Dishonour Read online

  Laila watched as her husband’s eyes darkened. He walked towards her taking the ends of her hair in his hands and rubbed it between his fingers. His six foot muscular frame towered over her. His face, no older than thirty, stared down.

  ‘Why are you relieved Laila? Tell me?’

  ‘Maybe it’ll be easier. You know, speaking the same language.’

  His tone was cold and sinister. ‘So you’re expecting I’ll be wanting to talk to you? And what gave you that idea, beautiful?’

  Laila didn’t know what to say. She traced his face with her eyes, looking for something which might let her know how to answer. A grin spread across his face.

  ‘Don’t look so serious. I’m kidding. This is your wedding day, you should be smiling.’

  He placed a kiss on her forehead, then went to walk out of the room. As he did, he pulled Laila to him, put his hands on her face and began squeezing until her face was contorted under the pressure. His eyes stared at her coldly.

  ‘I know all about you Laila. I’ve heard about you running away. Don’t think for a moment you’re going to try that with me. You’re mine now. My property – and I never did like losing things. Try it and I’ll kill you. Apart from that, I’m sure we’ll get on just fine.’ He let go of Laila’s face, leaving a bright red mark on both her cheeks.

  The door was opened and Tariq walked in. He looked at his sister who seemed upset, then at his brother-in-law and froze. He was the man at the house. His uncle’s friend; the one he hadn’t known. And the man who’d taken delight in throwing the acid at Ray-Ray.

  Tariq looked at Laila. He could see she was wondering why he hadn’t introduced himself. Gathering himself, he reached out to shake hands with his new brother-in-law, but only a hostile stare was returned. Struggling, Tariq tried to act as natural as possible.

  ‘We … we … haven’t been introduced. I’m Tariq, Laila’s brother.’

  ‘Gupta. Baz Gupta.’

  Tariq narrowed his eyes. The man sounded like a fool. Hell, he sounded like he was auditioning for a Pakistani version of James Bond, but he wasn’t just a fool, he was a dangerous one. ‘You wouldn’t mind if I had a word with my sister? In private.’

  ‘She’s all yours but make the most of it, because she’ll be all mine tonight.’ Baz walked out of the room whistling, leaving Laila and Tariq to stare at one another.

  Half an hour later, Tariq stood face to face with Baz in the privacy of a dark corridor. ‘You better look after my sister. I’m warning you.’

  Baz laughed, sneering at Tariq. ‘Save the brotherly heroics for someone who cares. I’ll treat her the way she deserves and if she gets out of line, I’ll put her in her place. I thought you would’ve known that by now. Funny how you didn’t mention we’d already met in front of Laila.’

  Tariq slammed Baz against the wall, who grinned at him nastily. ‘Tut, tut, Tariq. You can serve time for putting your hands on a serving police officer.’

  Tariq looked at Baz in amazement.

  ‘That’s right. I’m a copper. West Yorkshire Police. Bradford South, to be correct. You need to keep on the right side of me Tariq. You don’t want me to start sending my officers to come and knock on your door, asking questions about what happened to poor Raymond, do you?’

  Stunned, Tariq let go of Baz, who brushed down his top.

  ‘Don’t look so shocked. What? What’s the matter Tariq?’

  ‘But it wasn’t me. It was you!’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about Tariq; surely you can’t be suggesting it was a decorated police detective who harmed that young lad?’ Baz winked, adding, ‘I think it’ll be in your best interest to tell your sister to be a good wife, don’t you?’

  ‘And if I don’t?’

  ‘Then you’d be an idiot.’ Baz tapped Tariq on the cheek. ‘All you need to do is to make sure she gets rid of any ideas you’re going to help her. She needs to know you’re on my side Tariq. Then you, her, and I won’t have any problems, will we?’

  Baz stepped away as he began to open the bedroom door. He paused and looked back at a crestfallen Tariq. ‘You can listen if you like. They say virgins scream louder than whores.’

  Laila stood in the middle of the room with only a small white pair of knickers on. Although it was a sweltering night, she was shivering. He mother-in-law scattered the last rose petals onto the bed as Baz walked into the room.

