It was his first appearance in the mess in the week since Jax had been admitted. Jax hadn’t seen him in the yard, or even coming and going in the wing – just that one time in the shower block. Jax studied him through squinted eyes, searching for some kind of hint that would explain his absence.

He was so intent on finding out what he needed to know that he let his guard down for a second. Their eyes met. It felt as though all of oxygen had suddenly been sucked from the room. Jax could hear his own pulse beating loudly in his ears.

Marsh gave him a sly smile. Jax snatched his eyes away, his vision blurring. A sour taste filled his mouth. He felt disorientated, a sudden rush of crippling heat. His vision narrowed.

He hated himself for not having the guts to look up again. He told himself he was just being smart, attempting to avoid a confrontation. But he knew he was staring at his half-eaten dinner because this place had turned him into a pussy.

When he felt the hand on his shoulder, he jumped from his seat and swung round.

‘Relax, big guy.’

Not Marsh, thank fuck. But it was the co-rapist. Jax didn’t need to see the spider-web tattoos on the backs of his elbows to be sure. He never forgot a face, no matter how hard he tried.

‘Just letting you know I’ll be paying you a visit tonight. Marshy wants me to come and talk shop. No need to go making a fuss, but, if you insist, I take me tea with plenty of sugar.’

Jax didn’t react, even though he knew ‘sugar’ was code for sex in prison. The skinny little scumbag laughed at what he thought was a private joke as backed away.

Ignoring the filth that covered the sink, Jax filled his one and only plastic mug with water. The caged fluorescent light on his ceiling was the only source of light now that the sun had well and truly gone down. No visitors. Not yet.

Before he could even take a sip, he had to put his mug down and rush to the toilet. He wouldn’t have made it if it wasn’t just a couple of steps away. Everything in his cell was just a couple of steps away.

He brought up his dinner. Again. Spending every moment of the day waiting to be attacked had been making him physically ill. Last night’s pea and ham soup had come up and now it was tonight’s chops. The evenings were worse than the days. His cell was a death trap. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Lockdown couldn’t come quickly enough. Only then would he be safe.