She didn’t stick around to watch the cube pop out the other end. Instead, she slipped rapidly away through the piles of cars, limping through the dirt as fast as she could, exhausted beyond all belief, willing herself onwards, searching for a way out of this metal graveyard.

But the place was like a maze, with many paths leading to dead-ends among the chaotic mounds of scrap metal. Turning a corner, she suddenly found herself out by the workshops. There they were, standing around outside, smoking, chatting and joking amongst themselves like nothing was amiss, like they hadn’t just decided to throw a woman into an industrial car crusher.

The Rottweilers noticed her and starting barking their heads off and straining at their leashes, trying to get away from the metal post they were chained to. But the gang members didn’t cotton on, couldn’t understand why the dogs were barking. They shouted at them to shut up.

Bailey drew back sharply, retreating into the forest of rusted metal, and eventually managed to navigate her way to the concrete wall which enclosed the place. She determined that her best bet was to clamber up a precarious stack of rusted cars next to it, and then haul herself over the top. So that’s what she did, slicing her hands on the jagged glass of the broken bottles, dropping down on the other side into the weeds and gravel of an empty lot.

She staggered away through the backstreets, eventually getting to a main road, where she managed to wave down a supermarket delivery lorry. The driver, aghast at her blood-covered appearance, wanted to take her straight to the hospital, but she insisted on going directly to the nearest police station.

The gang were eventually sent down on the basis of the evidence that she’d gathered, along with the testimony of Spyros, and most of them were now serving long sentences. She in turn had been commended for her courage and her professionalism.

As for the supposed source inside the police who’d betrayed her, nothing had ever come to light despite Frank’s best efforts to get to the bottom of it. One of these days she’d find out who it was though, no doubt about that. And when she did, her justice would be unforgiving.

And her torturer? He had never been caught, or even identified. He was out there somewhere. But she would never forget his face, never forget the smell of his clove cigarettes, never forget the pleasure he took in violating, hurting and maiming her. She would get him too at some point, that was for sure, and when she finally caught up with him, she would make him pay dearly for what he’d done to her.

He’d given her the scar on her left cheek, carved it slowly into her face with his straight razor and a lascivious grin. She’d been offered plastic surgery to deal with it. Maybe she’d take up the offer one day. But not until she’d found him. Until then she’d wear the scar like a badge of faith, along with all the others across her body – a commitment to never give up in her quest to track him down and punish him.