Jax should have retreated when he saw them rushing in: three – no, four – men, all running to back up his opponent. At this point, most people would have unclenched their fists and shown their palms. But Jax wasn’t most people; he was going to go down swinging. He reloaded his right and got ready to throw but pulled the punch when the first man to arrive pulled his mate away.

Amid all the noise, Jax couldn’t hear what was said, but as a child, always the kid in the corner, he had learned to lip-read a bit. He caught just one word: Marsh. And that word was enough to make them all walk away.

JAX approached the shower block, walked past the man standing at the door with his arms crossed against his barrel of a chest, a crimson scar like a flick of paint running from the top of his forehead to a chin made more prominent by his heavily tattooed neck. He nodded as Jax walked in.

Behind the brick wall were eight separate cubicles. Immediately Jax heard the muffled screams. Then he saw the blood: a red stream snaking its away across the tiles from the base of the first cubicle to the drain at the centre of the room, where it disappeared into darkness.

‘Fucking stay still, ya cunt!’

Jax froze, as if the order had been issued to him.

Crack! Knuckle hitting jaw.

‘I told ya.’ The voice continued, and so did the hits, all bone on bone. ‘Don’t make this any worse.’

Rooted to the cold tiles, wearing only a towel, Jax was just six steps away from the man making the noise, and the source of the blood. As there were no doors on the cubicles, he’d have to walk straight past the commotion to get to a free faucet. He was about to turn and walk out when he remembered the man at the entrance. A lookout.

At best, Jax knew he would look weak if he walked out without taking a shower. At worst, the lookout might think he was going to get help, and stop him. The best option was to proceed, act like he hadn’t heard – or seen – a thing. He’d stride through, head down, making sure he didn’t slip on the wet and bloodied tiles. He didn’t want to know what was happening. It wasn’t his problem. He wouldn’t look.

But he did look.

‘Help,’ came the plea, just as Jax had nearly cleared them.