‘I’ve rung the bell,’ the priest said nervously, ‘to bring the doctor and nurse. They were expecting you to come round, though maybe not for a few more hours. Don’t worry, they’ll be along soon.’

Jax was pretty sure the police wouldn’t be far behind them. A thought crossed his mind and he suddenly jerked his arm. No handcuffs. Odd.

The priest had said there was another survivor. ‘Marsh,’ Jax said. ‘Was it Marsh?’

Father Martin took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes, then replaced his spectacles before answering. ‘No. I don’t know how to put this, but, well, there wasn’t much left of the poor fellow to give to back to his family. McKinnon was the only survivor. The only other survivor, I should say.’

‘Who?’

‘McKinnon. The big ginger chap with that unfortunate scar.’

Bluey! So Nikki still wasn’t safe. With Bluey alive, a revenge hit for Jax’s actions would be issued and delivered swiftly, and with force.

‘Where is he?’ Jax asked.

‘Right beside you. Behind that curtain just there. You can’t talk to him, though. He’s in a drug-induced coma, just like you were. You’ve both been through a lot.’

Jax did his best to mask his relief. Safe. For now.

‘Terrible business,’ the priest went on. ‘Don’t know how you got caught up in it – in the wrong place at the wrong time, hey? Some kind of bikie turf war is what they think. One of Marsh’s men challenging for leadership or something like that . . .’ He tutted. ‘You’re the real victim here, son.’

Jax could barely believe what he was hearing. He went to sit up again, only to be hit by a dizzy spell that sent the room spinning.

‘Best to stay still,’ Father Martin said as he placed his soft hand on Jax’s arm. ‘You have some very serious injuries.’

Jax raised his head again, slowly this time. Only his arms, completely bandaged, weren’t tucked beneath the thick white blanket that had been folded across his chest and tucked snugly into the sides of the bed. The colours and placements of all the tubes suggested he was being drip-fed morphine, blood, iron and a saline solution. The codes on the bags confirmed it.

‘You have been given a second chance, my boy,’ the chaplain said. ‘Back from the dead, born again, just like Him.’

JAX had to drag the IV drip and monitoring machine with him. Slowly, silently he made his way to the end of his bed, his pillow stuffed under an arm. With every step, pain flashed wildly through him – his chest, his leg, his head. Gingerly, he took a few more steps, edging closer, then he drew the curtain back. The bed was empty.

He hobbled back to his own bed. He would wait. He would watch. He would not sleep.