  ‘I’ll leave you two together. If she’s difficult, give her this.’ Laila watched as Baz’s mother passed him a glass of milk. He nodded, placing it on the side and waiting for his mother to leave the room.

  Baz walked across to Laila. It was dark apart from the candle flickering momentarily.

  ‘Put your arms down.’ Baz barked out his order as Laila stood covering her breasts. Slowly and timidly she dropped her arms as Baz stood watching her. He licked his lips and could feel the swell of his erection.

  She might be trouble but she was certainly beautiful. Smooth, delicate brown skin. Curves in all the right places, and soft pert breasts. He walked towards her and he could see her trembling.

  ‘You afraid of me?’ Baz laughed as he said it. He pulled her towards him and pushed his hand roughly down her pants. He started to groan and at the same time he heard Laila whimpering. He felt a hard push in his chest as Laila struck him in panic.

  ‘No, please, get off me. Don’t touch me.’

  She ran towards the door but she didn’t get far before she was being dragged back. Frightened, she clawed out at Baz, feeling her nails scratching his body.

  ‘Oh you like to play games do you? Like it rough? If you want rough, I’ll show you rough.’

  He grabbed her hair, pulling her down on the floor with him. He pushed his lips hard onto her mouth, biting down on her already bruised lips, and slammed her arms down above her head to stop her trying to fend him off.

  Alarm filled Laila’s mind. She kicked out, trying to push Baz away, but all she felt was him pressing harder on her body. She kicked out again, but this time it had an effect as Baz fell backwards, banging his head on the wooden chest of drawers. His face turned into a sneer as he rubbed his head. ‘Bitch.’ Leaping up he grabbed her arm, twisting it behind her back till she cried out. With the other hand, Baz snatched the glass of milk left by his mother from the top of the locker. He yanked on Laila’s arm, sitting her up.

  ‘Drink it. Drink it.’ Incensed, Baz pushed the glass onto Laila’s lips. The milk turned pink from the blood from her lip. ‘I said, drink.’

  Laila opened her mouth, afraid the glass would break on her face. The milk spilt down the sides of her mouth as she started to choke, then her nose was pinched closed by Baz. She couldn’t breathe and she began to bang on the floor, trying to communicate with Baz to stop. ‘Swallow, have you swallowed?’ Terrified, Laila managed to nod.

  Baz let go. The minute he did, Laila fell forward, coughing and struggling to take a breath. She tried to stand, pulling herself up by the bed post. When she got to her feet, she started to feel dizzy. The room began to spin. Holding on to the side of the bed for support, Laila tried to walk, but her knees gave way below her. She dropped to the floor. There was a sense she’d hurt herself, but the sensation in her leg was so strange she wasn’t quite sure if she had or not.

  Her mind was hazy, but clear enough to know whatever was in the milk had caused this to happen to her. Laila tried to crawl along the floor, but found she couldn’t move. She felt Baz’s hands start to move up and down her body, creeping over her skin like a thousand spiders. She tried to resist but she couldn’t make her limbs work, she couldn’t even move her head. She tried to speak but her mouth wouldn’t move either. She felt something heavy on top of her, then a burning pain between her legs before she passed out.

  Laila stared at herself in the mirror. Her body was bruised and she could see bite marks on her breasts. Between her legs was sore and on her inner thighs she could see dried blood. Her head hurt, throbbing tightly, encased in what felt like a
migraine.

  It was painful to walk but she wanted to get to the bathroom to try to wash herself before the rest of the household woke up. She looked around the room, the empty glass of milk lay on the floor and her torn pants lay next to it. She pulled on her robe, grimacing at the pain in her arms as she raised them. Trying not to wake a sleeping Baz, Laila tiptoed out of the room. She counted the doors, knowing the third one along was where the washroom was.

  It took Laila over an hour to clean herself up. Every part of her hurt. She couldn’t even pee properly; it burnt too much. In the end she’d had to sit in the bucket of water to do it, to try to ease the burning sensation from the urine on her swollen and sensitive insides.

  She needed to find Tariq. He’d help her. After what he’d said to her yesterday, once she’d told him what had happened he was bound to. Tariq could stand up to their uncle. To Baz and to her mother-in-law. And once he’d done that, he could take her home.

