‘Do not refuse protection. If you do, they will come for you. They will come for your possessions, they will come for your food, they will come at you just because you are young and white. It will never be one on one. You’ll have ten of them on you. They will bash you. Stab you. Might even rape you. You will be bashed, fucked or murdered. Maybe all three. And it won’t stop until you do what they want. Or until you are dead.’

Jax shivered as he pondered the lawyer’s final declaration. Even though Jax thought he could handle himself, he knew he’d be a fool to dismiss the warning. He knew there was some truth to it – he was entering no-man’s-land now.

The driver interrupted Jax’s thoughts. ‘Home sweet home,’ he called out as the bus shuddered to a stop. ‘Her Majesty’s palace. Sit tight. A guard will be along shortly.’

Jax kept his eyes down but listened hard. The pneumatic bus door whooshed open. Boots stomped and keys rattled. Five guards. They made their way down the central aisle, calling names and cracking cages. Last name first. First name last. Then a script of instructions issued matter-of-factly. The heavy-duty locks thudded as they sprang back into their metal recesses; the cage doors squealed as they were dragged open.

‘Marshy,’ Jax heard one of the guards rasp. ‘Heard you were coming back.’

A departure from the script. Jax resisted the urge to look.

‘Dodge,’ came the reply. ‘Looks like you’ve been in a good paddock. I might have to cut your rations. You get a cell sorted for me?’

‘All the bells and whistles, mate.’

Jax heard a cage door screech shut and stole a glance as the pair’s voices became muffled, more distant.

Marsh looked even bigger now that he was standing up – about six foot four – and his slightly hunched shoulders were broad and thick with muscle. He was wearing a T-shirt with a graffiti print, loose-fitting sports shorts and shoes without socks. There would have been nothing remarkable about his attire had he not just come from court. He hadn’t made the slightest effort to look respectable for his sentencing.

The guard was far less imposing, at least from behind. Short and overweight, he lumbered his way down the aisle, continuing the banter as he escorted Marsh from the bus.

‘Jax,’ yelled the guard who was suddenly standing in front of his cage. ‘Jax, Riley.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Officer,’ the guard barked. ‘Not sir. You will address me as Officer.’

‘Yes, Officer,’ Jax said.

‘Stand up and place your hands on the bar,’ he commanded, repeating an order Jax had heard the other guards issue. ‘Leave them there until I say otherwise. Understand?’

‘Yes, Officer.’ Jax stood and faced forward, reached up to the bar in front of him.

‘Okay, turn and face me,’ came the command.