Jax’s least favourite plan was the one where he had to fight the Serpent. In his worst-case scenario, the Serpent was standing on the other side of the glass, naked, erect and waiting for him. In this imaginary but very likely hell, he then had to fight the Serpent, the 140-kilo behemoth they said had once taken down an entire squadron of riot police. And Jax was in no condition to fight, not with five broken ribs and a still not fully fused plate in his skull. He prayed he could leave the fighting, the arresting and the interrogating to the experts. He was only there for the writing on the wall.

Jax smelled Cell No. 74 long before he saw it: the stale, musty scent fast becoming a full-blown stink. He breathed through his mouth as he walked past Cell No. 73. And then he stopped breathing all together.

He turned and looked hard when he finally reached the Serpent’s lair.

Nothing.

He couldn’t see a thing. The Serpent’s cell looked the same as every other cell in the dark: no blood, no shit, no Serpent. Nothing but black. Jax took a big gulp of air and then wished he hadn’t, the stink now so bad he could taste it.

He looked down at his torch, made sure it was pointing at the ground, then winced as he went for the button, as if he were about to flick the switch on a fireworks show. While there were no sparklers, poppers or waterfalls, the sudden rush of bright made him flinch all the same.

He suddenly felt eyes upon him. And not just any eyes, but big yellow eyes with black slits. His mind had turned the Serpent into a real-life monster. He imagined the Serpent sitting on his bed, tongue slithering and fangs out. He lifted his head and looked into the darkness, towards the corner. To where the bed was. He couldn’t see a thing, everything still black.

Jax raised his torch, the spotlight jumping from his feet and skipping into the cell. The trail of blood the Serpent had left on his way to the knock-up was still there, although now smeared and partly obscured by trash. He raised the torch a little higher and to the right. He stopped when he saw the shit-stained sheet dangling from the end of the Serpent’s bed.

He swung the spotlight back to his feet. What was he thinking? He was about to shine a light straight into the Serpent’s face. About to wake him up. He could not do anything that could potentially wake the Serpent up. No noise, and certainly no flashlight in the face.

That’s if he is asleep . . .

He supposed he would soon find out.