  On her way back to her bedroom, Laila stopped to knock on Tariq’s door. She tapped quietly, almost inaudibly; scared of waking anyone else. There was no answer, or rather he didn’t hear. Laila knocked again, looking round anxiously. This time she whispered, pressing her face into the door.

  ‘Tariq. Tariq, it’s Laila.’

  A minute later Tariq opened the door. The shock of seeing his sister’s swollen face almost had him running to Baz’s room. But he stopped. Remembering the conversation he’d had with him. He looked at Laila, whispering harshly, pretending he didn’t see what damage was standing before him. ‘Laila, what are you doing here? Go back to your room.’

  ‘Shhh, they’ll hear us.’

  ‘Then go back to your room before Baz wakes up.’

  Laila looked at her brother. He seemed different; almost the same as he’d been at home to her. Cold and distant.

  ‘I can’t Tariq. You don’t know what he did to me.’

  Tariq didn’t need to know exactly. He could guess. He spoke awkwardly in hushed tones. ‘You’ll get used to it. It will just take time. The first time, well it’s bound to hurt.’ He trailed off and couldn’t meet her eyes.

  ‘He gave me something to drink Tariq. He drugged me … I’ve got marks all over my body.’

  Tariq rubbed his mouth. He didn’t want to hear this. Especially not now he knew there was nothing he could do. He didn’t say anything and continued looking down as Laila talked.

  ‘You said everything was going to be okay. Tariq, you promised.’

  Tariq’s head shot up. Angrily he hissed at his sister. ‘Well I lied, okay. I lied. There’s nothing I can do for you.’

  ‘What’s the matter? What’s happened?’

  Tariq looked at his sister face on. She was crying and scared. His guilt was killing him, making him feel like shit. ‘You’re married, that’s what’s happened, and whether you like it or not that’s the way it’s going to be from now on. So stop the tears Laila. They’re not going to help you and neither am I. Just drop it.’

  ‘Tariq, please.’ Laila reached out her hand to touch Tariq. He jumped back as if he’d been electrocuted.

  ‘Just leave me alone, Laila. Just leave me alone.’

  Tariq slammed the door in her face, but even through the closed wooden door he knew Laila was still standing there, lost and full of pain, knowing her last chance of any hope had quite literally been slammed in her face. Crouching down on the floor, Tariq put his head in his hands and for the first time he cried for his father.

  17

  ‘What are you trying to tell me?’ Freddie stared at Martin Warner with the contempt he felt the man needed.

  ‘I’m saying your hospital visit to your son is being moved back Thompson.’

  ‘Mr Thompson, Marty. Don’t forget your manners.’

  Warner bristled. There’d only been two people he’d ever hated in his life. The proper kind of hatred. The deep-seated, burning kind. The first person went by the name of Terry Jenkins, a boy he’d gone to school with. On a regular basis the boy had taken to ambushing him in the boys’ changing room, dragging his trousers off in front of a cheering, baying crowd prior to sticking them down the toilet. There’d never been any reason. Not even an exchange of heated words. Only a desire to humiliate and make Martin’s school days tortuous. Jenkins made sure he saved his piece-de-resistance for the last ever day of school; not only putting his trousers down the boys’ toilets, but his head as well.

  And the second person? He was standing right in front of him. At first he’d had sleepless nights at the thought of what Freddie had asked him to be part of; forced him to be part of. But then in the early hours of the morning, when he’d been the only one up in the house, he’d remembered Terry Jenkins.

  Whilst the problem had been there, life had been intolerable. Take the problem away and there wasn’t anything to worry about. It was the philosophy he knew he needed to take with Freddie Thompson. Being at his beck and call, having the constant threat of harm coming to his family, and being the butt of his jokes most days made life unbearable. Get rid of him, and life could get back to normal.

  So as he’d made his coffee in the kitchen whilst his wife and daughter slept peacefully, Warner had come to the conclusion that helping Freddie break out, was the best possible situation. And now far from dreading it like he had been before, Martin Warner was looking forward to getting Freddie Thompson out of his life, as much as he had Terry Jenkins.

  ‘Then you’ll have to change it back.’

