Jax knew it was no coincidence that he’d been left alone. Now it looked like the honeymoon was over. He must have had a blank look on his face, though, as Grub continued. ‘Listen, cunt,’ he said. ‘It’s simple, even for a dumb cunt like you. You pay Marsh every week and you don’t get got. You pay up every Friday and you don’t end up dead. Just $200 a week. Best deal you’ll ever make.”

Jax had money: $3612.15 in his savings account. Based on his rapid calculation, that would buy him almost 126 and a half days of not getting got. He would only have to come up with another $100,387.85 to survive his sentence – that is, if he got out on good behaviour in ten years. He could nod his head and buy himself twelve weeks of protection. But he wasn’t going to do that. He knew that agreeing to pay would seal his fate. He would be declaring himself prey, not just now but forever. He would be stood over for the rest of his sentence. They would demand money he didn’t have and turn him into a sex-slave when he couldn’t play.

Plus, that was his money – he’d earned it. He also knew his nan was relying on it. She couldn’t work anymore but still had to pay her bills. Jax helped out: his army income had always been more than enough for anything he needed – even taking into account buying stuff for Nikki – and if he could make life that little bit sweeter for his nan, he would, every time. That’s what money was for, helping the people you loved. Not to line Marsh’s pockets. So he didn’t say anything.

‘What?’ Grub said. ‘Nothing stashed away?’

Still not a word.

‘Nup,’ Grub said. ‘That’s okay. Say the word and we can work something out. You got a missus? A brother? How about Mum and Dad? Surely someone is good for it? We offer a full service. Just give us an address and we will collect.’

Jax’s brow furled at the mention of his Mum and Dad.

‘All broke, useless cunts, too?’ Grub continued. ‘That’s okay. Marshy is a good bloke. He’ll even let you work it off. So . . . what’ll it be? Two hundred or are we putting you to work?’

Jax replied with a forged-in-iron stare.

‘Righto,’ said Grub as he moved towards Jax. He was now so close that Jax could smell his sour breath. ‘You,’ he said as he drove his index finger into Jax’s forehead, ‘owe us.’ He tapped Jax’s forehead again. ‘Get it now?’ he said.

Another tap. ‘How about now?’

Another tap, harder.

Jax exhaled slowly, his mind clearing.

‘I’ll fuck you u—’

Jax struck like a rattlesnake, snatching Grub’s finger. He held it in front of his face and squeezed.

‘You’re fucking dea—’