Two kilometres. That was the length of the umbilical cord between what he referred to as Nothing and the main road. Two kilometres of forest, wrapped around a well-kept secret. A place that could be transformed into paradise or hell, depending on how it was used.

‘I’m hoping to provide a refuge for someone,’ he’d said when he first spoke to the owners of the property.

They hadn’t asked too many questions, not after he’d explained that he wanted to keep his daughter and her family safe – a lie so entirely justified that it didn’t weigh him down any more than the air he breathed. And of course he’d provided an excellent reference from a trusted individual who could back up his story, quell any concerns. Ross didn’t want to think about what that reference might cost him.

I still have time.

He could see the house now. White wooden panelling, small windows. There was a light on.

He parked on the drive, got out of the car and closed the door. There was no need for discretion. He was alone in the forest, he was sure of it.

His pulse rate increased as he approached the house. It always did. The feeling of having total control over other people never failed to intoxicate him, as did the knowledge that he was making the bastard pay his debt in such a perfect way.

‘You’re going to suffer,’ he’d said when he took the man and his family to the house. ‘You’re going to suffer just as much as me.’

The man had protested, claimed he didn’t know who Torbjörn was and why he was doing this.

‘We don’t even know each other, for fuck’s sake!’ he’d bellowed.

Torbjörn had ignored him. He could shout as much as he wanted; Torbjörn knew what was right and wrong. It wasn’t his problem if the guy didn’t. Not any longer.

He paused at one of the windows and looked in. They were set quite high up, and he had to stand on tiptoe. The living room was empty. The television was on, but he couldn’t see either of the kids. Where the hell were they?

He took the keys out of his pocket and continued to the front door. First the entry code, then the top lock, then the bottom one. He drew his gun; he always had it in his hand when he went inside. They’d tried to ambush him once, and once only – right at the beginning before they’d realised that most of the house was monitored by CCTV cameras.

‘I’m watching you all the time!’ he’d yelled.