Instinctively, he turned. He saw the face first: eyes desperate and full of pain. The man was bent over and being held in a headlock. His shoulder-length hair hung lank, damp. The blood was flowing from his nose and from a gash under his eye. It was 59999, the inmate with the black eye and broken nose he’d noticed at roll call that morning. Jax could hardly believe that not even twenty-four hours had passed since that first muster. It felt more like weeks.

‘Fucking shut up,’ said the man holding him in the headlock, a skinny thirty-something with spiderweb tattoos on his elbows and forearms. As Jax froze on the spot, the man released 59999 for a second, jerked his head up and delivered a hard jab to his face, making a sickening noise as the fist hit the already split eye. Blood sprayed onto the white tiles.

‘Fuckin dog,’ the skinny assailant said, inspecting his knuckles for damage.

Behind them was another man. He said nothing, only grunted and groaned as he thrust. He stood with his hands on his victim’s hips, and his pelvis was a piston, moving steadily back and forth, groin clapping against buttocks. His eyes were closed. It was Marsh.

JAX moved swiftly to the last cubicle. He reckoned neither Marsh – eyes closed as he pounded – nor the man doing the holding and hitting, had seen him, so he thought he might be able to wait them out. He moved into the corner of the shower and left the taps untouched; he didn’t want to turn on the water in case they came to investigate. The mate might go looking for something fresh.

Jax was terrified, but also ashamed. He had always been taught to lend a hand, to look after the weak.

Stand up to the bullies. That’s what his dad had told him before he died.

Never leave anyone behind. That was the motto in the army, and the army had taught him to be brave.

Yet here he was, cowering in the corner of a cubicle as a young man was being raped. And he hated himself for it.

HE waited until he was sure they had gone before making his move. Prisoner 59999 was huddled in the cubicle, cowering, his wet hair plastered to his skull.

‘Here,’ Jax said, holding out an arm. ‘Get up, mate. Don’t let anyone else see you like this.’

‘Fuck off,’ came the reply. ‘Just leave me alone.’

A short, lightly built guy, not much older than Jax. His face was a bloody mess. A sizeable clump of his long shaggy hair had been ripped out, revealing a chunk of reddened skull. Jax winced as he noticed blood trickling down the man’s back leg.

‘Nah, come on,’ Jax said, still holding out his arm. ‘Get up, get dry, and go to your cell.’

‘I said fuck off!’ And he lashed out at Jax from the ground.