” he growls, his cold gaze fixed on me.

I hesitate, but really, there’s no choice but to comply. I let the handgun clatter to the floor.

“Kick it over here,” the man holding Shahida orders.

I obey, and one of the others darts forward to retrieve it. I raise my hands. “Let her go,” I begin.

“You, shut it. Get down on the floor.” Now my own gun is turned on me.

I drop to my knees. At a nod from the one who seems to be in charge, the one holding Shahida, my hands are dragged behind my back and secured with a cable tie.

More banging, more shouting from elsewhere in the huge house, then two more men enter the bedroom. “No one else here, boss,” one of them snarls.

Their leader nods, then releases Shahida. She staggers, would probably have collapsed to her knees beside me, but he grabs her again and instructs someone to bring her a chair.

I’m surprised. I can tell she is, too, but she drops onto it and reaches for baby Sarah toddling at her feet. “Please, whoever you are, don’t hurt my children. Take what you want…” She pulls her silk scarf up to partially cover her face.

“I want Malik. Where is he?”

“He…he isn’t here,” she stammers.

“I can see that. And you are?”

“His wife. Shahida.”

“I see. Well, Shahida, I must apologise for this intrusion, but I urgently need to find Malik. Where. Is. He?”

“I…I…”

“He’s in Hull,” I blurt. I see no benefit at all in shielding my boss. My priority is Shahida and the little ones.

The leader turns to tower over me. “In Hull? Why?”

“He has a shipment arriving. He went to supervise the unloading and distribution.”

“What shipment?”

Again, I hold nothing back. “Kids. From Mumbai, mostly.” Or so I heard .

“Trafficking?”

“Yes. Orphans or street kids.”

“What does he do with them?”

“You don’t want to know.”

He drops to his haunches. “If I didn’t want to know I wouldn’t fucking ask. Answer the question.”

Fair enough. “They get auctioned off. The older ones? Girls? They go into the sex trade mainly. Some of the boys, too, the pretty ones. The others, especially the younger kids, make household servants.”

His brow furrows. A look of intense distaste flashes across his hard features. He turns to regard Shahida. “What’s your part in this filthy trade?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t… I mean, he never…”

“Malik never discusses his business with his wife. She doesn’t know anything,” I tell him quickly.

He swings his gaze back to me. “Is that so? Then perhaps it’s you I need to be talking to.”

“It’s a container ship from Rotterdam, due to dock in about four hours. I don’t know anything more about the cargo apart from what I already told you.”

“Really? We’ll see. Jack?” He straightens and gestures to the man beside him. “See what more you can find out. Try not to kill him. Yet.”

Shahida screams. “No! Leave him alone. He’s only a boy.”

Not strictly true, I’m nineteen, though I seriously doubt I’ll see twenty. The main thing, now, is to convince him to let Shahida and the kids live. That’s the last coherent thought I string together before a battering ram of a fist lands on my chin, sending me sprawling to the carpet. My assailant—Jack?—drags me back up and props me against the wall.

Shahida is sobbing, clutching Sarah to her chest. Bilal glares, defiant, his small fists clenched and tears streaming down his face.

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 Shakti shisha 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.”

She turns to leave.

“Wait.”

She pauses.

The man in charge fixes his gaze on Bilal. “Young man, what’s your name?”

“Bilal Malik, sir.”

“How old are you, Bilal?”

“Nine.”

“You’re a brave kid. Loyal. I admire that. Do you have a phone?”

He shakes his head.

“You should have one. Jack, do you have a spare burner on you?”

A basic phone is produced and handed over. The leader taps a few keys, then offers the device to Bilal. “My name is Ethan. My number is on there. If you need help, ever, give me a ring.”

“Thank you, sir.” A wide-eyed Bilal drops the phone into his small backpack before the man who is to drive them shepherds the trio from the room.

Their footsteps can be heard on the stairs, then the front door—or what I assume might be left of it—closes. An engine starts up, crunches over the gravel forecourt, then purrs into silence.

I’m alone with our attackers, though I suspect our acquaintance won’t be a long one. I close my eyes and prepare to die.

“Help him up.”

Hands grasp my elbows and haul me to my feet. The wall is behind me, and I’m glad of it. I doubt if I could stand unaided and I really do prefer to die on my feet.

“Look at me, lad.”

I open my eyes. Well, one of them.

“What’s your name?”

“Zayn Abbassi.” I see no point in not telling him.

“How old are you?”

“Nineteen.”

“How long have you worked for Malik?”

“Two years.”

“You started young. What’s your job?”

I’m puzzled by all the questions, but I answer anyway. “I’m a guard, just a soldier. I do as I’m told.”

“Does that include helping your boss’s wife to leave him?” Do I detect a hint of amusement in his tone?

“He knocks her about. A lot. The boy, too. Someone had to do something.”

He considers my answer, then, “Yes, I can understand that. I’m assuming you’ll be out of a job now.”

“What does it matter? You’re going to kill me anyway. If you don’t, he will.”

“Yes, you’re probably right.” He stands before me, his hands in his pockets as he regards me with interest. “Although, I do have another idea.”

I return his gaze.

“I’m going to offer you a job, Zayn Abbassi.”

I think that battering must have affected my hearing. “What did you say?”

“A job, Zayn. How would you like to work for me instead?”

“I don’t even know who you are.”

“My apologies. Ethan Savage. I’d shake hands, but…”

My hands are still secured behind my back, but I appreciate the sentiment. And the name is familiar to me. Ethan Savage heads up one of the biggest criminal networks in Europe, if not the world. I’m in illustrious company.

“What would I be doing, Mr Savage?”

“Much the same as you do now. You’ve got a lot to learn, but I see potential in you. With the right training I think you could make yourself useful. More to the point, you’re loyal where it matters, and you have courage. As I told young Bilal, I admire that.” He pauses, then, “Well? Are you on board or not?”

“If I say no?”

He shrugs. “Then you’re on your own. I’ll wish you a good day and good luck.”

“I see.” It was always a no-brainer, really. “Count me in, Mr Savage.”