So they hauled her out of the car, dragging her through the puddles into one of the workshops – a cold, bare room – where they chained her up and hung her from a meat hook suspended from one of the metal rafters.

And they left her to him.

Her torturer.

She hadn’t seen him before. Perhaps they’d brought him in especially. A professional sadist with a taste for designer labels and clove cigarettes. He was methodical and systematic in his infliction of pain. And up close, in his face, it was plain to see that he derived pleasure from her every gasp of agony.

They established a strange twisted intimacy revolving around the name that he wanted from her… the name that she steadfastly refused to give him… and the pain and violations which inevitably followed her denials.

At some point, she spat in his face. Fuck you. He didn’t like that. Made her pay. But she knew that the longer she resisted, the longer she would stay alive, for as soon as she caved in, they would have no further use for her.

She lost track of how long they kept her hanging there, chained up from the rafters, caked in her own blood. All she knew for sure was that if it kept on going the way it was going, then she’d eventually die. But chained up as she was, escape was impossible. And in a place this out of the way, her screams would go unheard.

It was while she was being held there that Spyros caught wind of the fact that they’d captured an undercover cop. Fearful that she would expose him under the pressure of their brutal methods, he panicked and fled. He ran to the police for protection, taking his wife and two children with him, knowing full well that the gang would not only kill him but them as well if they knew he was an informant.

The problem, however, was that neither Spyros nor the police had any idea where the gang was holding Bailey, so they were powerless to help her. She was all by herself.

As soon as Spyros split, the gang realised that he was the traitor they were looking for and that they therefore no longer needed Bailey. So they unchained her with the intention of disposing of her.

Teetering on the verge of consciousness, weak from loss of blood, dehydrated, she knew that the end had come. Regardless of whether they knew she was a policewoman or not, she knew that they couldn’t risk keeping her alive after what they’d subjected her to.

Pretending to have passed out completely, she let them drag her out of the workshop, all the while forcing her shattered mind to desperately try and fathom some last way out of this.

They threw her in the boot of a knackered old Toyota sedan and slammed the lid shut, leaving her in darkness. Lying there, she could overhear them talking, discussing the best way to get rid of her. And what she heard confirmed the worst rumours she’d heard about them. They were going to throw her in the crusher.