  ‘Impossible. There’s nothing I can do. It was the governor’s decision. The prison is going to have an inspection and he wants all prisoners on site.’

  Freddie glared at Warner. ‘You’re taking the piss.’

  ‘If I was taking the piss, I wouldn’t be giving you due warning would I?’

  Freddie sat down on his bed, clicking off the PlayStation. He had no respect for screws, especially spineless ones like Warner, but it was true what he was saying, he could have quite easily kept it to himself. Then he would’ve been totally fucked. The next thought which came to Freddie’s mind was, why? Why let him know then?

  ‘I hope you ain’t setting me up Warner.’

  ‘As much as I’d love to see you rot in a cell Thompson, I’d much rather see you gone.’

  A small smile started to form on Freddie’s face. Then he grinned before bursting into laughter. ‘I get it; you want me out from under your skin. Well believe me Marty, I want me gone just as much.’

  Martin Warner said nothing but he doubted it. He doubted Freddie Thompson wanted to be gone as much as he not only wanted, but needed the man gone.

  ‘Alright babe. Looking good.’ Freddie Thompson sat leaning his chair back on two legs as he watched his wife walk towards him. He wasn’t just saying it. Tasha was looking good. Too good perhaps for someone whose husband was inside. Her honey-blonde hair tumbled down just past her shoulders and her make-up was immaculately done, classy without being tarty. Her clothes were top gear. Designer. A black, fitted Westwood number. Corseted and down to her knees. Perfect for a woman of her age. Topped off with a pair of Louboutins.

  ‘I try.’

  ‘Looks like you did more than try. Hope it’s on my behalf?’

  ‘Who else would it be for, besides meself?’

  Freddie cracked his knuckles and sniffed loudly in disdain. ‘I dunno, that’s why I’m asking. But you wouldn’t tell me anyway would you? Leave me to have to find out myself.’

  Tasha looked at Freddie from under her false eyelashes. She’d seen him have that look before, on several occasions. More than she cared to remember. Something was bugging him. Eating him up. She could see he was fuming. She knew all the signs; chewing on the side of his mouth whilst trying not to explode and say what he really wanted to. Coming across slightly preoccupied, when she knew his brain was ticking overtime.

  It was tricky to know how to treat him when he was in one of his moods. Freddie might be her husband but it was never far from her mind that she was dealing with a very
dangerous man. If she ever forgot, she only had to remember Freddie had come into prison looking at serving only a few years and ended up doing life for murder. Another one. Only this time he’d been caught.

  Sometimes he’d be happy for her to tease him, coaxing him out of his foul mood. On other occasions, it’d only make things worse, and the calmer approach was the only way to deal with him. Sitting down opposite Freddie in the visiting hall, Tasha didn’t feel like doing either.

  She was sick of having to mollycoddle his emotions. What about hers? Yes, he’d given her money, cars, holidays, even houses. All the usual clichés. But he’d never given her himself. So in the absence of having a husband, she’d taken the Bentleys, the Tiffany jewellery, the house in Marbella; because if that was all that was on offer, it was better than nothing. But now it was too late. Tasha didn’t want him or anything he gave her at all.

  She hadn’t appreciated being dragged to the prison to come and pay him an emergency visit either. She wanted to be with Ray-Ray, who the doctors had said could come home in a few weeks after almost two and a half months in hospital. Instead, she’d been given no choice but to come. She sighed. She wanted to stop being angry with Freddie, then life would be easier, but she just couldn’t bring herself to.

  ‘I always try to look nice Freddie. Got a problem with that? Would you rather me walk round in one of them burkas, covering meself up?’

  ‘I’d rather you didn’t give me so much fucking lip.’

  Tasha said nothing. She didn’t argue with Freddie. No one did. Her way of showing him she was annoyed was by saying nothing, knowing he’d be the first one to talk.

  They sat in silence for a few minutes, which always made Freddie feel slightly uncomfortable. Eventually he spoke, gruffly but not as harsh as before. ‘I ain’t got a clue what’s going on with you Tash. You seem different somehow.’ He stopped, then shrugged his shoulders, knowing that was as far as his emotional speak went.

  ‘I’m fine.’